Self-consciously she lifted a hand to finger the silver-and-gold twists that dangled from her ear. "But I have to think about what's going to happen when I turn that page. I can't keep buying new clothes and earrings, and living in the moment. Money's a responsibility, isn't it?"
He leaned back, lips pursed as he studied her. Delicate she might look, he mused, but there was nothing delicate about her brain. He had a feeling it was both strong and flexible. All the better, he decided. The wife of his grandson should possess a nimble mind and not a shallow one.
"That it is," he said, and smiled at her.
The Winning Hand
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"I don't know how it's done, though. I thought you would."
"I'd be happy to help you with it." When the waiter came to remove their plates, Daniel waved a hand. "Leave hers," he ordered. "She hasn't eaten enough. Now," he continued as Darcy and the waiter exchanged resigned glances, "you'll have your time, your opportunity, and you'll have given something back. Unless you intend to toss around money like confetti, and you don't strike me as an idiot, you'll have quite a bit left over. What do you want from that?"
She bit her lip, easing forward. "More," she said, then blinked when he threw back his head and roared with laughter.
"Now there's a lass with a head on her shoulders. I knew it."
"It sounds greedy, but—"
"It sounds sane," he corrected. "Why should you want less? More is better, after all. You want your money to work for you. I'd call you a fool if you wanted otherwise."
"Mr. MacGregor." She took a deep breath and rolled the dice. "I want you to take my money and make it work for me."
The blue eyes narrowed. "Do you now? And why is that?"
"Because it seems to me I'd be a fool to settle for less than the best."
The Winning Hand
