An Indecent Gambit

Chapter Seventeen: Poisoned Orgeat

Ellen was right about the dress. When Grace came down to the hall later that afternoon, she found some satisfaction in the distracted, appreciative expression on James's face when he saw her. It pleased her to ignore the arm he offered her and instead take Ben's.

"It's practice for when I'm grown up," Ben said to James. "You don't need the practice. You're old already."

"How observant," James said. "You look very charming, Grace."

"I know," Grace said. "Shall we go?"

James looked surprised but opened the door for them without a word. In the coach, Ben sat like a bulwark between them.

"I'm your chaperone," he said. "A man and a woman should not be left alone in a coach, you know."

"Very effective," James said. "If you weren't here I'd be doing all manner of unspeakable things to Grace."

Grace thought it was a joke but her heart leapt anyway. James had changed his waistcoat again, and now wore cream embroidered with delicate olive and gold fern leaves. It went very well against the forest green coat that fitted so neatly around his flared chest and narrow waist. He looked, for once, as fashionable as he so frequently claimed to be.

"What are those unspeakable things?" Ben asked curiously. "No one will tell me."

"When you're old, you'll find out," James said.

Ben glowered. "That's not fair."

"Little in life is."

"You sound just like my mother."

James looked offended. Grace hid a smile; she must, as Ellen had suggested, be cool to James.

"There are many things that children are not allowed to know," James said. "That's why you will be drinking orgeat and we—" he fished a familiar silver flask from his coat pocket "—will be having the good stuff."

"You did not bring that!" Grace said.

"As I told you, it's my antidote against boredom."

"James!"

"What is it?" Ben asked. "Can I try some?"

"Absolutely not." James slipped it back in his pocket. "When you're old, you may drink brandy. Not before."

Ben glowered. "I knew Aunt Grace would marry someone boring."

"Ben," Grace said, in the warning tone of voice that never did any good with him.

"Aunt Grace," Ben mimicked. "Uncle James."

"Oh? I'm your uncle already, am I?" James pinched Ben's ribs. "That gives me certain liberties, you realize?"

Ben squawked. "I'll fight you! I'll win!"

"We'll arm wrestle," James promised. "But I won't take it easy on you. And if you're any good, I'll give you a shot at boxing tomorrow."

"Is that how you got the black eye?" Ben asked. "Boxing?"

"It is."

"You can't be much good then."

"Oh, I think I can take you on. You're not very tall."

"I'm fifty-six inches!"

"And I'm sixty-eight."

"Which," Grace added, thinking that this conversation was going far too well for James, "is a good half-foot shorter than you can expect to be when you are fully grown, Ben." She smiled at James. "His father is six foot four."