93 Chapter 93

One night? What he chose?

As Splendor strode into the dingy mews that dripped with wet washing and stank of boiling lard, she knew one thing. She would sooner die than agree to Stillmore's stakes. The disgusting dog. And she had thought herself like Cinderella the night of the ball? Well, Prince Charming would never, ever stoop to doing such a thing. He would not splatter along in the gutter beside her either, his casual strides easily keeping up with her, when the one thing she'd learned about him was that there was nothing casual about him.

"You did not let me finish," he said.

She didn't need to. Did he think she was morally slack because she had kissed him? Obviously.

"Of course you'll win, Splendor, you always do."