“I see you have a large block of marble in the stables, Mrs. Lombard but have not yet commenced carving?”

“That is correct. I am still making sketches.”

He gave her a wicked leer as he dealt the first round of cards. “Do you need a model to commence your work, by any chance?”

She slid Lockheart a look and saw he finally appeared interested.

“Are you volunteering your services, Mr. McElroy?”

“I would not be averse to donating my time—in the interest of art, of course.”

She tilted her head and studied him with exaggerated care. “Yes,” she said after a long pause, “I think you would be perfect.”

He preened, shooting his friend a not-so-subtle look of triumph. “I understand it is to be a classical piece. Perhaps Apollo? Or maybe Bacchus?”

She lifted the bottom card up enough to see it: an ace, and then gave him a sweet smile. “Actually, it is to be a rendering of Judith beheading Holofernes.”

The expression on his face was priceless, but not as priceless as Mr. Lockheart’s reaction. He threw back his head and laughed, the sound deep and rich and utterly enchanting for being so extremely rare. He looked . . . radiant, like a younger man. and Serena could not tear her eyes away.

McElroy gave him a wry smile, taking his friend’s laughter with unexpected good grace.

“I suppose I deserved that.”

Lockheart nodded and wiped his eyes. “Yes, I suppose you did, Dec.”

The look the Irishman gave Serena was, for the first time, one of respect.

***

The only reason Gareth was tolerating Dec’s behavior was because he wanted to see where he was leading.

Actually, that was a lie. He was also far too fascinated by Mrs. Lombard to leave her alone in the infamous rake’s company. It had been Gareth’s experience that women could not resist the big, charming Irishman; the thought of Mrs. Lombard being unable to resist Declan displeased him.

Since returning from London, he’d felt an odd, enhanced awareness of her that felt almost instinctual. He knew animals sensed each other that way but had never expected such heightened sensitivity of himself. It was invigorating and enervating at the same time. It led to lots of sessions in his private boxing arena. And right now it was making him think of going a few rounds with his best friend.

Declan knew how much he hated cards and he certainly knew how much he hated to be reminded of the part such games had played in his life. Cards were pain, and his friend was not usually so cruel as to rub it in his face. So why he’d orchestrated this evening was a mystery. Gareth supposed he should have asked him earlier in the day exactly why he did not trust Mrs. Lombard. But he’d not wanted to give him what he’d been seeking: a dust up. Yes, he recognized when Declan was spoiling for an argument or fight and he refused to indulge him.