Jagger let the words sink in, then nodded his acceptance of them, before reaching into an interior pocket and pulling out a pair of calling cards. He handed them each one.
Dev gave the contents a quick scan and felt his brow reaching for the sky. “The Archangel?That’s Gabriel Siren’s—” He corrected himself. “The Duke of Acaster runs The Archangel.”
“And don’t forget his sister, Lady Tessa,” said Jagger.
Dev waited. He wouldn’t be baited.
“Now, a duke’s a busy man,” continued Jagger. “And he’ll like his hands clean. So, he and his sister cut me in to run the place.”
The logic held. A duke wouldn’t be managing the floor of a gaming hell on a nightly basis. Dev slid a glance toward Lady Beatrix. Her mind was plainly awhirl and storing this information for not-so-future use, perhaps as Lady Godiva Gallop.
Jagger continued to address her. “You could drop by if you fancy a roll of the Hazard dice or spin of the Roulette wheel sometime.” A beat. “Or even a nice, little chat.”
She didn’t hesitate. “I fancy neither Hazard nor Roulette, and I don’t have nice, little chats.”
A beat of time ticked past where Jagger contemplated Lady Beatrix.
“And there you have it,” said Dev. Enough was enough. “Good day, Mr. Jagger.”
The moment teetered on the head of a pin as Jagger appeared on the verge of saying something more. Instead, he tipped his hat in farewell and pivoted on his heel. In a matter of seconds, he’d disappeared into the dense crowd.
Dev shifted his gaze and found inquisitive gray eyes fixed upon him. “Why are you here?”
Not one to beat about the bush, Lady Beatrix.
“I was in the area.” A version of the truth.
Her head canted. “Oh?”
“My factory is located in Camden.”
“Camden is south of Hampstead,” she pointed out.
“Well, notinthe area.” He reached for a point that would appease her stubborn adherence to logic. “Can we agree it’s in the vicinity of the area?”
One skeptical eyebrow dropped; the other remained lifted.
Progress, he supposed.
“Can’t a man enjoy a day at the races with his fiancée?”
“I suppose he could.”
She wasn’t buying it, and Dev couldn’t say he blamed her. A change of subject would be the better part of wisdom… “Should I run Little Wicked at the smaller courses like Hampstead?”
Suddenly, she was regarding him like he was the biggest dolt in London. “Most definitely not. A horse of her standing should only run in the major races of the season. Will you be running her at Doncaster for the St. Leger?”
“Will my answer be published in theTurf Timesby one Lady Godiva Gallop?”
Her mouth twitched, but no smile broke through. “She makes no promises.”
“What do you think?” He truly wanted to know. “Should I run her?”
She considered the question. “It’s clear the filly loves to run. But, no, I don’t think you should.”
“Because it’s a longer course?” he asked. “I’ve heard the conditions can get rough.”
She shook her head. “Little Wicked is already in the Race of the Century. You would be exposing her to unnecessary risk. The problem is she’s too fast.”
