Betrothal number two had been a momentary blip in sanity. After her brother Rhystan’s love match, Ravenna had felt the first stirrings of indecision. Didn’t she want a family of her own? She would have to wed…eventually. Perhaps she could attract the ideal sort of gentleman: old, bored, perhaps on his deathbed, and willing to let her live her life. Lord Thatcher had ticked all the boxes—widower, older, quiet—and after he’d proposed, she convinced herself she might have been content. But in the end, Ravenna couldn’t go through with it.

Her third and final almost engagement, though it could hardly even be called that, had caused her to flee London on her brother’s ship. Ever since her come-out, the Marquess of Dalwood had been persistent in a way that had made her skin crawl. She’d barely escaped his slimy clutches.

“Are you going to play, lad?” The low, lazy drawl drizzled through her chaotic thoughts like thick, smoky honey.

She peeked up at Mr. Chase through her lashes and grunted a noncommittal response. Drat, he was stunning…stunning in the way she imagined a fallen angel would be. A sultry, terrible, beautiful angel meant to lure poor innocent souls into doing sinful things. Her skin heated with what could only be a surge of primitive lust. Ravenna opened her mouth, not even sure what was going to come out—a breathy Take me now or a much smarter I withdraw.

“What’s it to be then?” Mr. Chase asked, idly tapping his long, elegant, and shockingly tanned fingers against his cards in a repeated sequence that made her stare. His little finger tapped followed by the ring finger, then the middle, ending with his index finger. Those hands looked familiar and strange at the same time. Ravenna felt she might be hallucinating. His voice recalled her with a snap. “I haven’t got all night.”

“A man has to think.”

“I could have sailed to England in the time it takes you to think.”

“You can forfeit if you’re in a hurry,” she grumbled. The other gentlemen at the table had long since backed out, and now it was down to the two of them. He reminded her of a proud, terrifying dragon sitting atop his treasure, daring anyone to come take it. And here she was…daring to do just that.

“Why would I when I have the winning hand?” he drawled.