“I guess Bobby and I are rather unpredictable as well,” Gwen says smugly.
“Oh, you’re plenty predictable,” Beth returns, with exasperated fondness. “Him,” she adds, pointing at Bobby, “maybe a little.”
“I do aim to be disarming,” Bobby manages as she comes back to standing. “You all right?”
“It takes far more than grass stains on my gown to do me in,” Beth says, taking the shuttlecock from Demeroven to line up to serve again.
“Mygown,” Gwen mutters. “Mrs.Stelm will have my hide, not hers.”
“Oh, posh, she’ll be glad to get out from underneath Mrs.Gilpe’s and MissWilson’s word games,” Bobby says.
Gwen’s housekeeper, Mrs. Gilpe, and her lady’s maid, Mrs. Stelm, were a force to be reckoned with before, but with the addition of Beth and Aunt Cordelia’s lady’s maid in the mix? They’re a terror unto themselves now.
“Truly dreadful,” Gwen agrees. “Do you like the London staff, Demeroven?”
“Oh, uh, I guess,” Demeroven says as he hits the shuttlecock back to Gwen. “Don’t know them all that well.”
“Except for your cook, right?” Beth asks. “My lady’s maid, MissWilson, said he’s been with your mother since you were small. He has a brother in town somewhere?”
Demeroven’s face goes slightly pale. “Ah, yes, he does.”
“Runs a club, I think,” Bobby says, feeling triumphant when the color in Demeroven’s face drains even further.
“Oh, well, you should be a shoo-in there, then,” Beth says brightly.
“Perhaps,” Demeroven says, his voice halting and high. “Point,” he adds, spiking the shuttlecock over the net in a kill shot Bobby can’t hope to catch.
“Well, it’s one-one, then,” Beth says.
“What club have you chosen, Mason?” Demeroven asks, staring pointedly at Bobby.
“I haven’t,” Bobby says honestly. “Been trying a few out.”
“Ah, yes, well, that tracks, doesn’t it?”
Bobby hits the shuttlecock across the net, imagining it’s Demeroven’s smug face. “Wouldn’t want to settle on a decision without doing proper research, would I?”
“Even if it could make you look indecisive?” Demeroven returns.
The most infuriating part of all of this is that Demeroven looks unfairly good right now. Heaving in air, all riled up, his face flushed. Bobby feels a flare of want deep in his gut. He bends down and snags the shuttlecock, squeezing too tight against that clench in his belly. He will not be attracted to sodding James Demeroven. He won’t. He’ll just... push that down like everything else.
He lines up to serve. “Actually, bothering to do research makes me informed, not indecisive. You might know the feeling if you were doing even half the work Albie is.”
He serves the shuttlecock hard over the net, but Demeroven’s ready, rallying it back with enough force that Bobby has to jerk to the side to hit it across to Beth.
“Oh, right, because your gambling and drinking and cavorting is a much better example to the ton,” Demeroven grits out.
“At least I’m able to make a decent impression. I’m not the one stumbling out of clubs and running away,” Bobby says, feeling a catch in his chest the moment the words are out of his mouth.
Gwen hits the shuttlecock across toward Demeroven, but he doesn’t move. It sails over his head as he stares at Bobby, wide-eyed. No matter what kind of arse the man is being, he didn’t deserve that.
“Demeroven, I—” Bobby starts.
Demeroven’s face shifts, a look of determination falling over him. “No, you’ve all the arrogance and disregard for decorum of your father, haven’t you?” Demeroven says. “Well on your way to being an even bigger disgrace than he was.”
Bobby stands there slack-jawed and winded. Beth and Gwen look between them, rackets held awkwardly, all of them still. Demeroven runs a hand through his tousled hair, chest heaving. He meets Bobby’s gaze, looking as shocked as Bobby feels.
Bobby would say something back—something cutting, something apologetic, something... something—but he can’t seem to make anything pass around the sudden lump in his throat. His own words were cruel, he knows. But he didn’t think Demeroven’s could feel like a knife in his chest like this.
