“Ooh, the honey ones too?”
Sophie nodded, biting back a smile as Eliza led them both back inside for delectable treats.
If a Wayland twinwas found at Wayland’s, it was ordinarily Sophie. Neither girl was as frequent a visitor to the club as Georgiana Ainsley, who often reviewed the ledgers on her father’s behalf. But both girls were frequent enough guests that no one batted an eye when they stepped inside.
Sebastian Kincade was an unassuming man to serve as dunner and floor manager. He was neither massive of height nor width—an unusual stature for an enforcer—but his keen eye fortrouble more than made up for those shortcomings. That very skill set left him groaning at the sight of Sophie Wayland.
“No.”
“Come now, Bash. It’s been ages,” Sophie protested, fluttering her lashes at him.
Bash glanced away, gaze landing on Eliza. “Why’ve you let her come? You’re the sensible one.”
“If you’ve learned how to talk sense into her, I’d love to know the secret.” Eliza smiled. She rather thought Bash would meet with more success than anyone else.
They’d been one and ten the first time Sophie had flushed at the then footman’s name. She made too frequent mention of him during their late-night chats to be a coincidence. No, Sophie Wayland had carried a torch for Bash for nearly five years before other names replaced his. Even now, infatuation long forgotten, Sophie had a tendency to heed his counsel more than anyone else’s—at least when his counsel was near enough to her own desires.
“Which table today?” Sophie asked, peering around his shoulder.
He sighed as he rolled his dark eyes. “Vingt-et-un is running warm. I’d?—”
“You know I don’t play against the house. That’s my inheritance.”
“Then poque. Hughes is green and newly in funds—eager to lose both. He was desperate to be first on the trend. You know how the young ones are about the Continent.”
“Which one?”
He tipped his head toward a scrawny lad of no more than seven and ten.
“Perfect. You’ll be a dear and send him a drink on the house? As a congratulation on his new inheritance.”
“I will not,” he insisted, a flush blooming on his rich, brown skin.
“Thank you,” Sophie said, ignoring his response. “This is why you’re my favorite.” She wandered over to the table, half-empty for the hour.
“I’ll not do that,” Bash called after her, losing volume halfway through the sentence.
“You’re going to fetch him the drink, aren’t you?” Eliza asked.
“And hate myself with every step.”
“Is Papa upstairs?”
“Yes, he’s meeting with Mr. Ainsley and Georgie.”
“I’ll return shortly. You’d best get on that drink before you disappoint her and you’re demoted to second favorite. Now, if you brought a round for the entire table…” Eliza opined, tapping a palm to his shoulder on her way past.
“You’re as bad as she is,” he muttered as she passed.
She turned back to him with a grin. “Worse; no one sees me coming.” She spun on her heels, leaving Bash to the bar, and made her way to the staircase that wrapped around two of the octagonal walls.
Eliza passed the first ornately carved door, making her way to the second instead. Her knock was a formality, and she turned the knob even as she did.
Augie Ainsley had been her father’s best friend and brother in all but name since they were children. He’d managed the day-to-day operations of the club for years. His daughters were her dearest friends—as close as cousins or even sisters—and she loved him as another uncle.
Inside, she found her father, Augie, and Georgie hunched over a serviceable oak desk, much less ornate than the one in the office her father maintained.
Georgie’s smile was bright when she rose to greet Eliza before dragging a chair over to the desk.
