She smiled. “Which ladies?”
He shook his head. “I can’t answer that. Suffice to say, ladies who wish to remain anonymous. And have their own adventures.”
She nodded. “Why should men have access to the wide world and women . . . not?”
“Precisely.”
She paused, then blurted, “Will there be pain?”
He nearly choked.
She mistook the sound for misunderstanding, apparently.
“I mean, I know there will likely be pain for me. But will it hurt him as well?”
No. No, he will find pleasure like he’s never known.
Just as you would if I had anything to do with it.
He held back the words. “No.”
Relief shone in her eyes. “Good.” She paused. “I was concerned that it might be possible to perform incorrectly.”
Cross shook his head once, firmly. “I think you won’t find it difficult to learn.”
Pippa smiled at that. “Anatomy helps.”
He did not want to think about her understanding of anatomy in this context. He did not want to imagine how she would use her simple, direct words to guide her husband, to learn with him. Cross closed his eyes against the vision of those words, of that knowledge on her lips. “Castleton may be a fool, but he’s not an idiot. You needn’t worry about his not understanding the mechanics of the situation.”
“You shouldn’t call him that.”
“Why not? He isn’t my betrothed.” Cross lifted the dice, offered them to her. When she reached to take them, he couldn’t stop himself from closing his palm around her fingers—holding her still. He couldn’t stop himself from saying, softly, “Pippa.”
Her gaze locked instantly with his. “Yes?”
“If he hurts you . . .” He paused, hating the way her eyes went wide at the words.
“Yes?”
If he hurts you, leave him.
If he hurts you, I’ll kill him.
“If he hurts you . . . he’s doing it wrong.” It was all he could say. He released her hand. “Roll again.”
Four and three.
“Oh,” she said, crestfallen. “I lost.”
“One less day of your research. That makes nine days.”
Her eyes went wide. “An entire day? For one poor roll?”
“Now you know what it feels like to lose as well as win,” he said. “Which is more powerful? The risk? Or reward?”
She thought for a long moment. “I’m beginning to see it.”
“What is that?”
“Why men do this. Why they stay. Why they lose.”
“Why?”
She met his eyes. “Because the winning feels wonderful.”
He closed his eyes at the words, at the way they tempted him to show her how much more wonderful he could make her feel than those cold dice. “Do you wish to continue?”
Say no, he urged her. Pack up and return home, Pippa. This place, this game, this moment . . . none of it is for you.
As she thought, she worried her lower lip between her teeth, and the movement transfixed him, so much so that when she finally released the slightly swollen flesh, and said, “I do,” he had forgotten his question.
When he did not immediately offer up the dice, she extended her hand. “I would like to roll again, if you don’t mind.”
He did mind. But he relinquished the ivory cubes and she tossed them across the baize with gusto.
“Eight days.” She scowled at the four and three at the far end of the table.
“Again,” she said.
He handed her the dice.
She rolled.
“Seven days.”
She turned a narrow gaze on him. “Something is wrong with the dice.”
He collected the ivory cubes and offered them to her, palm up. “Temptation is not always a good thing.”
“It is when one is preparing to tempt one’s spouse.”
He’d almost forgotten her goal. God, he didn’t want to teach her to tempt another man. He wanted to teach her to tempt him.
He wanted to teach her to let him tempt her.
She took the dice. “Once more.”
He raised a brow. “If we had sixpence for every time those words were spoken beneath this roof, we would be rich men.”
She rolled an eight, and met his gaze. “You are rich men.”
He grinned, passing her the ivory blocks once more. “Richer.”
She rolled once—eleven—twice—four—a third time. “Ah-ha!” she celebrated. “Six and three! Again!” She turned to him, something familiar in her eyes—the heady thrill of the win. He’d seen it countless times in the gaze of countless gamers, and it never failed to satisfy him. That look meant one, unassailable truth: that the gamer in question was in for the night. But now, with Pippa, it failed to satisfy. Instead, it made him ache with desire.
Desire to see the same thrill far from a gaming table, as she won something else entirely.