growled.
The room went deadly silent. Will snapped his gaze to hers, but nothing showed in her eyes. Not fear, not anger, nothing.
“What’s that?” Poke asked, canting his head as if he hadn’t quite heard.
Oxford leered at his coveted prize, then spurted his gaze back to Poke. “I want ’er,” he said.
Poke laughed. “Granted, there’s not much flesh to her, but still, I fear you could never finish her off in one meal.”
Oxford licked his lips. Jack’s face was as white as death.
“I want ’er for the night.”
“Well, Mr. Oxford, as you know…” Poke smiled. “Princess is my lady. I hardly think it would be seemly to share—”
“Master Poke!” Gem interrupted, her tone sharp, her eyes ungodly large. “Ya only said food. We only choose the food for the night. You can’t—”
“Stay the ’ell outta this!” Oxford growled, leaning across the table and baring his dark-stained teeth. “It ain’t your turn tonight, missy.”
“Master—” Gem tried again, but Poke shushed her.
“Hush now,” he crooned, and gave Oxford a whisper of a smile. “I fear young Gemini is correct, Mr. Oxford. In the past the victor chose only the meal.”
“I don’t want the meal.”
“Well…” Poke turned up his palms and glanced around the table with a sheepish grin. “That would surely leave more for the rest of us. What say you, my young cubs?”
Jack’s hungry eyes were as wide as his plate. Peter’s were narrowed, and Gem’s knuckles were white atop the table’s rough grain.
“No response? Then I suspect—”
“This ain’t right.” Peter’s voice was low. Gone was the good-natured lad. In his place was a young man, teetering dangerously on the edge of explosion.
“Not right?” Poke said and blinked as though confused. “Are you saying this is morally wrong, Mr. Bald, or that you want our princess for yourself?”
Peter’s face reddened. He flickered his gaze to Princess and back. “It should be her choice.”
Poke laughed. “The spoils don’t choose. Isn’t that correct, Princess?”
Something sparked in her eyes, but she said nothing. William’s throat ached with the tension. Beneath thetable, he loosened his fists and remained perfectly still.
“I fear it is my unhappy decision to make, and I shall have to say…” Poke sighed as he scowled at the faces around him. “Oxford brought in a lovely prize. He deserves to choose his reward.”
Peter jerked to his feet. “Over my dead body.”
Poke smiled. “If needs be, Mr. Bald,” he said, and reached languidly into his jacket.
Peter stepped back and froze, his eyes wide with terror, but Poke only pulled out a cheroot and inhaled the scent. Oxford laughed as he rose to his feet. His chair grated against the floor and his footsteps rapped sharp and hollow as he paced around the table toward his prize.
“I am sorry, my dear,” Poke said, and shrugged as he struck a match and touched it to his cigar. “I shall save you some supper.”
She rose to her feet. Her gaze was steady on Poke, as though the Irishman weren’t directly behind her. As though he weren’t nearly touching her. His breath on her neck. His hand—
Fuck it to hell!
“Oxford!” William found himself standing, though he didn’t remember rising.
The Irishman flitted his narrow eyes sideways. “This ain’t got nothin’ to do with you, Mr. Fancy Trousers.”
He was right. So right. Holy hell! He was way over his head. He was a baron, for God’s sake. Wounded. Addled. Trapped. And she was a…
“Touch her, and I’ll kill you,” Will said.
The entire world went silent, then Oxford laughed, low and evil and happy.
“You?” He curled his lips away from his teeth. “You couldn’t kill a snake.”
Will’s mind was issuing a low, steady warning—sit down, shut up. Sit down. Shut up.
But he pushed back his chair. It scraped loud and jarring in the heavy silence. “Luckily,” he said, “I only have to kill you.”
Oxford faced
The room went deadly silent. Will snapped his gaze to hers, but nothing showed in her eyes. Not fear, not anger, nothing.
“What’s that?” Poke asked, canting his head as if he hadn’t quite heard.
Oxford leered at his coveted prize, then spurted his gaze back to Poke. “I want ’er,” he said.
Poke laughed. “Granted, there’s not much flesh to her, but still, I fear you could never finish her off in one meal.”
Oxford licked his lips. Jack’s face was as white as death.
“I want ’er for the night.”
“Well, Mr. Oxford, as you know…” Poke smiled. “Princess is my lady. I hardly think it would be seemly to share—”
“Master Poke!” Gem interrupted, her tone sharp, her eyes ungodly large. “Ya only said food. We only choose the food for the night. You can’t—”
“Stay the ’ell outta this!” Oxford growled, leaning across the table and baring his dark-stained teeth. “It ain’t your turn tonight, missy.”
“Master—” Gem tried again, but Poke shushed her.
“Hush now,” he crooned, and gave Oxford a whisper of a smile. “I fear young Gemini is correct, Mr. Oxford. In the past the victor chose only the meal.”
“I don’t want the meal.”
“Well…” Poke turned up his palms and glanced around the table with a sheepish grin. “That would surely leave more for the rest of us. What say you, my young cubs?”
Jack’s hungry eyes were as wide as his plate. Peter’s were narrowed, and Gem’s knuckles were white atop the table’s rough grain.
“No response? Then I suspect—”
“This ain’t right.” Peter’s voice was low. Gone was the good-natured lad. In his place was a young man, teetering dangerously on the edge of explosion.
“Not right?” Poke said and blinked as though confused. “Are you saying this is morally wrong, Mr. Bald, or that you want our princess for yourself?”
Peter’s face reddened. He flickered his gaze to Princess and back. “It should be her choice.”
Poke laughed. “The spoils don’t choose. Isn’t that correct, Princess?”
Something sparked in her eyes, but she said nothing. William’s throat ached with the tension. Beneath thetable, he loosened his fists and remained perfectly still.
“I fear it is my unhappy decision to make, and I shall have to say…” Poke sighed as he scowled at the faces around him. “Oxford brought in a lovely prize. He deserves to choose his reward.”
Peter jerked to his feet. “Over my dead body.”
Poke smiled. “If needs be, Mr. Bald,” he said, and reached languidly into his jacket.
Peter stepped back and froze, his eyes wide with terror, but Poke only pulled out a cheroot and inhaled the scent. Oxford laughed as he rose to his feet. His chair grated against the floor and his footsteps rapped sharp and hollow as he paced around the table toward his prize.
“I am sorry, my dear,” Poke said, and shrugged as he struck a match and touched it to his cigar. “I shall save you some supper.”
She rose to her feet. Her gaze was steady on Poke, as though the Irishman weren’t directly behind her. As though he weren’t nearly touching her. His breath on her neck. His hand—
Fuck it to hell!
“Oxford!” William found himself standing, though he didn’t remember rising.
The Irishman flitted his narrow eyes sideways. “This ain’t got nothin’ to do with you, Mr. Fancy Trousers.”
He was right. So right. Holy hell! He was way over his head. He was a baron, for God’s sake. Wounded. Addled. Trapped. And she was a…
“Touch her, and I’ll kill you,” Will said.
The entire world went silent, then Oxford laughed, low and evil and happy.
“You?” He curled his lips away from his teeth. “You couldn’t kill a snake.”
Will’s mind was issuing a low, steady warning—sit down, shut up. Sit down. Shut up.
But he pushed back his chair. It scraped loud and jarring in the heavy silence. “Luckily,” he said, “I only have to kill you.”
Oxford faced
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