Chapter 93

One night? What he chose?
As Splendor strode into the dingy mews that dripped with wet washing and stank of boiling lard, she knew one thing. She would sooner die than agree to Stillmore's stakes. The disgusting dog. And she had thought herself like Cinderella the night of the ball? Well, Prince Charming would never, ever stoop to doing such a thing. He would not splatter along in the gutter beside her either, his casual strides easily keeping up with her, when the one thing she'd learned about him was that there was nothing casual about him.
"You did not let me finish," he said.
She didn't need to. Did he think she was morally slack because she had kissed him? Obviously.
"Of course you'll win, Splendor, you always do."
Splendor. She set her jaw. Had he ever called her that straight out? No. It was a presumption too far. A presumption of ownership. Because of course, he knew who she was. And worse, that she'd entered that competition under false pretences. Well, maybe she'd done that, she was not doing this.
"Well, perhaps you didn't notice, Your Grace, you being so busy doing other things, but that isn't what happened today. Perhaps you are under the mistaken misapprehension that I am a slut? Willing to debase myself further by sleeping with a man-"
"What?"
"-for the sake of ten thousand pounds?"
"Not exactly."
"Oh? You want more than one night from me, do you?"
"You flatter yourself into thinking I should want anything of you. That you're worth ten thousand pounds, the trouble you are."
When she was worth ten thousand and more?
"When I am engaged to Gabriel, and you purport to be in love with that dreadful woman, I need say nothing. Your disgusting offer speaks for itself."
His lips cinched. "Oh her? Well, that's the thing with love. The things you'll do to test it. The things you'll do for it. And the things it will do-"
"Well, if you were in love, you'd have married her."
He shrugged. "The sad thing is to perpetually equate one with the other. The miserable thing is to spoil what you may already have that way. The worst thing is you flatter yourself that I'd want to sleep with you."
Was there something wrong with her that he didn't want to sleep with her?
He must have seen something in her expression, because he gave another shrug of his expensively clad shoulders. "There are other ways of spending an evening you know. Lots of them, in fact."
Of course there were, but no man was going to pay ten thousand pounds for a dinner or dancing partner. Not even to make that blasted Langley creature jealous. Why should Stillmore be the exception? Bright star or not, she herself wasn't that entertaining. Unless a kind heart beat beneath the stony exterior of the man who had nearly killed her in a duel ...
"But there ..." He fished his watch from his pocket. "A pity, when you've never lost to me and my rewards are high, you won't play me. But perhaps that is what you fear? Not being as good as you think. Well, so long as you are all right, I'll be on my way."
Fear him and his pitiable, lamentable playing? Whose fault was it she'd just lost? If she hadn't listened to him in the first place, she would be being paraded on that dais, being baptized in champagne, instead of standing in this dank alleyway that reeked worse than a brewer's barrel, listening to all manner of curses from its inhabitants. He had completely ruined her playing. Every single aspect of it. It had all been a game to him.
Making Babs Langley jealous was what this entire charade had been about. He'd have offered Splendor the moon to do it, with as much chance of fetching it down from the sky as she had of netting it in a bucket. Along with that ten thousand. Even the watch case seemed to wink at her in the glinting, gray light, as if it knew just how badly she'd been had here. And she'd gone and let him kiss her too. Refused Gabe's perfectly respectable offer of marriage. She swung on her heel before her veins exploded.
Ten thousand bloody pounds.
What was it Papa always said, about never missing what you didn't have?
Ten thousand pounds. Actually, that's what she didn't have. She paused. Suppose Stillmore was really saying that she would beat him? Of course she would. Suppose he meant her to win though. A sort of thank you for making Babs Langley jealous, but he just didn't want her thinking so, a difficult man like him.
Credit where it was due, he hadn't tried to anything her after the scene in the theater. Suppose this was a sort of wedding gift to her and Gabe because of all that he'd done? She edged her gaze sideways. The fact was, his head was bent, and he seemed more interested in flicking the watch shut than wanting into her drawers.
Was she seriously going to face Gabe and tell him she had no hope of that money ever when one little game of chess could guarantee their future? Maybe she was jumping a battery of guns, and the earl meant what he said about there being other ways of spending an evening. A meal, perhaps? Another theatre visit?
It wouldn't even mean lying to Gabe. Not when she won fair and square. The earl had never beaten her. Not once. Even if Stillmore did want her and she lost, she could walk away.
If she didn't agree, the nobility of her actions better be enough to keep her, to keep the three of them, her, Gabe and Topaz. It had better be enough the first time she and Gabe rowed about how poor they were.
She raised her chin. Then she tilted it. "When?"