She was not for him and never would be. He'd left her world long ago.

The last trick fell to Connor. Martin scanned the tally Connor was keeping on the table between them. One more hand, and unless the gods intervened, Connor and Meredith would take the current game, evening the score.

Time to change tactics.

The next hand went as he expected. Connor crowed and called for more champagne as he shuffled for the first hand of the deciding game. Noting the faint flush in his partner's fair cheeks, Martin beckoned Mellors closer as the man bent to fill his glass, and murmured his own instructions.

Mellors had a nice appreciation of who was who among his wealthier patrons; passing back by Amanda's chair, he clipped the candelabra, grabbed to steady it and instead knocked her glass-the glass he'd just filled with fine French champagne-to the floor. With copious apologies, Mellors retrieved the glass and promised to bring another.

He did, sometime later, as they were nearing the end of the first hand.

Amanda studied her cards and waited for Connor to lead. Neither she nor any of the others had yet played a false card-they'd done the best possible with the hands they'd been dealt. Luck, to date, had been the deciding factor.

Not a comforting thought. Especially as Connor had proved to be even more expert than she'd suspected. If it hadn't been for the large, reassuring figure seated opposite her, languidly tossing cards across Connor's, she'd have panicked long ago. Not that spending three hours in Connor's company was all that worrisome, but how to do so safely without her family hearing of it… that aspect had only occurred to her once they'd started the second game.

Now it exercised her greatly. Losing to Connor would not help her search for a husband at all. Damn the man. Why had he had to challenge her, especially as he had, triggering her temper and her pride?