The chief of staff quickly perused his cards and tossed them down.

"Solignac's passing," Massena blandly remarked. "Is anyone else standing?"

"I will," Serena said. "Did you say four thousand or ten thousand?" she casually inquired.

"I like reckless play in a lady," Massena softly said. "I believe it was ten thousand, mademoiselle," he added, sliding several more markers into the center of the table. "And what will you do now?" The ice had thawed from his cool eyes; he had an insidious quiet charm. And she began to understand why his men would follow him anywhere, why rumors of his unbridled appetite for women held genuine merit.

"I think I'll relieve you of your money, mon general. Pam-flush," she pleasantly said, slowly turning over each of her cards until they were all faceup on the green baize-four diamonds and a jack of clubs.

"It's a pleasure losing to someone as beautiful as you, Miss Blythe," Massena murmured, pushing his cards aside. "What are you going to buy with all your winnings?"

Before she could answer, Massena's attention was diverted, his gaze shifting away from his companions. "I see our banker has arrived," he said, bending over to whisper something to Solignac, whose head swiveled around with a snap, his attention hard on the man walking toward them.

Taking note of the men's intense scrutiny, Serena looked up and gasped.

Turning around at the sound, Massena watched Serena's face suffuse with a rosy blush. "Do you know Mr. Allori?" he softly inquired.

"No-I'm not certain ... I don't think so," she stammered, averting her gaze from Beau, not wishing to give him away or add to the danger of his position.

His leisurely progress across the large room drew everyone's attention, not just for the unusual time of his arrival but for his appearance. The dust of the road clung to his clothes, his hessians, chamois breeches, and dark coat a haze of pale ocher, the leather saddlebags slung over his shoulder clinking loudly as he walked, the faint jingle of his spurs counterpoint to the sudden stillness of the salon. He walked slowly, his expression composed, aware of the interest his entrance had produced. He'd seen Massena once at the Truce of Leoben, Beau recalled. Would the general remember him from the crush of people at Schloss Eggenwald that day?

The orderly preceding him announced his name as he approached Massena's table. "Mr. Allori, sir."

"What brings you to Milan, Rochefort?" the general genially asked. "And in such haste." His cool blue gaze drifted over Beau's dusty garb.

"A matter of business, general," Beau smoothly replied. The general's coup de l'oeil was remarkable. Leoben was three years ago, there were over a hundred people in the conference room, and he'd never been introduced.

"Government business?" Massena inquired, utterly calm.

"No. Private business." Beau's gaze was drawn to Serena, dressed like a courtesan at the general's side-or rather, undressed like a courtesan, he thought, resentful and jaundiced. "Collecting jewelry, mademoiselle?" he murmured, a cutting edge to his voice as he noted the emeralds lying on her breasts. Only Russians created necklaces like that.

Serena drew in her breath as if she'd been slapped and then she flushed bright pink. How dare he think she was here by choice.

"Ah ...," the general said in abrupt understanding. Coolly surveying the other officers at the table, he dismissed them with a nod. As they rose, he motioned to Beau to sit down. "So you know Miss Blythe?" Massena casually inquired. The anger in Rochefort's eyes when he looked at her had been so obvious he needn't have asked.

"Very well." A whip-sharp murmur.

"Miss Blythe wasn't sure she remembered you when I asked."

Beau glanced at Serena briefly. "Perhaps I'll have the opportunity to refresh her memory."

"Why would I let you do that?" An indolently tossed gauntlet.

"Because I'm willing to make it worth your while," Beau softly said.

"Are we negotiating for the lady's time?"

Beau shook his head in negation, a barely discernible movement. "I've come to buy her from you."

Massena's dark brows briefly arched into half-moons, but his voice when he spoke was mild. "Have you bought women before, Rochefort? I wouldn't have thought you had the need."

"Mistresses always cost money, General. You and I both know that."

"Some more than others," the general agreed, recollecting Countess Gonchanka's extravagant tastes, unlike those of the pretty seventeen-year-old ballet walk-on who was content with bonbons and new dresses. And then there was Teo, he thought with a pang of regret, who wanted only his love. And he'd failed her.

"I knew you'd understand," Beau said, breaking into Massena's reverie. "Name your price, General, and I'll take Miss Blythe off your hands."

"I'm not for sale, Lord Rochefort," Serena snapped, leaning forward pugnaciously, furious at his effrontery. "I'm not a horse or a painting or a bit of property you covet!"

"Miss Blythe was your mistress?" Massena queried, his attention restored by Serena's revealing outburst.

She seemed oblivious to the flaunting spectacle she presented, Beau irritably thought, her pale, bounteous breasts almost spilling out of the flimsy bodice as she shifted forward to confront him. He wanted to cover her nudity with his coat, rankled that other men openly gazed at her. "I brought her here from England," he said, a muscle twitching high on his cheekbone, only an iron will keeping him seated.

"You've been in Florence? A bit of a campaign backwater for a man of your talents." Massena knew Beau St. Jules was one of Pitt's best and brightest young men.

"He left me in Florence," Serena acerbically said, her gaze scathing.

"Did you lose interest, Rochefort?"

"He always loses interest," Serena tartly interposed, hating him for so casually walking in, for discussing her as though she weren't there, most of all for his shocking, carnal appeal-all command and demand and authority.

"I'm not sure the lady wishes to go with you." The general's shrewd gaze drifted between the two people, assessing.

"She doesn't always know what she wants," Beau brusquely replied, his dark eyes hot with temper.

"She seems rather displeased with you, Rochefort."

"I've always been able to change her mind if I'm imaginative."

Serena blushed.

"A sexual allusion, I presume," Massena drawled. "While I haven't yet tasted of Miss Blythe's pleasures. I'm afraid you've come too early, Rochefort. You can't expect me to give her up without"-he shrugged delicately-"enjoying her lovely charms."

Was he serious about wanting Serena or merely raising his price? Beau wondered. Not that any subtlety, real or imagined, mattered after Beau realized Serena was yet untouched by the general. "Perhaps I could change your mind," Beau said, and reaching down for his saddlebags, he heaved them up on the table, where they landed with a resounding thud.

"This is outside governmental boundaries?" Massena queried, the obvious weight of the gold altering his notions of possession. The normal course of his day required constant bargaining and deal-making-the corrupt politics of victory more cynical than making war. He'd welcome the gold to augment the constant financial shortfall under which he operated his command. And if it was English gold, so much the better.

"This is strictly personal," Beau declared. "And there's no point in haggling. I'll pay whatever your price."

"Wait," Serena indignantly rebuked, stung by the unceremonious consignment of her body. "Just a damned minute!"

Both men looked at her for a moment, surprised at her fury. In their masculine world women were essentially disenfranchised.

"I have a proposition," she said into the silence, bartering for some mastery in the cool disposal of her body, determined to exact revenge for Beau St. Jules's presumptions. "Something more interesting than this bourgeois exchange of gold."

Massena inclined his head.

"One game of loo to decide this issue. If I win, I leave here tonight. If not, I stay with the victor." Her voice was level, the heat of her anger so intense she was without fear. And if her rage had been so powerfully provoked earlier, she might have been bold enough to consider the notion sooner.

Massena didn't hesitate a second; one of his best qualities as a strategist was his ability to make instant decisions. He reached for the deck of cards. "Loo or faro?" he inquired. "Or something else. The choice is yours, Miss Blythe."

"Loo." It was her virtuoso specialty, as sex was for Beau St. Jules.

"Is that amenable to you, Rochefort?" the general inquired, his courtesy faultless, his mood agreeable; there was a piquant excitement in a game of chance with a lady as prize. And he had two opportunities to win-his hand and Rochefort's. If St. Jules won, he'd still charge him for the pleasure of taking the lady away. He liked the odds.

"Fine," Beau said, sweeping his saddlebags from the table.

They cut for the deal and Massena had high card. He had the advantage now of playing last, but seated to his left, Serena would lead-a slight benefit.

The cards were dealt, three each, and a ten of hearts turned up for trump. "I think five thousand ducats will do to start," Massena said, counting out his markers, "or its equivalent in florins, Rochefort, if you prefer."

And the game began.

Serena had only one trump, a king of hearts-high but not an ace. Should she lead with it and gamble no one had the ace or play more conservatively and wait to see what the others had? She had to win two out of three tricks to win the game. Now wasn't the time to play conservatively, she decided, letting her instincts drive her. She led with her king of hearts.

A risky move, Beau thought, and gave her high marks for courage. If Massena had the ace, she'd lose her lead. He placed his nine of hearts on the table.

Massena followed with a queen of hearts.

And Serena's pulse rate slowed to a more manageable level. She'd won the first trick.

"Congratulations, mademoiselle." Massena smiled faintly, recognizing she'd risked all leading with her high card. "Your luck is holding," he pleasantly added.

"Perhaps that's why they call it Lady Luck," Serena genially replied, buoyed by an irrepressible sense of good fortune.

Beau scowled. She'd gone for broke on that lead-not the work of an amateur.

"Some people don't like to lose," Serena sweetly said, glancing at Beau over her cards.

"Keep it in mind."

"I certainly will, Lord Rochefort. But you have two more chances to win, so you needn't become surly yet."

"Children, children," Massena lightly chided. "I so dislike controversy."

"My apologies, sir," Serena quickly interposed, not inclined to anger the man who might let her walk free. "I'm quite ready to begin."

And she quickly perused the two cards left in her hand. Sometimes you can smell it, her father used to say-the winds of providence. Her nostrils flared as she inhaled, and gambling that Massena didn't have any more trumps or he wouldn't have played his queen, hoping Beau wasn't lying in wait with the ace of hearts, Serena led with her ace of spades. And for a second she hoped she wasn't tempting providence. She desperately needed this trick. The low card left in her hand was useless.

Damn her, she played recklessly, Beau disgruntedly reflected, forced to admire her nerve-she could lose her ace with any low card of hearts. But required to follow suit, he was obliged to play his only power card-the king of spades.

Massena played a five of spades.

And Serena allowed herself a restrained smile of triumph.

She'd taken the second trick.

"Thank you, gentlemen," she politely said, as if her life hadn't hung in the balance. "It's been a pleasure."

"You're a marvel to behold, Miss Blythe," Massena stated, impressed by the lady's true proficiency displayed for the first time that evening. "Where did you acquire such skill?"

"At my papa's knee, General."

"You never played like that before," Beau said, his eyes penetrating, cool.

"I was never about to be purchased before. And you know me very little, Lord Rochefort," she mocked.

"For now," he said between his teeth.

"Forever, milord," she countered, rising from her chair. "And now if you'll excuse me, I'm keen to begin my return journey to Florence."

"I'll send an escort with you. Solignac," Massena called, beckoning his chief of staff over.

"I appreciate it, sir." Serena was not foolish enough to refuse. A woman alone on the road was fair prey to anyone.

"The mademoiselle is leaving us, Solignac," Massena mildly said when his aide approached. "I'd like you to escort her back to Florence."

"Yes, sir." Solignac's face was expressionless; he'd hear the details in good time, he knew.

"Ready a troop," Massena ordered, "and Miss Blythe will be down directly."

"Thank you, sir," Serena said as the colonel turned and left.

"Solignac doesn't always make wise choices," Massena noted with a shrug. "But perhaps we'll meet again."

"I appreciate your kindness."

"Take the emeralds. As part of your winning hand. And the ante."

"I couldn't, sir."

"I insist." His expression changed subtly; he was once again the commander-in-chief.

"Thank you," she sensibly replied. "You're much too generous."

"Remind Solignac we're in need of him here once he gets to Florence. I know how avaricious his collecting zeal is."

"I don't think he'd heed me, sir."

Massena laughed. "The lady's a realist, eh, Rochefort?" He cast a glance at Beau, sprawled glowering in his chair.

"Supremely," Beau murmured.

"Come now, Rochefort, Miss Blythe won fairly. Give her her due."

"I intend to," he ominously returned.

"And I'll bid you gentlemen adieu," Serena airily said, waving away Beau's threat. "Pleasant journey home, Lord Rochefort, my thanks to you, General." She curtseyed, the emeralds twinkling on her shapely, quivering breasts and she was gone a moment later, only the scent of jasmine lingering in the air.