I had a vague recollection of sharing that sentiment when I was his age. I shrugged and snagged a bit of bread before he ate that, plate and all.
Davina sipped her whiskey, continuing to examine me with bright eyes.
Rory picked hers up and tipped it toward me. “If I have any more than this, I ought not drive. And he’ll be asleep as soon as he finishes stuffing his face. Are we staying the night?”
Yes, was the instinctive response, but the reasonable part of me knew Davina likely wanted to reach her brother before the babe turned seven.
But when I glanced at her, she was peering up at me with an eager sort of expression. She nodded and I rose to go talk to Matthews.
Thirty-One
CRIMSON LILY, NEWCASTLE UPON TYNE—APRIL 13, 1817
DAVINA
I was somewhatdisappointed when Kit returned with four sets of keys and another round of whiskey. Two or three keys would have been preferable, but his determination to cling to his honor had not been shattered with Ambrose’s nose.
After a brief cheers, or in the case of Rory, “Slàinte mhath,” we settled in to enjoy the next hour. The broken glass had been cleaned up, for the most part. I still wouldn’t be willing to risk wandering about barefoot.
“So, the fisticuffs, Christopher?” Rory asked.
He dragged an agitated hand across his beard in that way he seemed to favor. What he did when he was agitated and had no beard was a mystery to me, one I wanted an answer to. Though I also wanted the beard to stay, always.
“Ask the little menace, it’s her fault.”
My cry of “Slander!” was overshadowed by Rory’s, “I never doubted that for a moment, but I asked you.”
“He was crude,” was the only explanation Kit offered.
I scoffed, shooting him a look over the rim of my glass.
Kit sighed before explaining the game with none of my due praise for my hazard prowess, wit, and brilliance.
“Well done, lass,” Rory said with a smile, clearly recognizing my magnificence even in Kit’s insufficient explanation.
“Where’d ye learn to play?” Alfie asked between bites of his third helping of roast.
“My brother taught me.”
“Do ye think he’ll teach me?”
“Oh, not Xander. Gabriel, my late brother.”
Kit’s hand found its way between my back and the chair, warming my lower spine.
“No, do not even ask. She cannae, lad. Yer mother will have my hide if ye take up gaming.”
As soon as Rory turned back to her meal, I gave Alfie a quick nod. I wasn’t looking at Kit but I could feel the smile in his gaze. Probably at least three-quarters of one.
When Sally stopped by the table to check in, Alfie requested another round. She was off before anyone could object. Usually, I would have appreciated his initiative. But I knew, without a doubt, that if I had another glass, Kit wouldn’t touch me for two days. He had been very, very concerned with my acquiescence in the carriage. I sensed the flush rising in my cheeks at that memory—of the gravel in his voice when he pressed me to practice my yes and no.
Thathadn’t been part of Celine’s little talk. Nor had the thrumming of my blood as Kit’s thumb traced the line of my spine. It was a casual effort. I wasn’t entirely certain he was aware he was doing it. But it reminded me of the way he’d used that thumb in other, more delicate places, to ecstatic effect.
When our drinks arrived, I made no move toward mine. Kit, too, left his untouched. But he did abandon my lower back, leaving it cold and lonely in his absence. Instead, he found myhand and laced our fingers together under the table. His thumb continued its erotic dance, this time over the pulse on my wrist.
A glance under my lashes at him confirmed there was a smug quirk to his lip. Oh… He knew precisely what he was doing to me. And he was thrilled.
I slid a foot along the floor, to press against his ankle in punishment.
