“It’s only a matter of practice,” he said gently.

They continued the first hand of cards, which Pandora ended up winning, and played another, which she lost to Gabriel. After congratulating him good-naturedly, she asked, “Shall we stop now, and leave it a draw?”

His brows lifted. “With no victor?”

“I’m a better player than you,” she told him kindly. “I’m trying to spare you the inevitable defeat.”

Gabriel grinned. “Now I insist on a third hand.” He slid the deck of cards toward her. “Your turn to deal.” As Pandora shuffled the cards, he leaned back in his chair and regarded her speculatively. “Shall we make the game more interesting by having the loser pay a forfeit?”

“What kind of forfeit?”

“The winner decides.”

Pandora chewed her lower lip, mulling over possibilities. She sent him a mischievous grin. “Are you truly bad at singing, as you said before?”

“My singing is an insult to the very air.”

“Then if I win, your forfeit is to sing ‘God Save The Queen’ in the middle of the entrance hall.”

“Where it will echo unmercifully?” Gabriel sent her a glance of mock-alarm. “Good God. I had no idea you were so ruthless.”

“Pirate,” Pandora reminded him regretfully, and dealt.

Gabriel gathered up his cards. “I was going to suggest a fairly easy forfeit for you, but now I see I’ll have to come up with something more severe.”

“Do your worst,” Pandora said cheerfully. “I’m already accustomed to looking foolish. Nothing you propose will bother me.”

But as she should have expected, that turned out not to be true.

Gabriel’s gaze lifted slowly from his cards, eyes bright in a way that caused the back of her neck to prickle. “If I win,” he said, his voice low, “you’ll meet me back here at half past midnight. Alone.”

Unnerved, Pandora asked, “For what?”

“A midnight rendezvous.”

She looked at him without comprehension.

“I thought you might like to experience one for yourself,” he added.

Her stunned mind recalled the first night they’d met, when they’d argued over Dolly’s rendezvous with Mr. Hayhurst. Hot blood rose to her cheeks. He had been so nice—she’d been feeling so comfortable with him—and now he’d made a proposition that any decent woman would find insulting.

“You’re supposed to be a gentleman,” she whispered sharply.

Gabriel tried—and failed—to look apologetic. “I have lapses.”

“You can’t possibly think I would agree to that.”

To her annoyance, he regarded her as if she had all the worldly experience of a new-laid egg. “I understand.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You understand what?”

“You’re afraid.”

“I am not!” With as much dignity as she could summon, she added, “But I would like a different forfeit.”

“No.”

Pandora’s incredulous gaze flew to his, while the Ravenel temper blazed up like freshly stirred coals. “I’ve been trying very hard not to like you,” she said darkly. “Finally, it’s working.”

“You can call off the rest of the game, if you wish,” Gabriel said in a matter-of-fact tone. “But if you decide to play—and you lose—that’s the forfeit.” He sat back in his chair and watched as she struggled to recover her composure.

Why had he challenged her like this? And why was she hesitating?

Some lunatic impulse kept her from backing down. It made no sense. She didn’t understand herself. A confusion of recoil and attraction filled her. Glancing at Gabriel, she saw that although he appeared relaxed, his gaze was keen, taking in every detail of her reaction. Somehow he’d known that she would have trouble refusing him.

The room was filled with an ambient mix of conversation, piano music, laughter, the rattling of teacups and saucers, the clinking of crystal decanters and glasses, the riffling of cards from the nearby whist game, the tactful murmuring of servants, gentlemen coming in after having cigars on the balcony. She found it nearly impossible to believe that she and Gabriel were discussing something so outrageous in the midst of a respectable family gathering.

Yes. She was afraid. They were playing a very adult game, with real risks and consequences.

Looking through the screened window, Pandora saw that the balcony was empty and shadowy, with night closing around the nearby headland. “May we step outside for a moment?” she asked quietly.

Gabriel stood and helped her from her chair.

They went out on the covered balcony, which extended the entire length of the house’s main section, the sides framed with latticework and climbing roses. By tacit agreement, they went as far away as possible from the family parlor windows. A westering breeze carried the sounds of the surf and the cry of an errant seabird, and whisked away the last pungent wisps of tobacco smoke.

Leaning back against one of the white-painted support columns, Pandora folded her arms tightly across her chest.

Gabriel stood beside her, facing the opposite direction, his hands braced on the balcony railing as he looked out to sea. “A storm is coming,” he commented.

“How can you tell?”

“Clouds on the horizon, moving in on a crosswind. The heat will break tonight.”

Pandora looked at his profile, silhouetted against the red tarnish of sunset. He was a fantasy figure—the kind who existed in other girls’ dreams. Not hers. Before she came to Heron’s Point, she had known exactly what she wanted, and what she didn’t want, but now everything was muddled. She thought Gabriel might be trying to convince himself that he liked her well enough to marry her. However, she had come to understand enough about his commitment to his family and responsibilities to be certain that he would never voluntarily choose someone like her as his wife. Not unless it was a point of honor, to save her ruined reputation. Even if she didn’t want to be saved.