The poker saloon was all set ready for the game to begin; eight chairs spaced out around the large oval table, a spare place for the professional dealer to control the cards, betting chips distributed, her father’s special guests milling around, finishing off finger food and drinks before play started, though there were side tables placed behind the chairs to hold refreshments within easy reach.

      As Charlotte entered with Mark, she saw Peter having a word with her father, whose sharp gaze instantly zeroed in on her. She was the only woman in the room and could very well be an unwelcome addition to the poker party. Damien Wynter could not tell her father to let her stay. No one told Lloyd Ramsey what to do. Nevertheless, having come, Charlotte didn’t want to be asked to leave. That would be slighting Mark.

      Her arm tightened around Mark’s as her father cocked his head in consideration, listening to Peter who was undoubtedly explaining the situation he and his friend had engineered. Her nervous tension kicked into anger as she saw her father’s mouth twitch in amusement. This challenge by Damien Wynter was no joke. She wanted done with it as soon as possible. She kept her gaze trained on her father and brother, refusing to give the man from London the satisfaction of a glance his way.

      “Charlotte, what an unexpected pleasure!” her father rolled out in welcome, his wide mouth breaking into the smile that invariably reminded people of a shark. The top of his head had gone bald some years ago and his high broad forehead, large nose and big white teeth, on top of his formidable physique, contributed to the impression of a fearsome predator. He turned to his aide-de-camp. “Two more chairs at the table.”

      “I won’t be playing, sir,” Mark quickly put in.

      The deferential “sir” grated on Charlotte. She didn’t want her husband-to-be kowtowing to her father, particularly not tonight in front of Damien Wynter.

      “If you don’t mind, I’d like to watch Charlotte play,” Mark went on, his ingratiating tone annoying her further. It did sound like sucking up.

      “Fine!” her father approved, flashing his shark smile. “Though you might get an unwelcome insight into the woman you’re marrying.”

      He was putting in the bite, not snubbing Mark but virtually accusing him of having a superficial view of his fiancée. Which wasn’t true. She was not just a lump of money to Mark. Though it did seem he was attracted to the life-style perks that marriage to her could bring.

      “Oh, I think I know her fairly well,” he said with a warm assurance that should have removed her irritation. Except he didn’t know what was going on inside her right now—the absolutely perverse resentment that he wasn’t more like Damien Wynter, just taking everything in his stride as though it was his right to be wherever he wanted and have whatever he wanted.

      She savagely reminded herself that Damien had been born into a world of wealth, which cultivated that frame of mind. Mark hadn’t. And she had liked the difference. It was crazy to start doubting her judgement on that. Before realising she was breaking her previous resolution, she turned a proudly defiant face to the man who was unsettling what she had settled on, her eyes mocking any influence he thought he might exert on her.

      The sense that he’d been watching for her to look at him, waiting for it, willing it to happen, sizzled along her tense nerves. Satisfaction glinted in the dark eyes. She felt him thinking, You can’t escape me, Charlotte, and her heart instantly skipped into a faster beat. Yes, I can, her own eyes telegraphed back to him.

      His gaze flicked to the chairs being placed for her and Mark, then very deliberately he stepped over to claim the chair directly across the table from where she was being accommodated.

      “Seats, gentlemen,” her father called, shooting an amused little smile at her. “My daughter is about to test her mettle against yours.”

      Good-humoured laughter rippled around the room. It was obvious to Charlotte that these high-powered guests didn’t see her as a threat at the table. They were indulging her because of who she was. Their host had allowed her into the game so any protest was unthinkable.

      “I caution you not to underestimate her as a player,” her father tossed at them. “Charlotte has cleaned me out more times than I care to remember.”

      “Me, too,” Peter said. “Nerves of steel. She didn’t get to be one of the top guns on the trading floor without ’em.”

      “Top gun on the trading floor?” Damien queried, clearly surprised by this information and looking to Peter, who’d taken the chair next to his, for more enlightenment.

      “Charlotte worked for an international bank. A star player on their scale for dealers.”

      “I didn’t realise…”

      Charlotte smiled her own triumphant bit of amusement as Damien Wynter’s gaze turned back to her in swift re-assessment. He’d probably had her pegged as a socialite, with nothing better to do than attend fashionable functions—a woman groomed to hang off his arm and satisfy any social role he wanted her to play.

      Peter grinned at her as he topped off his spiel with, “She was called The Ram at the bank, and I don’t think that was entirely related to the family name.”

      “Fascinating,” Damien murmured, his dark eyes suddenly burning like hot coals, his interest in her fired, not dampened by this new knowledge.

      To Charlotte’s horrified consternation, her stomach contracted as though it had been punched and her breasts tightened, her nipples tingling into hard peaks. She didn’t want to have this physical—a sexual—reaction to Damien Wynter. And why on earth did he like the fact she had a brain that most men shied clear of as too competitive for them?

      “I have better things to do with my life now,” she stated quickly, half-turning in her chair to reach out to Mark who was seated just behind her right shoulder. She took his hand and squeezed it in a show of solidarity with him. “I was happy to resign from my job to take on a far more fulfilling career as Mark’s partner in everything.”

      So take that on board, Damien Wynter, she thought, furious over the strong response of her body to him and barely noticing Mark’s delight in her little speech.

      “Enough talk!” her father commanded tersely, shooting a look of distinct displeasure