“I win simply for the thrill and to put you in your place, Your Grace.”

He wound his hands into the reins of his stallion and patted the horse’s sorrel-colored neck. “Alas, I require more of an incentive.” He put his fingers to his chin and squinted into the distance as though deep in thought. “I claim a kiss when I win.”

“When you win?” she asked.

“You are riding sidesaddle, you’ve admitted that you’ve lost your edge, and the part of you that desperately wants me to kiss you again will sabotage your competitive instincts quite thoroughly.”

Sarani opened her mouth and shut it, incredulity filling her gaze. “You…you…”

“Yes, yes, I’m unspeakable. Saying it more won’t make it any less true. Stop stalling. What do you choose as your prize?”

“It is truly a wonder that you aren’t married with all that conceit.”

He winked and leaned in. “You adore me.”

She shook her head in wary disbelief as though he’d transformed into a stranger before her eyes. Rhystan supposed he had. He hadn’t had this much fun in ages. Not since…well, five years ago.

Sarani narrowed her eyes at him. “Somehow I do not remember you being this vexing.”

“In my defense, I was trying to impress you back then.”

“And now?”

“Now I intend to trounce you soundly.” He pasted on a determined expression. “I’ll have you know, I take my kisses very seriously.”

She rolled her plump lips between her teeth as though not to smile and studied him, resolve firming her jaw before she nodded. “If I win, you’ll escort Ravenna to the next three balls of her choosing, including the one at Lady Windmere’s.”

Lady Windmere? He blinked, his brain cataloging the endless procession of eligible ladies who had been thrust upon him in the past week. A voice like razors on glass came to him, followed by roving hands better suited to a flash thief in St. Giles than a lady in Mayfair. The Duchess of Windmere was none other than the mother of Lady Penelope. The girl was tenacious and bold in an entirely unattractive way. How his own mother thought he would ever be inclined to marry a chit like that was beyond him. It was nearly enough to drain the lust from him.

He almost groaned and peered at Sarani, but her face gave nothing away. “That’s three things. Do I get three kisses?”

“Stop stalling,” she mocked. “Deal or no deal, Your Grace?” One slim, ebony brow arched, her horse prancing beneath her as amusement flashed in those autumn-colored eyes. God, she was beautiful. He wanted to lean over and claim that tart tongue right then.

Good thing he had no intention of losing. “Deal.”

Seventeen