I saw the exact moment she took my meaning. “You! You’re in business with pirates.”
“So are you,” I teased.
“Yes, but I’ve been told I’m a rebel.”
“Oh yes, positively anarchic.”
“You, Mr. Summers, are far more interesting than I would have credited you for,” she acknowledged, tipping her fairy cake toward me in a facsimile of a toast. Entirely too charming for her own good.
“Kit,” I blurted before I could stop myself. Damned whiskey.
“What?”
“You can call me Kit. If you like.”
“Kit,” she tested, tasting the word on her tongue, seeing how it blended with the floral fairy cakes she preferred. I heard the rustle of skirts before I understood that she had tucked her knee against the seat to face me fully.
“Only if you wish to,” I added.
“I do. It suits you. Kit and Kate, your parents liked theK’s andT’s.”
“Christopher and Katherine, actually. And the family calls her Katie. So not that similar, in truth. But Katie couldn’t say hers’s when she was little. So Christopher became Kitopher, which is absurd. So Kit.”
“Kit,” she said once again. It was intimate, visceral, hearing a woman using my Christian name. And Davina using it, with her low, rumbling, rasp… I felt it lap over me, waves licking at my skin. My chest tightened at the sensation. “Davina—if you’d like.”
My heart took that as permission to stop for a second before racing to catch up. “Davina,” I repeated. It wasn’t the first time I’d said the word, not by any measure. But dropping the title… It was musical, like one of Katie’s piano melodies, but less showy. “Not Dav?”
She shook her head. “Davina. I prefer it.”
“Then why does your brother call you Dav?”
“I suppose he always has, long before I could object, and I’ve just… never corrected him.”
She held out the final third of fairy cake in her open palm. “Really?” I asked eagerly.
“Quickly, before I change my mind.”
Never one to pass up a sweet, I finished the proffered treat in a single bite. Lady Davina—Davina—preferred floral and herbal flavors in her sweets. I liked them, but I would choose the chocolate every time. This one was lavender and lemon, whichswirled together into something light and refreshing, rather than the rich, dark chocolate one I’d decimated earlier. It was breezy and bright, like her.
I chased it with another sip of whiskey, even smoother on the second sip.
She made a grabbing motion with her delicate hand, now bereft of fairy cake. I passed her the bottle, watching as her lips found the neck. Christ, the inside of my head was beginning to sound like Will’s whenever he looked at Celine.
“Whiskey calls for a game,” she insisted, her tongue dipping out to catch an amber droplet from her lip.
“What sort of game?” I croaked before holding a hand out for her to pass the bottle.
Her dark gaze cast about the carriage for a moment, searching for some sort of game as I savored the burn of another sip.
Suddenly, she perked up, snatched her reticule from the far seat, and tugged it open. Her hand slipped inside and dug around far more thoroughly than such a tiny bag ought to warrant.
Her spine straightened and she pulled out a pair of dice, holding them between thumb and middle finger triumphantly. “Hazard?”
“Lord, no.”
Full lips twisted into an exaggerated pout but I held firm. “Fine,” she relented. “I know! If we roll even, you tell me something I don’t know about you. Odd, I tell you one.”
I saw disappointment cross her face as reluctance crossed mine. Unable to bear the forlorn expression, I sighed, nodding.
