Vix wondered at the slight bristling that needled her spine at the shift in his attention. She turned her head to look at her sister-in-law with a raised brow, awaiting her response to such an insolent and unusual greeting.
Hannah only smiled, as though he’d been perfectly polite. “I suppose it’s unusual seeing you outside of the Flaming Fox as well. Won’t you sit?”
“Yes, won’t you?” muttered Teddy, looking very much like he would enjoy pulling the chair out and forcibly placing the other man into its cushion. “Have some wine.”
Vix shot her brother a look, but it seemed he had not done any actual damage with his brusqueness.
On the contrary, Mr. Aster had flashed him a grin at the grumble and had pulled out his own chair with a flourish that Vix suspected had been manufactured entirely to antagonize Teddy further.
She knew she shouldn’t enjoy such childishness at this particular moment for this particular purpose, but she hid a smile anyhow. Only because it was effective, and only because Teddy’s glower was such an awful, dramatic thing.
They sat and awaited the first course and the pouring of a very nice white wine as the Vixen staff bustled competently around the table.
“This club is much stuffier than the Fox,” Mr. Aster commented, lifting his salad fork and twirling it on a single tine against the tablecloth. “I suppose going the traditional route was the safer gambit for your first foray into the trade, hm?”
“I suppose it was,” said Teddy, lifting his own glass to sip at it. “To tell you the truth, most of the more whimsical elements at the Fox are Ember’s doing, not mine.”
“Oh? Not a whimsical fellow, Beck?” Aster asked, raising his brows like it shocked him. “I couldn’t have guessed.”
“I haven’t yet visited the Flaming Fox,” Vix said, her voice deceptively even, though she was annoyed that this man had chosen to flirt with both her brother and her sister-in-law before trying it on with her, the woman he was here to potentially engage in marriage. “Whimsy is not something I might have anticipated.”
He paused, flicking his gaze to her with something faltering in that cocksure grin he was wearing, like he wasn’t happy to extend this game with a player he had not yet learned to read. He set the fork down and turned to her, toying with the flat base of his wineglass with a single, manicured finger.
“Why haven’t you visited, Miss Beck?” he asked, as though he truly did not know what the answer might be. “It is perfectly amenable to feminine custom, I have found. Hannah here haunts the office most nights.”
“Some nights,” Hannah corrected mildly.
Vix gave him a sharp little smile. “Hannah is there because she is working, of course,” she pointed out. “She runs a charitable hospital from the Fox’s back office. Or did you not know that?”
He blinked, his expression falling away completely for a moment. “I actually did not know that,” he said, glancing at both Teddy and Hannah, who nodded in confirmation. “A hospital, you say?”
“A clinic,” Hannah corrected. “In Clerkenwell. You have actually contributed to it in a way, Mr. Aster, with your many returned and unclaimed debt slips. The Fox chose to convert some ofthem into donations during its construction. I’m afraid you are officially a charitable patron.”
He frowned. “I am?”
“Oh, yes,” said Teddy, nodding. “It’s on the plaque.”
“What plaque?” Mr. Aster demanded weakly.
“Teddy,” Vix said, fluttering her lashes at him in a way that she hoped accurately conveyed the threat she wished to deliver.
They ate mostly in silence after that point, with only a few polite and stilted attempts to renew the conversation arising between slices of Cornish hen. It was not unfolding to Vix’s liking, and she was uncertain how to wrangle the thing back into order before she lost the opportunity being presented here entirely.
Every time she glanced up at Mr. Aster in an attempt to spark inspiration for something she might say or do to reignite dinner table conversation, she found him watching her, and that was too unsettling to maintain for any length of time.
She wanted, rather badly, to ask about the heroism that had led to the knighting, but she suspected this was not a welcome topic after what Hannah had said to her before. She would find out, of course, in due time, but Vix had never considered patience one of her most shining virtues.
“So, you were a governess,” he said, startling everyone, including the poor man refilling Vix’s wineglass.
“Oh,” she said, relief blossoming in her chest as she met his eye. “Yes, I was.”
“And why are you not a governess anymore?” he asked, as though he were seeking pointed revenge for her unspoken curiosity about his heroism.
She lifted the refilled glass and brought it to her lips, weighing her options for the answer. She felt her brother’s dark eyes on her, and knew that if it were socially permissible for him to reach across the table and clamp his hand over her mouth, he’d be doing it just now, without hesitation.
She cleared her throat delicately as she set the glass back down.
“Many reasons,” she said, meeting his eye. “I am not sure which ones to give you.”
