“How is that so when the skin on your palms is soft and callous free? One must treat the precious parts of a man’s anatomy with special care and attention.”
When her mouth curled into a sly smile, his heart thumped hard against his ribs.
“Clearly your injury has affected your memory. The last time you stirred and asked to use the pot I held naught but the bowl.”
Damian laughed. It was not his usual sound of feigned amusement, but one that brought lightness to his chest.
“Then I grant you a reprieve.” He might not ask her to help him piss in a pot, but he would feel her hands on his body soon enough. “A reprieve from your nursing duties, I might add, not from your responsibilities as my partner in this case.”
“This case? You make us sound like agents working for the Crown.”
“A game of fantasy never harmed anyone.”
“I conceive you have a rather wild and vivid imagination, sir.”
“Let’s just say that spies forced to sleep in the same bed might resort to more than an embrace to keep out the cold.” Being a man who did not need erotic thoughts to rise to the occasion, it was best he stopped there. “And out of concern for my health and that of your friend Flannery, you should accompany me when I visit The Silver Serpent lest one of us ends up dead.”
She studied him for a few seconds before exhaling a sigh of surrender. “If we are to visit Mr Flannery, you should know he will not tolerate arrogance or disrespect.”
“Then we will get along famously.”
“Or he will kill you. Both prospects prove terrifying.”
“Perhaps I might win him over with my wit and charm,” he said to lighten the mood. He wasn’t afraid of any man, let alone a thug who only knew how to fight with his fists.
“For both our sakes, I hope you do.” She inclined her head and bade him good night. She stopped on the threshold and turned to face him. “While Mr Flannery knows about the minor incidents with my horse and the dog in Green Park, he knows nothing about the intruder. It is best we keep it that way.”
Was that the reason for her reservation?
Would Dermot Flannery rip through the ton like a whirlwind, bringing death and destruction in his wake? Either way, Damian would discover more about the Irishman most gamblers revered. He would discover if Dermot Flannery was a loyal family friend, or a murderer hiding behind a mask.
Chapter Twelve
Once a coffeehouse where men gathered to converse about politics, their wretched wives and play a few hands of cards, The Silver Serpent had done away with the beverage in favour of potent spirits. Spirits strong enough to affect a man’s ability to concentrate on his game. Regular patrons knew the house always won, but that didn’t stop the young bucks trying to break the bank.
Only fools and drunken sots believed in rags-to-riches tales.
Sensible men knew when to cut and run.
“Did you send word we were coming?” Damian asked as he took Scarlett’s hand and assisted her descent from the carriage.
“Of course,” she said, straightening her skirts.
“And did you explain the nature of our relationship?”
“Mr Flannery knows we’re not lovers if that is what you mean.”
No, they were not lovers, not yet, but a man brought back from the brink of death numerous times knew to have faith.
“Am I to assume that we’re standing on Princes Street because you cannot enter the establishment via the front door?”
“Women are not permitted entrance, Wycliff. You know that.”
“Not even the owner?”
“If men knew of my association with the club, they would bombard me with pleas for clemency. Desperate wives with crying babes in their arms would accost me in the street. Every devious lord would look for a means to bribe me so that I might wipe his slate clean. Hence the reason we are using the side entrance in the alley.”
He glanced at the avenue between the two taverns, where drunken revellers stumbled out into the night to empty their bursting bladders. “Please tell me you don’t usually visit the club after dark. These passages are unsafe for a woman on her own.”