“A Darjeeling or an Earl Grey, I think.”
Henry nodded his approval. When the innkeeper walked away, Henry leaned across the table and said, conspiratorially, “If Gillett is here, he’ll be in the private room. That’s where they play cards.”
“Then we should go back and see if he is there.”
“We should.” But Henry did not stand. “We need a plan of some sort.”
Katie cocked her head. “Can we not simply knock and ask for Gillett?”
“That might work.” It might work, indeed, but Henry’s mind was spinning. He couldn’t seem to look away from the closed door. Behind it, a group of men were making wagers and taking chances. Were they playing hazard? Perhaps whist? “But we could approach it another way. I could go in first, play a game or two. Then Gillett would be relaxed and unsuspecting when you come in.”
“You’d leave me alone in the public room?”
Ah, she had a point. He couldn’t do that. “Fine. You come in with me. You can observe.” They might be playing vingt-et-un. That had been his downfall last time, but he could redeem himself today. He only had a few coins, but if he was lucky, he could double or triple that in no time.
“As interesting as that sounds, Your Grace, I do not think a lady would be welcome.”
She had a point. Why had he brought her to the village? Oh, yes. The steward. Why did he care about the steward again?He didn’t. Not really. “I’ll ask the innkeeper if he has a room for you.” He began to rise, but Katie put her hand on his arm, staying him. He looked down at her, impatient to remove the obstacles keeping him from the game. Keeping him from the smell of the cards or the rattle of the bones. Preventing him from the rush that accompanied high stakes and the flash of excitement.
“I do not want a room,” Katie said, her voice surprisingly firm. “Moreover, you cannot go into that private room.”
Henry scowled. “I have to if I’m to find Gillett.”
“We will ask the innkeeper if he is inside.”
That was a reasonable suggestion, but it wouldn’t help Henry get inside the room. It wouldn’t give him the chance to play. “You wanted to come here. Now let me do my part,” he all but snapped.
“I’d rather leave right now and never meet Gillett than see this side of you.”
Henry’s gaze darted to Katie. “What side of me?”
“I wish I had a mirror right now so you could see the way your cheeks are flushed, and your eyes have gone dark and wild. You look like a dog who has just caught the scent of a rabbit or a fox.”
“I look like a—I resent that.”
“And the way you spoke to me just now. I’ve never heard that tone in your voice. I freely admit, I don’t know you terribly well, but if that is what you are truly like, I don’t think I want to know you better.”
“Fine, then go home. Take Gawain and leave me.”
The innkeeper appeared then with a pot of tea. He looked from Henry to Katie. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“Not at all, sir,” Katie said. “What is your name?”
“Abraham Pointer, my lady.”
“Mr. Pointer, could you settle a question for the duke and me?”
The innkeeper’s chest puffed up. “If I know the answer, I certainly will, my lady.” Mr. Pointer poured the tea with a bit of a flourish, no doubt from years of practice.
“Is Mr. Gillett in the private room at the moment?” She indicated the closed door Henry couldn’t seem to take his eyes from.
“Gillett?” The innkeeper glanced at the closed door. “No, my lady. I have not seen him today.”
“Thank you, Mr. Pointer.”
“Will there be anything else, my lady? Your Grace?”
Henry scowled. “No. You’ve done quite enough.”
