82 Chapter 82

The poor delusional soul. Did she think he didn't see that thought was written all over her face? The face he could read like a book? A tediously dull one at that. The face that now looked as if someone had pulled the plug out of it? Although to be sure, his was probably that same deadly shade of pale. Damn her, for nearly breaking his toes.

"The prize, Your Grace?"

"Yes. Win this, and she accompanies me. Lose it, and she doesn't."

What the hell was he doing making threats like this? What if she lost?

He fought not to run his fingers through his hair. It was a question of moves, wasn't it? And surely, when she wanted that ten thousand pounds enough to face him across a pistol barrel, she wasn't going to storm out of here. So why make him wait like this? Unless she would rather lose the ten thousand than accompany him? How could that be?

"I mean ... I mean you will win it, so why the hell should that be a problem?"