Free The Heart's Victory by Nora Roberts Page A

Foxy bit into the crusty roll. “It’s more acceptable, though you hardly need the money.”
    â€œYou took an oath to see that I do after tonight,” he reminded her. “You’d better eat all of your steak. Losing money takes more energy than winning it.”
    Sending him a disdainful smirk, Foxy picked up her knife and fork.
    ***
    The evening was still young when they entered the casino. Foxy found her indifferent veneer dissolving. The combination of elegance and excitement was too potent.
    â€œOh!” She took in the room with a long, sweeping glance and squeezed Lance’s arm for emphasis. “It’s fabulous.”
    Clothes in a kaleidoscope of hues and the glitter and gleam of jewels caught her eye. There was a hum of voices in a hodgepodge of languages accented by the quick, precise French of the croupiers. There was a mix of other sounds: the click and clatter of the roulette balls jingling in the wheels, the soft scrape of wood on baize as markers were drawn in, the flutter and whoosh of cards being shuffled, the crackle of new money and the jangle of coin.
    With a laugh, Lance tossed an arm around her shoulders. “Foxy, my love, your eyes are enormous and shockingly naive. Haven’t you ever been to a den of iniquity before?”
    â€œStop teasing,” she demanded, too impressed to be properly insulted. “It’s so beautiful.”
    â€œAh, but gambling’s gambling, Fox, whether you do it in a plush chair with a glass of champagne or in a garage with a bottle of beer.”
    â€œYou should know.” Tilting her head, she shifted her eyes to his and smiled. “I remember the poker games. You would never let me play.”
    â€œYou were a very precocious brat.” He slid his hand up her neck and squeezed.
    â€œYou were just afraid that I’d beat you.”
    His grin was quick and powerful. Guiltily Foxy admitted that she was glad to be there with him instead of with Scott. Lance Matthews exuded an excitement Scott Newman would not even understand.
    â€œWhat big eyes you have,” Lance murmured as his fingers lingered on her skin. “What goes on behind them, Foxy?”
    â€œI was thinking how furious I should be with you because of the maneuvering you did with Scott, and how guilty I am that I’m not.”
    He laughed, then gave her a hard, brief kiss. “Too guilty to enjoy yourself?”
    â€œNo,” she said immediately, then shrugged. “I suppose I’m basically selfish and not very nice.”
    Lance’s mouth twisted into a grin. “Then we should suit each other well enough.” He laced his fingers with hers, then led her to a roulette table.
    Seated, Foxy moved her attention instantly to the wheel as the tiny silver ball bounced and jumped. When it stilled, she watched the croupier scoop in the losing markers and add them to those of the winners. Foxy thought the table a Tower of Babel. As she glanced from face to face she heard lilting Italian, precise London-style English, low, guttural German, and other languages that she could not distinguish. Faces were varied as well; some old, some young, some bored, some animated, many carrying the unmistakable polish of wealth. But it was the face directly across from her that fascinated her.
    The older woman was beautiful. Her hair was like white silk swept around a fine-boned oval face. The lines in her skin were far too much a part of it to detract from the beauty. Rather, they matured and gave character to what had once been a delicate elegance. Her eyes were like sharp green emeralds, but it was diamonds she wore at her throat and ears. They seemed more fire than ice. She wore flaming red silk with absolute confidence. Foxy watched in fascination as she lifted a long, slender black cigarette and drew gently.
    â€œCountess Francesca de Avalon of Venice,” Lance whispered in Foxy’s ear as he followed her gaze. “Exceptional,