Page 24 of Hazard a Guest
“Hannah,” she corrected with a small smile, as though she somehow knew Freddy had created this defiance of the social order only to needle Joe specifically. “We are to use first names now, are we not?”
“Good girl,” said Freddy through a mouthful of food.
Ember shook her head but also chuckled. “Dot was Hannah’s chaperone through the last two social Seasons,” she explained. “I believe Millie has escorted her a couple of times as well.”
“Yes, that is right,” Hannah nodded, looking wistful. “I’m ever so grateful for their kindness and their friendship. I hope to someday be as good as they are.”
“Cold milk,” Freddy suddenly said, swallowing with effort. “Whycoldmilk?”
“Because the tea is very hot, fool,” said Ember Donnelly with casual impatience. “Why else?”
CHAPTER 9
“That’s him!”
Freddy had appeared so suddenly at Ember’s elbow that she had half a mind to slap him for the startle. As it was, she jumped, squeaking a little in surprise.
He’d ruined a perfectly enjoyable rumination of the ocean view as bleary-eyed guests started to mill into the breakfast room, showing up like that.
But then she realized what he meant.
“Which one?” she whispered, turning on her heel as slowly and carefully as she could to regard the line of grumbling merrymakers turned shambling undead that were currently lined up for croissants and pears.
She scanned the men. Most were old enough to have gone gray, purple sacks of regret tugging at their eyelids until they could have a cup of something hot and stimulating. Was Beck one of these aged dandies, looking for a thrill before he drove her out of business?
“Not them.” Freddy sounded impatient. “There, in the doorway.”
She tilted her view, frowning, her fingers pressing against the hot edge of her teacup to remind herself what was at stake.
Sadly, it seemed Thaddeus Beck was determined to be something other than a pampered, doddering peer. An unfortunate choice, Ember thought, but a respectable one.
The man exchanging words with Lord Penrose in the doorway looked to still be in his second decade and in very hale health. He was large, over a head taller than Penrose, though he’d been tailored into clothing that attempted to diminish this imposition, carefully cut to present the illusion of decorum.
She narrowed her eyes, scanning him, his shiny umber hair, the prominence of his brow, the crisscross of scars on his hands, which he was using to emphasize whatever he was saying to the other man.
Just who the hell did he think he was? How had this ostensible bruiser been more acceptable to invite to Blackcove than Ember herself?
He looked like someone she’d hire to work the door at the Forge, she thought, not someone who could afford to buy it out, fine clothes be damned. She would place a wager, if asked, that if you ripped away that finely folded cravat, you’d find a prison tattoo underneath.
Hell, she’d stake the damned bet. She’d call the ante. And Ember never gambled.
“Don’tstare,”Freddy hissed into her ear, bringing her back to herself enough that she jerked her hand from the heat of her teacup, her fingers singing in pain.
“Thank you,” she muttered.
But what now? Damn it all, but she hadn’t planned for him to be anything other than a dip-dyed version of Freddy: familiar and manageable.
Looking at him now, this tavern brawler in silk, she had no idea what to do. She wasn’t even sure she should greet him.
Sadly, it seemed she wasn’t going to have a choice, for the instant Beck turned to enter the dining area, his eyes fell on her and widened in surprise.
Black eyes, she thought. The eyes of a criminal.
“Miss Donnelly,” he said, with a voice like a stiletto wrapped in velvet, “what a pleasant surprise to see you again.”
“Oh?” She tilted her head up, gazing at him as he approached, her fingers thrumming with the embedded feeling of heat from the teacup. “Have we met?”
He laughed. He laughed at her.
