"I daresay, it's a rather unfortunate name you have, though, isn't it?"

Or perhaps not.

Jim chuckled. "When I was young and in search of a name, it seemed appropriate. As I've grown older, I recognize the foolishness of my youth."

"You're another one of Feagan's children."

He tilted his head slightly. "I am."

"I shan't hold your choice of name against you. I expect if we were all honest, we'd discover we've all been foolish at one time or another."

"You're very kind."

What the b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l was she doing? She was charming them. Charming them all. As though they were equals, as though they had something in common. All three of his mates were looking at her like besotted fools.

Her gaze darted around the table. "What have you here? What game are you playing?"

"Brag," Luke said.

"Oh?" She looked at him with interest, a smile upon those red lips-lips he knew the feel and taste of-and arched a brow. "How is it played? The one with the best card brags on his exploits?"

He scowled, growled, and was fairly losing patience. "One wagers on the outcome. The gent with the best set of cards wins-or bluffs the others into believing he has the best set of cards."

"And what if a lady has the best set of cards?"

The little chit! With the set of her chin, the challenge in her eyes, she was daring him to let her play.

"Then the lady would win. But I've never known that to happen. Frannie has tried on many occasions, but she's never met with success."

"So it's a gentleman's game?"

"Quite."

She gave him a sweet smile. "May I try?"

"Have you any idea how to play?"

"I have an inkling. After all, I have a brother, and he's a rather notorious rake."

"So you've played before."

"I've watched." She gave him an impish smile. "I was teasing earlier. I know what brag is. So may I play?"

"By all means. Jack, give her your chair."

"I'm not sitting this one out," Jack said, grinning. He did offer his chair to Catherine, before securing another for himself and bringing it to the table.

"Did you want to play, Frannie?" Luke asked.

"No, as you so kindly pointed out, I have no skill when it comes to cards."

d.a.m.nation! Had he hurt her feelings?

"I meant no offense," he said.

"None was taken. I will, however, front Lady Catherine two hundred pounds."

Luke narrowed his eyes. Something was afoot. "What were you studying tonight?"

"How to determine the menu for dinner. Rather boring actually." Frannie pulled up a chair and sat between Jack and Catherine, slightly behind Catherine. "But I shall gladly watch. Perhaps I'll learn something."

"You're going to learn how to lose two hundred pounds, right fast," Jim said.

Frannie did little more than offer him a mischievous smile.

Luke gathered up the cards and began to shuffle. "I'll deal. Minimum bet is five pounds, maximum is twenty-five."

He watched as Jack slid the chips over to Catherine. "Each of these is worth five. And the first thing we do is ante up." He tossed a chip into the center of the table. Catherine followed suit. Everyone else tossed in his ante.

"The game is five-card brag," Luke said. "The rules are these: Never show your cards to anyone-not even to Frannie. Never say anything about your hand. And never fold out of turn."

"Oh, I shan't fold at all. I'll have no chance of winning if I fold." She leaned toward the table, peered around, and whispered. "My brother always gave up so easily. The other gents took his money. I don't think he understood the strategy."

Luke met Jack's gaze and knew he was thinking the same thing: it was going to be like pilfering the pockets of an old man. Far, far too easy.

She picked up her cards and studied them. Her brow furrowed. She scowled. Then she set them in her lap.

"You must keep them on the table," Luke told her.

Laughing, she set the cards on the table. "Oh, you think I'm cheating?"

"No, but it's the rules."

She nodded. "Very well. I bet first?"

Luke nodded.

Gnawing her lip, she looked at each set of cards-even though she could only see the back of them. "I'll wager five." She tossed her chip into the center.

"Ten," Jack said.

"Oh, Jack," Frannie scolded, slapping his arm. "Don't take all her money the first round."

"Come on, Frannie, it's always more fun when there's more at risk."

"I'm probably going to regret this," Bill said, "but I fold."

"I'll match the bet," Jim said, and tossed in his ten chips.

"Shouldn't it be fifteen?" Catherine asked.

"No, you only match the last bet made." Luke matched the ten. "Now you match the ten."

"Or I can wager more?"

"You can, but-"

"I'll wager twenty."

"Twenty-five," Jack said.

Catherine looked at him and smiled. "You must have a jolly good hand."

Jack grinned. Luke knew that grin. The blighter had nothing.

Jim shook his head, tossed down his cards. "Fold."

Luke bet his twenty-five. Catherine bet hers.

Jack studied Luke. Studied Catherine. "I fold."

Catherine looked so incredibly pleased.

Luke matched the bet. Catherine placed fifty pounds worth of chips in the center. "See you."

Luke sighed deeply. "Catherine, the maximum is twenty-five, and the only way to win at this game is not to let people know what you're thinking."

"And you know what I'm thinking?"

"I do."

"Then I shall lose."

"Indeed."

"I should not have placed the wager."

"You shouldn't have placed any of them. At least take the last one back and fold."

"But once a wager has been made, it can't be withdrawn."

"We shall make an exception."

"I don't wish to have an exception made. I'm of the belief that a person learns more from his mistakes than his successes, and I'm quite willing to put that belief to the test."

He sighed again and waved his hand over the chips. "Gentlemen. I'll allow the lady to learn from her mistake."

He turned over three kings.

Catherine turned her cards over. Luke stared at the three threes. There was no better hand in brag.

"If I remember the rank of better cards, while it would seem that three kings are better, actually my hand is, and so it appears that all this lovely money comes to me."

"But-"

"I would venture to guess, my lord, that you did not know what I was thinking." She stood. "I believe, I've made my point. It's getting rather late and we should be leaving soon."

Frannie helped her gather up all her chips. Catherine walked out as though she'd just been crowned.

Luke couldn't help it. He burst out laughing. "d.a.m.n, but I do enjoy her."

His outburst was met with silence, and he was suddenly very much aware of what he'd said. Coming to his feet, Luke gave Jim a hard look. "She didn't seem to find you familiar."

"I told you she wouldn't."

"Find out who is following her and the reason for it."

He was smiling when he came to get her. Truly smiling. Not one of his sardonic twists of the mouth. Not one of his mocking smiles. Not a sneer or an insolent pout.

Catherine had not expected this reaction. Hadn't even thought him capable of it. She'd expected him to be miffed that she'd taken his money, expected to find him in a foul mood. But his eyes were lighter than she'd ever seen them, as though there was suddenly a brightness inside him.

He led her through the now-familiar dark corridor to the back door, where his coach waited on the other side. For the first time since they'd begun their nightly ritual, he kept the coach lantern lit inside. The curtains were in place, preventing anyone from peering in. He settled back in the corner, and while she knew she should be embarra.s.sed by his perusal, she wasn't. On the contrary, she rather liked it. And she was feeling a trifle smug that she'd duped him.

She was aware of his deep chuckle before his smile grew, and she wondered if he could read her thoughts.

"You don't care what people think," he said.

She couldn't tell from the way he emphasized the words if he was asking a question or making an observation. Still, she felt obliged to answer.

"Of course I care. To a certain extent we all care, but we can't care to the point that we live in fear of others' opinions, that we allow them to change who we are. We must be willing to stand up and defend what represents the very core of our being. Otherwise what is the purpose of individuality? We'd be nothing but imitations of each other, and I daresay we'd all be rather boring."

"I don't think anyone with any sense could ever accuse you of being boring. As a matter of fact, you are the least boring person I know."

His admission made her uncomfortable, because it pleased her far too much. Shouldn't his love be the least boring person he knew?

She looked down at her gloved hands, nestled in her lap. He shifted until he was sitting directly in front of her. He took her hands in his. His were so large. With his thumbs, he began stroking her knuckles.

"Is your wound hurting?" he asked.

She lifted her gaze to his. "No."

She wanted to lean into him, wanted to press her lips to his. It was wrong of her to want so much from him, when his heart belonged to another.

"I was thinking that it might be a good idea to have Dr. Graves join us for dinner tomorrow night," she said.

He narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

"It would make it seem more like a true social dinner, rather than simply you and Frannie dining with me looking on."