“Because you’re the prettiest anywhere.” He’d reverted to the grumpy tenor that had lessened over the last few days. I caught my lower lip between my teeth to hold back a laugh. Only Kit would be annoyed by the fact that other men thought a lady he was… courting?—wooing? regularly proposing to?—was pretty. “You know you’re heart-stopping. It isn’t usually a problem, but they know it as well.”
“They haven’t even looked over here.”
“Oh, yes they have,” he insisted, frown deepening, and the little divot above his brow reappearing.
“I am far less interesting than a game, Christopher.”
He shot me a disbelieving look. “Do they not have mirrors in Hasket House?”
“Actually, we have quite a lot of them, some rather expensive. Mama loves nothing quite so much as her own reflection.”
The tall, fair-haired man stumbled to his feet with a delighted cry and was met with groans and at least one shout of “Cad!” He called to the barman for another round of drinks. Across from me, Kit winced.
A maid ducked by with our plates, and Kit tucked in with a speed born from a desire to be elsewhere more than enjoyment.
From behind me, one of the losing men slurred to another. I couldn’t catch the entirety of it, “Turn up a flat,” was clear enough to predict the next several minutes.
Unwilling to worry Kit, I turned to my supper, but I had no sooner taken a bite of the roast than the winner of the previous round noted our presence. “Oi, do you play?” he called to Kit. “These two were under the hatches before we began.”
“I don’t,” Kit responded, forcing a disinterested tone.
“Come now, I need a decent opponent.”
“Then you’ll want someone else. As I said, I don’t play.”
“One game, and we’ll leave you and the little lady to your meal. We’ll even buy your supper.”
“No, thank you.”
The more he denied them, the more irritating they would become. They had plans to fleece Kit of every coin he had and weren’t about to leave him be.
“You think you’re too good to play with us?”
“I didn’t say that,” Kit insisted.
“I am,” I interjected. Kit’s wide, panicked gaze pinned me in place.
“I beg your pardon?” The man slurred once again.
“I am too good to play with you.”
“Davina…” Kit growled, too low for the rest of them to hear.
“Well, darling, I don’t suppose you have any pin money to put where your mouth is.”
“Stake?” I asked and stood from the table while Kit looked on in horror.
“Five pounds,” he said proudly, as if it were a profound sum of money. To him, it likely was. To me, it was actually pin money.
I nodded and sat down in an empty chair beside him. He finally returned to his seat while the other two scooted closer with jovial interest. Kit had followed and stood statue-stillbehind my chair, hands gripping the back of it. I leaned back, trapping him there, reassuring both of us of the other’s presence.
“You need a drink, girl.”
“Do they have Bonnie Barrel? Neat. For my companion as well. Of course, as a gentleman, I presume drinks are also included in your earlier offer.”
“You have yourself a little spitfire there,” he directed to Kit as if I wasn’t there. Kit, who, when I turned to glance at him, looked as though he were fighting back a fit of apoplexy. He would survive, though I did worry he might grind his teeth to nothing in the interim. “She for rent?”
Kit’s bit out, “Absolutely not!” was overshadowed by the raucous laughter from the men at the table.
