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she did not wish to return the favor. Who would? But luck was a powerful seductress, promising lies of invincibility too sweet to resist. Perhaps she would succumb to its sway.
    “I’m afraid I don’t collect hair,” she hedged. “I wouldn’t want any of yours.”
    Relief coursed through Anthony’s veins. He had her. Maybe. “Quite a boon, that, as I’m quite attached to my mane. Let us wager something far more valuable. If I lose, I’ll offer you my…purity.”
    She burst out laughing. “I doubt you have any. You’re too handsome.”
    He wiggled his eyebrows, careful not to show his desperation. “Then I shall be your slave for the evening. A servant of any sort you desire.”
    “Isn’t that the same offer?” she asked teasingly.
    He feigned exaggerated shock. “Never say the only servant the lady can imagine is one who offers his body. Very well. If I lose, I shall suffer through as best I can.”
    “I’d rather you muck out the chimney.” Lady Fortune sent him an arch look as she picked the heavy purses up from the table.
    But she didn’t say no.
    Anthony held his breath as he awaited her decision. Anxiety flooded him. Miss Devon was the most unpredictable card he had ever been dealt. The wisest choice would be to leave the cards, pick up the money, and walk away. Luckily for him, gamblers weren’t known for making wise decisions.
    The question was… What would Miss Devon choose?  

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