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fixed intensity. “Who will be next? What about you, Letty?”
    “I have never been much good at this sort of thing,” Letty said. “I take an interest in cards only when there’s money at stake.”
    “Give it a try,” Miranda urged.
    Letty sipped tea and eyed the card. “Oh, very well. Let me think a moment.”
    Emma took a deep, shaky breath and tried to collect herself. What was wrong with her? She enjoyed excellent health. In fact, she had felt perfectly fine only a moment ago.
    Although she had not been eager to join the ladies when they went outside for the archery contest, Miranda had insisted and she had done her best to be polite. She had dutifully participated in the charades that had followedthe archery, and now she was attempting to engage in the silly card game.
    Surprisingly, Miranda had been almost cordial to Emma today. A bit condescending, perhaps, but not unfriendly. She had been especially eager for her to take part in the card game.
    “King of hearts,” Letty proclaimed.
    “Wrong. Miss Greyson?” Miranda turned to Emma. “It’s your turn to guess.”
    “I’m sorry, I—” Emma broke off, trying to concentrate on not embarrassing herself or Letty. “What was it?”
    “That’s what I am asking you, Miss Greyson,” Miranda said, a trace of impatience in her voice. “I assumed you wished to play the game.”
    “Yes, of course.” Emma swallowed heavily against the rising nausea and stared at the card on the table.
    All she had to do was name a card, any card. Miranda’s game was not one that required skill. Chance alone was involved. Certainly no one expected her to come up with the correct answer.
    She looked up from the card, straight into Miranda’s ice blue eyes.
    And suddenly she
knew
what card lay facedown on the table.
    “An ace of hearts,” she murmured politely.
    A flicker of what could have been surprise or even excitement flashed in Miranda’s gaze. She reached out and turned over the card. “You are correct, Miss Greyson. The ace of hearts it is.”
    “A lucky guess,” Emma said weakly.
    “Let’s try it again.” Miranda picked up the deck of cards and quickly began to reshuffle it. “Swan, please pour more of my special tea for everyone.”
    “Yes, ma’am.” Swan, who as usual was stationed close to Miranda, picked up the large silver pot.
    Cynthia Dallencamp eyed the footman with an expression of avid sexual interest as he dutifully refilled her cup.
    “Wherever did you get Swan, Miranda?” she asked as if the footman were invisible. “He really is the most amusing creature. I do like size in a man, don’t you?”
    Swan flinched but he gamely went on to the next cup. In spite of her own problems, Emma felt very sorry for him.
    “He came to work for me at the start of the Season.” Miranda quirked a black brow. “I assure you, he is extremely useful to have around the house.”
    “Indeed,” Cynthia murmured. “Would you consider lending him to me for a day or so? Just long enough for me to determine if everything about him is as large as one would hope. I vow, it is so very difficult to find a man who is big enough to give one satisfactory service in
every
respect.”
    Several of the ladies dissolved into laughter at the blatant sexual innuendo.
    Swan turned a deep, painful red as he stopped beside Emma. She noticed that the teapot shook in his hands. She feared that when he poured her cup he would spill the brew and invite more laughter together with the withering anger of his employer.
    “No, thank you,” Emma said quickly. “I’ve had enough.”
    “But I insist,” Miranda said sharply. “It’s an excellent tonic.”
    “Yes, I’m sure it is.” It dawned on Emma that it might be the unusual tea that had made her ill. She glanced covertly around the circle. None of the others seemed the least bit bilious.
    “Pour Miss Greyson’s tea, Swan,” Miranda snapped.
    “I vow,” Cynthia murmured in a voice everyonecould hear, “I quite like the