Page 32 of Hazard a Guest
In the days following, no obvious culprit could be found, not a bad round of fish or a suspicious pitcher of milk. Instead, the only conclusion anyone could draw, according to Merryn the maid, was that the folks affected were the ones whodidn’teat a particular dish.
The Cornish pasties.
Every toff and noble who’d turned their noses up at warm pastry flake and hot stew had come down with a case of bilious misery.
Ember liked that.
Penrose, who’d probably eaten nothing but the pasties, had stood in the middle of the gaming room, watching in disoriented confusion as his guests were toppled off one by one.
Beck, she had noted with displeasure, seemed perfectly hale. He’d stayed at his own table, knocking down his own set of victims with savage hands ofvignt-et-ununtil it became untenable to continue.
Ember’s preferred game was faro, but she could count cards just as well if he was stuck there. Any fool could count to twenty-one.
In any event, they’d all enjoyed an early night.
She hadhopedto begin her private lessons with Joe Cresson immediately, but with so many people clinging to the walls in the hallways and stumbling back and forth, they had exchanged a quiet glance of understanding that tomorrow would be better.
He’d touched her hand lightly, just once, and whispered, “Good night,” like he was trying to kill her.
Besides, Hannah Lazarus was with them, stepping delicately out of the way of not one but two near-misses with the sick. Ember wasn’t usually much for observing decorum, but she would have felt a pang of guilt if she’d set an example for the lass of stealing away to Joe’s room in the night.
And God, did she want to steal away to his room.
She wondered if he required lessons in anything other than dice. She had a head for odds, of course, but the potential of his lived experiences with women were, by her estimation, a 50/50 split of likelihoods between devastating trail of well-pleasured former conquests or, potentially, no one at all.
Worst of all, she found both options equally appealing.
It was hard for anything tonotbe appealing when looking down the barrel of helping him out of those tails, wasn’t it? Of getting those carefully styled curls back into disarray.
She sighed. Maybe she did need a muzzle after all, though she’d never acknowledge to Freddy that one of his quips had been right.
Just one, she reminded herself. Not that other one.
She frowned, heading into the bedroom, Freddy’s voice echoing in her ear.He’s not for you.
Well, who was he to decide?
Mr. Cresson was a barrister, an international hero, and a damned fine specimen of masculinity. He could very well decide for himself, couldn’t he?
Couldn’t he?
She shook her head, kicking the door shut behind her and making poor Hannah startle.
“Sorry,a stóirín,” she said immediately. “Was lost in my own head.”
“What does that mean?” Hannah asked, tilting her head as she pulled the pins out of her hair, repeating with damn near perfect pronunciation. “A stóirín?”
Ember smiled. “It means ‘my treasure’ or something like ‘darling.’ Common where I come from.”
“Oh?” said Hannah, shaking out her glorious copper mane. “Where in Ireland do you originate, anyway?”
“Kildare,” Ember replied, delighted to be asked as she found her way to perch on the foot of the bed. “Do you know Ireland? Have you been?”
Hannah nodded. “Papa took me to Dublin once. It was very pretty. Many hills.”
“Many,” agreed Ember, grinning. “Kildare is not so large or grand as Dublin, but it’s got a lot of beauty and a lot of legend.”
“The warrior monks,” said Hannah with a smile.
