Page 6 of Savannah Royals
“Curiouser and curiouser.” He turns around, resting elbows and forearms on the railing, his long legs comfortably stretched out. A sliver of suspenders comes into view as his jacket falls open. “The questions are mounting up, Miss Katarina.”
“What questions?”
“Where are you from? What were you doing last night? Are you a pirate?” He nods toward my bejeweled fingers as he asks the last one.
I don’t want to acknowledge the first question, and I certainly don’t want to answer the second, so I settle for the third. “Would you be intrigued if I were? Is that your type—bohemian? Infidel? Nomad, perhaps?”
“Not even a little bit.” He raises his eyebrows in amusement and smiles. “But then again, renegades and grifters aren’t part of my standard social circle.”
Hmm, then you really wouldn’t like my answer to your second question.
In lieu of addressing the irony, I turn the tables. “What about you then?”
“What about me?”
I slip into the mundanely predictable shoptalk. “Where were you educated?”
“Vanderbilt. I graduated from their medical school three years past.”
Ah, there it is.
All the old money families are connected. No doubt it’s how he knows Florence. I bet her father personally stamped his acceptance to medical school.
I must not hide my distaste because Matthew’s follow-up is prompt. “Do you dislike Vanderbilt? I mean, it’s no Harvard, but—”
“Vanderbilt is lovely.” I offer nothing more. Brevity is truly the most excellent bait.
“But…?” Matthew looks at me.
“But nothing. Harvard is overrated. Harvard men are a dime a dozen, are they not?”
He tips his head back and laughs, the sound ringing through the empty garden. A weeping cluster of Spanish moss billows softly, perhaps on the breath of his laugh. “Now there’s an independent thought if ever I’ve heard one. Please, tell me more.”
A quick shiver runs up my spine.Challenge accepted.
“Let me see…the DaMolin family.” I tap a finger against my lip in mock scrutiny. “Distant relations to Queen Victoria, but close enough to have been gifted heirloom treasures…rubies, I believe? Crafted into a necklace?” A spectacular necklace, to be precise, worth more than the sum of everything I’ve ever stolen in my life. The very thought has my sticky fingers tingling. “What were you, first cousins?”
“Second,” he grunts. “But that was lifetimes ago. That necklace is on its third generation now.”
“Fascinating. Old English turned new American in the 1800s. Subsequent fortune made in the news and publishing industries, supported by aggressive investments. And yet you—a newly mintedphysician—forsake the hallowed Harvard…not interested in the hotsy-totsy cleavage parade inside—”
“Hotsy-totsy cleavage parade?” He chortles again.
“You have a better name for them?”
“I merely find the reference to be of prescient irony.” He nods at my corset-enhanced bustline.
Hook, line, sinker.“So youareinterested? Or at least noticing?”
“Come on.” He shakes his head. “That’s not fair.”
I smile deviously. “Who said I play fair?”
“You’re a piece of work, aren’t you?” He finally looks away from me, but he’s grinning. “So that’s it? You think you’ve got me all figured out?”
“Oh, bless your heart.” I toss more chum in the water. “I’m just getting started.”
He looks back to me. “Very well, enlighten me.”
