She met his gaze and pursed her lips, thoughtful. “I believe I would, my lord.”

It seemed to him that the room grew warmer. More intimate. “What did you have in mind?”

“Money is too commonplace,” she said, tapping her plump lower lip with an index finger. “Surely we can do better than that.”

His blood heated a few more degrees. “I concur.”

“I have nothing of value to wager,” she drawled. “So we will need to be a bit more creative.”

No problem there. He’d already imagined half a dozen wagers ranging from mildly improper to wildly wicked. “Name the stakes,” he said. “Anything goes.”

“Are you certain?” As she picked up the cards he’d dealt and glanced down at them, her face gave no indication of her hand.

“Positive.”

“Very well.” She set down her cards, slowly stood, and walked behind the counter. She bent down, and when she straightened, she was hiding something behind her back. Deliberately, she returned to their spot on the carpet and eased her way to her cushion, the skirt of her dress billowing around her like a frosted cake. “Tonight we will wager…”

She produced a crystal bowl from behind her back. A bowl filled with—

“… buttons.” She spilled them onto the carpet and then scooped them in her palms, letting them run through her fingers like pirate’s gold.

“Buttons,” he said flatly.

“The pink embroidered ones are the most valuable, obviously.” She held one up for him to admire.

“Obviously,” he repeated, impressed that she’d managed to surprise him.

“But the ones made of bone are also sought-after,” she said matter-of-factly.

He shrugged, playing along. “Personally, I prefer the polished brass.”

“Rather unimaginative,” she teased as she began divvying up the pot. “Can’t say I’m surprised. I hope you’re prepared to lose your entire share.”

“We’ll see about that,” he growled, but Sophie wasn’t intimidated by his bluster. She merely picked up her cards, arched a brow at him, and made her wager.

An hour later, there were more buttons on her side than his, but he didn’t mind in the slightest. He was too distracted by the strange, buoyant feeling in his chest. A sensation he vaguely recognized as enjoyment. It was a feeling he associated with his days at Eton and summers with his brother and the first time he’d kissed a girl.

A lifetime ago.

But as long as he played cards with Sophie, he wasn’t thinking about his problems or his past or his inability to sleep. Instead he focused on his cards, and her blue eyes blinking at him above her hand, and the mesmerizing movement of buttons from one pile to another and back. His muscles relaxed. His breathing slowed. And some of the tension drained out of him.