The Countess Conspiracy (Brothers Sinister #3)(36)

Oliver laughed.

“But you haven’t really answered my question. What do these marbles represent?” Violet asked.

“The only thing of any importance,” Robert proclaimed. “They represent glory. And victory. And honor.”

“Piffle,” Violet responded. “Nobody wants your honor, Robert. That’s boring. I suggest that they represent favors.”

“Favors?”

“Favors,” she said determinedly. “If someone wins your marble, they can ask you for a favor, and you must comply. You could make me jump up and down twenty times, if you wanted, or have a long conversation with your mother.” If he won, which he wouldn’t.

Robert glanced uneasily at his brother. “But…there ought to be some limit on them. Wouldn’t you think? You could ask for a vote in Parliament, or…”

Violet waved her hand. “That’s what makes it fun. Only the limit that friendship imposes, don’t you think?”

“But—”

“Or do you not trust me?”

“I don’t wish to offend you, Violet, but when you look at me like that, no. I don’t.”

The door opened, and Sebastian strode in. He stopped as he caught sight of Violet.

And then he smiled. His smile was brilliant—a roaring fire of relief and happiness. For one instant, she felt like dry tinder, ready to erupt with him. Her own smile flashed back before she could stop it—one that broke through all her walls. It threatened to consume her.

She looked away before it could. She pressed her lips together, compressing her expression into flat nothingness.

His smile tilted, transforming into a rueful shake of his head. “Don’t mind me,” he said. “I’ve returned now.”

Robert and Oliver looked down, shuffling their feet, and Violet wondered what had happened before she arrived.

But Sebastian simply cleared his throat. “Serious Sebastian has returned,” he intoned. “Let the party begin!”

Chapter Nine

IT WAS FOUR IN THE MORNING when Violet stumbled back to her room. Somehow, she kept encountering the walls, which no longer seemed to be laid in straight lines.

“Poor Robert,” she said.

“Watch your head.” Sebastian took hold of her, pulling her back to stand straight.

“Did you see his face when I gave all his marbles to Oliver as a wedding present? I have never seen him turn quite so white.” Violet heard something suspiciously like a giggle. It couldn’t have come from her; she didn’t giggle.

But then—her mind caught up with her—that had been her voice. Ah—she had giggled. She was drunk.

“Damned thiffle…” No, that wasn’t quite right. “Thistful.” Also wrong. “Thistle spirits,” she finally managed to get out. “It’s not fair. I forfeited three times as much as everyone else. It’s not fair that I’m the right-handed one.”

“And yet you still won at cards,” Sebastian said with a smile. “Here’s your door. Your maid will be down shortly.”

Violet frowned. “Of course I won.” She felt rather affronted. “Being inebriated makes me better at maths, not worse.”

“Only you.” This, with a smirk. He opened her door and helped her to a chair.

She sank into it gratefully. “I’m going to give Oliver’s marbles to Jane. She’ll make good use of them. The only thing that worries me is…”

No. She wasn’t going to say that aloud. But she might as well have done so.

“This?” He pulled out a marble from his pocket. In the dark, she couldn’t make out the color, but she knew it anyway. She’d watched it keenly throughout the evening—the only marble of her own color that she’d lost. But he’d refused to stake it after he won it, and all night, that flawed blue-glass sphere had sparkled at her from his side.

It gleamed with possibility. With it, he might…

He might bar her door to everyone else. She was drunk enough that she might forget every last reason that counseled caution. For a moment, the vision came to her—a thing of heat and alcohol, of his body pressing against hers, her lips parting for his, skin reveling in bare skin.

It would be something that happened to another person. Some other Violet would invite him into her room. Some other Violet would suffer the consequences. So long as it wasn’t her…

But it was her. She wasn’t so inebriated as to believe otherwise. She took a deep, ragged breath.

The limits of friendship? How stupid had she been to allow for such a possibility? But Sebastian hadn’t been in the room when she’d made the rule, and for some reason, it hadn’t occurred to her to imagine what a man who admitted that he wanted her—wanted her in the least platonic way possible—might do with a favor that had no limits.

“Violet,” he said softly.

His hand touched her elbow, and she jerked away from him.

“You’re trembling.”

“I’m not,” she insisted. “I’m just cold.”

He took her hand. “Here.” The marble fell into her palm, warm with the heat of his body. “I’m calling in my favor.”

She couldn’t help herself. That shiver racked her again from head to toe.

His hand closed around hers, pressing her fingers around the glass. “Do this for me, Violet.” He took a step closer.