The Heart's Victory by Nora Roberts

man, is a gross understatement.”
    Foxy twisted her head quickly and looked into sharp emerald eyes. The Countess de Avalon stood behind her, leaning on a smooth, ivory-handled cane. It shocked Foxy momentarily to see that she was so tiny, no more than five feet. Imperiously she waved Lance to sit as he started to get to his feet. Her English was quick and precise, with only a trace of accent. “You have won resoundingly, signorina, and cleverly.”
    â€œResoundingly, Countess,” Foxy returned with a wide smile, “but accidentally rather than cleverly. I came determined to lose.”
    â€œPerhaps I will change my strategy and come determined to lose,” the countess commented. “Then I, too, might have such an accident.” She gave Lance a slow, thorough, and entirely feminine appraisal. Foxy felt a tickle of jealousy and was completely astounded by it. “You appear to know me; might I return the pleasure?”
    â€œCountess de Avalon.” Lance gently inclined his head. “Cynthia Fox.” Foxy took the extended hand in hers and found it small and fragile. But the quick study the green eyes made of her was full of power.
    â€œYou are very lovely,” the countess said at length, “very strong.” She smiled, showing perfect white teeth. “But even ten years ago, I would have lured him away from you. Never trust a woman of experience.” Dismissing Foxy with a mere shifting of the eyes, the countess gave her attention to Lance. “And who are you?”
    â€œLance Matthews, Countess.” He brought the offered hand to his lips with perfect charm. “It’s an honor to meet you.”
    â€œMatthews,” she murmured, and her eyes narrowed. “Of course, I should have seen from the eyes, the ‘devil-take-it’ look. I knew your grandfather quite well.” She laughed. It was a young, sultry sound. “Quite well. You’ve the look of him, Lancelot Matthews . . . You’re named for him. Very appropriate.”
    â€œThank you, Countess.” Lance’s smile warmed. “He was one of my favorite people.”
    â€œAnd mine. I saw your aunt Phoebe in Martinique two years ago. A singularly boring woman.”
    â€œYes, Countess.” The smile became grim. “I’m afraid so.”
    With a regal sniff, the countess turned to a fascinated Foxy. “Never relax for a moment with this one,” she advised. “He is every bit the rake his grandfather was.” She laid her hand briefly on Foxy’s, and squeezed. “How I envy you.” She turned and walked away in a flash of red silk.
    â€œWhat a magnificent woman,” Foxy murmured. Turning back to Lance, she gave him a wistful smile. “Do you suppose your grandfather was in love with her?”
    â€œYes.” With a gesture of his finger, Lance signaled the croupier to cash in his markers. “He had a blistering affair with her, which the family continues to pretend never happened. It was also complicated because they were both married. He wanted her to leave her husband and live with him in the south of France.”
    â€œHow do you know so much about it?” Intrigued, Foxy made no objection when he drew her to her feet.
    â€œHe told me.” Lance set her shawl around her shoulders. “He told me once he’d never loved anyone else. He was over seventy when he died, and he would still have left everything to live with her if she had permitted it.”
    Foxy walked slowly through the casino with Lance unaware of how many pairs of eyes watched them; a russet-haired beauty and the man with the dark, brooding attraction. “It sounds so wonderfully sad,” she said after a moment. “But I suppose it was dreadful for your grandmother, knowing he loved someone else all those years.”
    â€œMy dear, innocent Fox,” Lance said dryly. “My grandmother is a Winslow of Boston. She was quite content