Her eyes finally met mine, but they flickered away in an instant. She gave a nod in greeting.
My accusatory smile seemed to make her uncomfortable. All the more reason to keep it. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady.” When Lady Tottenham walked away, I whispered, “why the bicorn hat?”
Her voice was barely audible. “I’m sorry.”
“Do you find them attractive? Is that why you asked me to wear one?” I teased.
Her jaw tightened. “They are only attractive on officers.”
“Thank you for the compliment.”
Her eyes shot to my face with surprise. I was not actually an officer, but it was worth the look on her face. I grinned, noticing the mound of flour on the tea table for the first time. A bullet sat on top, and a small butter knife rested on the tray beside it.
Lady Tottenham began speaking. “To begin, I shall assign you each a partner.” She surveyed the room. “Miss Morton and Mr. Amesbury. Miss Rowley and Mr. St. Vincent. Mrs. Fitzgibbon and Mr. Barnwall. Lady Daventry and…” her voice trailed off. “We shall have a trio, I suppose.” Her gaze darted between Lady Daventry and me. “Lady Daventry, Lord Kirkham, and Mr. Holland.”
Lady Daventry did not seem pleased with the arrangement. Her features were stiff, her skin pale.
“The objective of the game is to cut a slice of flour without causing the bullet to drop,” Lady Tottenham said. “Each partnership will take a turn, alternating which partner takes the risk of making the slice. Please move to sit beside your partner, and we will begin with Miss Morton and Mr. Amesbury.”
I shifted closer to Lady Daventry. Lord Kirkham replaced Mr. Barnwall to her right. The settee creaked under his weight. He pushed his hair back from his square forehead as he made a thorough study of Lady Daventry. He smiled, apparently pleased with what he saw. How could he not be? I sensed her discomfort with his attention, yet she still gave him a smile that was warmer than what I had received.
“Good evening, my lord.”
“Good evening, my lady.” He leaned forward, eyeing me with a challenge. “Mr. Holland.” His voice was curt.
We might have been partners, but he seemed to view me as competition for Lady Daventry’s attention. I didn’t wish to raise any sort of competition with a man who was obviously well-acquainted with violence. I eyed his chipped teeth and the scar that ran down the side of his forehead.
Miss Morton made the first cut in the flour, and the pattern continued as all the women in the partnerships took the first, and least risky slices, around the outskirts of the mound of flour. On the second round, Lord Kirkham bravely volunteered, leaving me to take the greatest risk on the third round. The mound of flour was significantly smaller now. The bullet hung off the edge of one side. I took a careful slice, leaving the pile in one piece.
Somehow, all the partnerships took another turn, leaving all the ladies safe from being the one to drop the bullet.
When it was Lord Kirkham’s turn again, his hand shook as he held the knife. It looked minuscule in his sausage-like fingers. The knife cut through the very edge of the flour, and the entire pile collapsed.
Delighted gasps filled the room as the other partnerships celebrated their victory. Lady Daventry adjusted her gloves, nervousness taking over her expression.
I leaned forward with a whisper. “Our team may have lost, but Lord Kirkham will have to retrieve the bullet with his mouth. That’s the traditional way, at least.” I was eager to see any pompous lord make a fool of himself. It would make the entire game worthwhile.
“This is Lady Tottenham’s game. It will be anything but traditional.”
I followed her gaze to our hostess, who applauded and rose to her feet. She stepped forward to examine the pile of flour. From where I sat, I had a clear view. The bullet had sunk to the bottom.
“Well, my lord, it would seem you are unlucky tonight.” She winked. “You must now retrieve the bullet using only your mouth.”
Lord Kirkham rolled up his sleeves, even though he would not be needing his arms. He cast a glance at Lady Daventry before kneeling in front of the pile of flour. Did he hope to impress her with his performance?
Lady Tottenham raised three fingers in the air. “On the count of three. One, two, three!”
Lord Kirkham dove into the flour like it was a Christmas goose. Seconds later, he came up with the bullet clamped between his chipped teeth. Flour had somehow coated his eyebrows and eyelashes, as well as his entire nose and mouth. He roared in victory, inhaling enough flour to set him into a coughing fit.
I watched in horrified fascination as he coughed up the flour, sending puffs of it into the air. He wiped at the spittle on his chin, and it rolled into a lump of dough that resembled a tiny loaf. If it were baked into bread, I was fairly certain not even a starving mouse would eat it.
I nudged Lady Daventry’s arm. “You’re safe from humiliation, even if you enjoy humiliating others.” I removed my bicorn hat, placing it on my lap just within her view.
She glanced at it. Candlelight flickered across her scowl, deepening the furrows. “I didn’t think you would actually come downstairs. I apologize. I was trying to deter you.”
I laughed. “Something you must know about me is that I am not easily deterred.”
Her throat bobbed with a swallow. “Perhaps you should be.”
