Bobby starts, looking down at Demeroven, who’s looking at Beth.
“What?” Beth asks, inelegant and surprised. Even Gwen looks taken aback.
“If you’re refusing to take part in some low-stakes betting on my account, it’s unnecessary. My remarks at the opera were... indelicate, to say the least, and the words of a cad to say more. Please, do not hold back on my behalf. I—I meant to say I was impressed by the work your cousin is doing, Lady Gwen, and that I hoped I too was making some effort to improve both ourfamilies’ standings. I did not mean to disparage our predecessors, nor to speak ill of the dead.”
Bobby knows there’s commotion around them, but he thinks you could hear a pin drop among their group.
“Thank you, Lord Demeroven,” Beth manages, a tight smile on her face as she looks up at him. “I appreciate it.”
Demeroven rummages in his jacket, pulling out a few bills. “Please, have a wager on me, would you both?”
Gwen snatches the bills before Beth can say anything, winking at Demeroven. She pulls Beth close. Beth’s gaze lingers on her cousin for a moment, and then that smile unfurls and she lets Gwen draw her into a quieter, but no less fervid, discussion of bets.
Demeroven looks back across the track, his face a bit less tense than before, and Bobby feels it all click horribly in his head. Bobby can’t take Raverson down alone. The only other person who knows about Raverson’s extortion plans—the only person Raverson has said it to outright—is Demeroven. Which means he has to accept Demeroven’s apology. They’ll need to work together to thwart Raverson’s scheming. It’s not as if anything Demeroven has said—at all—has been wrong. But Bobby’s wounded pride still flares bright in his chest.
Unfortunately, he no longer has the luxury of pride. Not with Raverson loudly making jokes and further connections across the track in the royal enclosure. Not when Raverson looks directly back at them and has the gall to tip his bloody hat in their direction before turning to chat with some dignitary Bobby can’t name.
Demeroven shifts closer to him, stretching uncomfortably. Bobby takes a deep breath. Demeroven offered an apology. He needs to make the next blasted move. So he reluctantly lowers his head to whisper, “We have to stop him.”
Demeroven startles, then glances briefly up at him. “Agreed.”
Bobby lets himself lean against the fence. He looks down at Demeroven, the man’s cheek such an unpleasant shade of purple that he feels some of his guarded pride slip away. “I’m sorry for startling you the other night.”
He sees Demeroven start to fight the comment before his shoulders slump. “I’m sorry for accosting you instead of having a simple conversation about Raverson. My... temper was already high; I shouldn’t have approached you that way.”
Bobby forces himself to nod. He has to meet Demeroven halfway if they’re ever to work together. They watch as the horses finally approach the starting gate, the crowd raucous around them. Bobby can hear Beth, Albie, and Gwen discussing something, their chatter fading into the sound of the crowd as the jockeys get into position.
“So what’s your plan?”
Bobby stiffens, glancing at Demeroven to find the man watching him carefully. “Why do I have to have the plan?” he asks.
“Because this is your fault,” Demeroven replies, his face closing off again.
“Well, if you had just told me Raverson has a habit of extorting his... connections,” Bobby counters, the indignance he’s been trying to ignore rising fast.
“How was I supposed to know that you’d go and dally with the man again?” Demeroven hisses.
“I did not— It wasn’t that—” Bobby begins, glancing around them.
The starting gun goes off and the horses charge out of the gate. Bobby watches the race, his pounding pulse having little to do with Gildermire’s immediate lead. They can barely get through a single discussion without devolving into an argument. And yet there’s something simmering in his stomachabout each conversation. They replay over and over in his head, and he wishes he knew why.
Why does this man’s opinion of him sit so heavy on his shoulders?
Gildermire wins by two lengths with Fisherman just behind. Gwen and Albie whoop while Beth jumps in place excitedly next to Demeroven. The man himself barely moves, staring broodily across the track. Bobby reluctantly follows his gaze and finds Raverson standing amid a cluster of dukes, shaking hands and grinning that irritatingly straight grin.
“Bobby, escort me to the water closet before the next race?” Beth asks.
“Demeroven, you escort me,” Gwen adds, grasping James’ arm before he can protest and yanking him toward the exit that will lead them across the track and around to the back of the pavilion.
Bobby sighs and takes Beth’s arm. “She’s a menace, you know,” he says as they follow sedately after Gwen and Demeroven.
Gwen does slow down when it becomes apparent Demeroven’s limp hasn’t quite loosened up yet. The sight makes Bobby’s throat tight with regret and he tugs Beth closer.
“She absolutely is,” Beth agrees. “You and James getting along a bit better now?”
“What, now that he’s offered a perfunctory apology for making you cry?” He glances down at Beth and finds her frowning up at him beneath her lace bonnet. He sighs. “We’re... finding things to—”
“Bond over?” Beth suggests.
