Page 37 of Rakes & Reticules
“I’m full to bursting.” Siobhan dabbed her mouth. “That was delicious. I must compliment Mrs. Dough.”
“You need to eat more.” Fletcher eyed her still almost full plate and barely touched custard pie.
Giving him a starchy look, she shrugged.
“My stomach will only hold so much, Fletcher.”
Did she even realize she’d fallen into addressing him by his given name?
That might cause raised eyebrows amongst the other employees, but then again, everyone who worked for him knew his strict rule of keeping relationships at his businesses purely professional. “In time, with sufficient food, you shall be able to.”
She put a finger to her chin.
“As I see it, Fletcher, there is one major flaw with your plan. Everyone knows you don’t permit your female staff to consort with guests other than respectable dancing and conversation. No one will believe you’ve suddenly changed your mind where I am concerned.”
He winked as he lifted a forkful of custard pie to his mouth. “I don’t recall saying you would attend as an employee.”
That gave her pause, and suspicion tightened the corners of her mouth and narrowed her eyes. “Pray explain yourself.”
“You shall be Darius’s widowed guest because widows don’t require chaperones and are granted leeway with decorum that a debutante would not.” He circled his fork in the air. “No one will think twice about a woman he’s escorting. It’s also helpful that Darius went to university with Huxley’s younger brother, so he acquainted with the viscount.”
Because the Westbrooks weresoimportant.
Siobhan opened her mouth to object, but Fletcher held up his hand. “Darius has already agreed to the plan.”
Shaking her head, Siobhan placed her napkin on the table. “It won’t work. I am not refined enough to pass as ale beau mondemember, and you’re forgetting my surname. Everyone atDe la Chanceknows it. Won’t your other employees think it peculiar?”
Of course they would, but there was no help for it.
“Your surname presented a bit of a pickle until Darius suggested we change it to McKinney. As for the other staff, I’ll apprise them of the situation, and they shall play along. They are tired of looming danger too.”
To reassure her, Fletcher leaned forward and touched her hand on the table.
The gesture surprised her, and she widened her eyes. However, the jolt of sensation racing up his forearm to his shoulder nearly made him yelp.
“It’s not the most elaborate plan, Siobhan, but I think it might work.”
“You’ve worked it all out, haven’t you?” She pulled the blanket snugger around her shoulders despite the July afternoon’s heat. “I may not have a choice, but I still don’t trust you.”
Trust was a perverse thing, too easily given, and often proved a double-edged sword.
“Then we are well matched.” Fletcher set his silverware down, the merest hint of exasperation in the abrupt gesture. “Because, Siobhan Kenney, I don’t trust you either. However, we must put aside our differences and have faith in each other to pull this off.”
She searched his face, all her doubts and misgivings parading across her features.
What would he do if she refused?
She mustn’t.
“Agreed?” Fletcher extended his hand.
Her focus shifted from his hand to his face and back to his hand before, after another heartbeat, she slid her delicate palm into his. He could break the fragile bones by squeezing too hard.
“Agreed.”
CHAPTEREIGHT
De la Chance main gaming salon
