Chapter 3 #2
It was then that Saffron, searching for a good put-down or, in the absence of it, something with which she could rescue Martin, realized Dr. Henry was no longer standing among them.
He hadn’t been any help to begin with, but surely he would have spoken up by now.
It was on her, then, to put a stopper in Clark and his friends’ drivel.
“For someone who claims to be a connoisseur of entertainments, you spend your time in a curious manner.”
The lazy sneer on Clark’s face remained in place, but his eyes sharpened on her. “What do you know of my preferences for entertainment, Mrs. Ashton?” he asked silkily.
Saffron crossed her arms. “I’m simply surprised that someone who’s supposedly so worldly lowers himself to harassing a boy and beating him at cards every night.”
At her side, Martin made a weak noise of protest.
“Bold words,” Clark said, “considering you’d sooner send the fellow you’ve got by the short hairs to do your dirty work. Where is Ashton, by the way? Lurking in the shadows, awaiting your bidding, is he?”
“I don’t need him or anyone else to do whatever dirty work you refer to.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.”
“So it’ll be you at the card table, putting me in my place?”
Before she knew what she was saying, she announced, “Yes.”
A slimy smile formed on Clark’s lips. He leaned forward so his boozy breath clouded in her face. “I’ll see you at the card table, then.”
After being told by what felt like every single member of the expedition that his fiancée had challenged Clark to a game of poker, Alexander felt he had no choice but to spend the evening in the card room, if only to put the rumors to rest. Saffron clearly hadn’t felt well—she’d slept most of the afternoon and vanished from the dance floor before he could bid her good night—and so Clark and the others decided it would be clever to use her absence to fuel a silly rumor.
His presence was generally a good deterrent against their juvenile mischief, and thus there he was, sitting a smoky room, listening to drunken guffawing and off-color jokes.
He tossed a winning hand onto the table, concluding the desultory round of cards he’d been roped into and eliciting groans from his companions.
It was barely past midnight, still plenty of time for the more idiotic of the bunch to make trouble, but late enough that the anticipatory looks directed at the door had dwindled.
Now no one expected Saffron to show up, he could probably slip out.
A great hush filled the room with such suddenness that it was almost like the immediate aftereffect of an explosion: muffled and tense, then unraveling into noise and chaos. Men stood from their tables in an abrupt shuffle.
Alexander rose to his feet to see what the emergency was.
Urgency drained from him, leaving his insides hollow. Standing in the doorway, eyes darting around the room and hands balled into fists at her side, was Saffron.
He was at her side before she could take two steps. “Good evening,” he said evenly, offering his arm.
Warily, she took it and allowed him to draw her to the side. The scent of coffee and her usual perfume clung to her. “Good evening,” she replied.
“I do hope you are here,” he murmured, angling himself before her to block the gawkers, “to dispel a ridiculous rumor floating around that you told Clark you’d thrash him at cards.”
Her blue eyes did not meet his, instead roaming what little she could see of the room from behind him. “Don’t be silly, Alexander. Of course I didn’t say I would thrash him.”
“What did you say, then?”
“I said I wouldn’t let him thrash me. Or Martin Neill, for that matter.”
He raised a questioning brow.
Saffron sighed, bravado slipping. “Clark was taunting Martin horribly, right in front of these fellows. It was really quite cruel. I could hardly say nothing, could I?”
“And your recourse was to challenge Clark to a poker game?” He wasn’t sure if he should feel frustrated or amused. “I didn’t know you played poker.”
“Oh, well.” A flush crept up her neck and flooded her cheeks. “It’s a rather recent pastime of mine.”
“How recent?”
“What time is it?”
“Twelve fifteen.”
She gave him a trepidatious smile. “I’ve been playing poker for all of three hours. Practically a master.”
Alexander withheld a groan. “These games are played for money, Saffron. Real money. Not just a few pennies.”
Her sheepish look soured, and she frowned at him. “I know that, thank you. I have money.”
“Happy to hear it.” Clark had sidled over to them, and his loud drawl had drawn the attention of most of the room.
“If the lady is ready for our game,” he said, sweeping a hand toward the nearest table.
The desire to put himself between Clark and Saffron was strong, but her hand tightening on his arm told Alexander it was not the right thing to do. Saffron felt she had to prove something to Clark, and the rest of the crew. In truth, she did.
And even if it was the last thing he wanted to do, Alexander stepped out of her way.