All Through the Night by Connie Brockway

draggable,” she shot back.
    “Nonetheless,” he said, “you must trust me in this as you trusted me with the reason for your traveling these halls. Please, Mrs. Wilder.”
    She did trust him. The very quality that demanded she fear him made it impossible for her to do anything but trust him. Once he set himself to a task, he would not fail.
    “Affect disinterest,” he said, bending his head as though studying the fan. “Absolute, yawning disinterest.”
    “Impossible.”
    For an instant the smile touched his gray eyes. “For Miss Sophia’s sake at least try for insouciance.” He released her hand and straightened. “You are correct, Mrs. Wilder,” he stated clearly. “The scene is definitely in Hogarth’s mode.”
    He approached the table and indicated an empty chair. “Miss Sophia, gentlemen, may I?”
    Vedder opened his mouth but before he could speak Strand, his gaze amused, said, “Of course, Colonel.”
    “Thank you.” He took his seat, crossing one leg over the other.
    “I doubt you’ve the blunt to play this table, Seward,” Vedder said, his gaze raking Seward’s attire.
    For the first time, Anne found herself looking at Seward’s clothes rather than Seward. Though well cut, they bore no ornamentation, nor did they exaggerate the male figure, a hallmark of the consummate tailor’s creation. Seward dressed soberly, as would a man of limited means.
    “I’ll voucher Colonel Seward,” Strand drawled. “Though I won’t stay in the play to let him estrange me from my money. I fold.”
    “You are too generous, Strand,” Seward said.
    “I only seek to disprove Mrs. Wilder’s unhappy opinion of my maturity. What say you, madam? Is not refusing the pleasure of a wager a mark of maturity? Damme, I’ll bet it is.” The gentlemen burst into laughter but Anne would not be distracted from Seward’s actions.
    “Now, Miss Sophia,” Strand said, “would you shuffle?”
    The play went slowly. Each bet and raise caused Anne’s pulse to jump. Sophia, a dazzling smile pasted on her face, appeared completely unaffected. Only the hectic color flagging her cheeks evinced that she’d begun to realize the gravity of her situation.
    More and more coins covered the table. With each card, more sweat beaded the younger men’s brows. They splashed wine down their throats, dividing nervous glances between Lord Vedder’s sneering visage and Colonel Seward’s cool, politely interested mien. Finally one, then the other of the pair dropped from the game.
    It did not take much longer for play to end. Vedder assumed Jack’s raise in answer to an audacious bet was a bluff. He assumed wrongly.
    Jack’s hand won easily. Vedder had no recourse but to accept the defeat with as much dignity as possible. And that was scant enough, Anne noted. He shoved himself back from the table.
    Wordlessly Jack pushed the coins across the table to a now white-faced Sophia. The two youngsters snickered from their position near the sideboard.
    With his peculiar rigid grace, Jack rose from his seat and approached Sophia. She gazed up at him.
    He would kiss her now, Anne thought helplessly, and she would be ruined. Even if Jack did not claim his kiss, the others would only tell how Sophia had made the offer but had been refused. Then not only would her reputation be destroyed, but she would be ridiculed.
    Poor Sophia, thought Anne. Poor, wretched, confused little beast. But beneath her sympathy another emotion rasped her conscious thoughts, clamoring for expression.
    Sophia would feel Jack’s kiss, the pressure of lips Anne all too clearly recalled. Sophia would know their warmth and texture . . . Sophia.
    “Miss Sophia, may I have my kiss?” Jack withdrew a handkerchief from his vest pocket and with an elegant bow presented it to Sophia. His aplomb was absolute; not a flicker indicated he’d ever any other notion than this.
    Sophia gazed at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. Gratitude surged through Anne and the breath she’d held