The Brothers Hawthorne (The Inheritance Games, #4)(42)

Whoever he was.

Zella took one of the vacated chairs and gestured toward the other. “Mr. Hawthorne?”

Jameson sat.

“Zella,” the man said with an arch of his brow.

“Branford.” Zella met Jameson’s gaze again. “Shall we begin?”





CHAPTER 33





JAMESON


Branford played forcefully, efficiently, and with absolutely no chitchat. Whist was considerably simpler than piquet, and Jameson picked it up quickly.

But not quickly enough.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Branford eyed the cards Jameson had just played. “Boy.” He laid down his next play—and just like that, Jameson’s team lost.

Strangely, Zella didn’t seem to mind.

Branford spared a perfunctory glance for his partner. “See that my half is credited to my account.” He stood—and then abruptly sat back down in the wing-backed chair, inclining his head downward.

It took Jameson the span of a heartbeat to realize why: Avery stood at the top of the magnificent staircase—and she wasn’t alone. A man with slicked-back white hair and a barely there salt-and-pepper beard stood next to her. He wore all black and held a shining silver cane.

Not silver, Jameson realized. Platinum.

Every single person in the room sat like Branford had, their heads angled toward the floor. Like bowing before a king. The man—the Proprietor—could have been seventy or ninety or anything in between. He put weight on the cane and held his free arm out to Avery.

She took it.

As they descended, Branford met the Proprietor’s eyes and gave the slightest nod of his head.

Once you see that web of possibilities laid out in front of you, unencumbered by fear of pain or failure… What will you do with what you see?

Jameson didn’t incline his head. In sharp contrast to the rest of the room, he didn’t stay seated. He climbed to his feet and walked past Branford. Fully aware that every eye in the room was on him now, he strolled to meet Avery and the Proprietor at the bottom of the stairs. He lifted his gaze to the Proprietor’s.

And he winked.

What was life without a little risk?





CHAPTER 34





JAMESON


The ride back through the underground canal was quiet. The boat had been left unmanned, leaving Jameson to pole. Avery was silent beside him.

Jameson looked at her out of the corner of his eyes, and he knew. Just from the set of her lips and the way she stared out at the water, he knew.

“Tahiti, Heiress.”

Her chest rose and fell, one slow breath. “I’ve been offered entrance to the Game.”

On some level, Jameson had known it the moment he’d seen the Proprietor standing next to her at the top of the stairs. “Tell me you accepted,” he said, his voice low. “Tell me you didn’t ask him to extend the offer to me, too.”

Avery looked down, shadows rippling across her features. “Why wouldn’t you want me to—”

“Damn it, Heiress!” Jameson bit out. Muscles tensing, he pulled the pole from the river. Water dripped onto the boards, onto him, but he barely noticed. He set the pole down then straightened and stepped toward her, the slight vessel rocking beneath his feet. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes,” Avery said, her chin coming up and her hair falling away from her face. “You did. And my asking the Proprietor to include you didn’t work, so clearly, it was the wrong call.”

Jameson hated that he’d snapped at her, hated feeling like her win was his loss. Refusing to continue feeling that way, he brought his hands to the nape of her neck, his fingers curling gently into her hair.

“You don’t have to be so gentle.” Avery’s voice was low, but it echoed through the canal, the two of them illuminated only by the lantern on the front of the boat and the slight glow from the stone all around them.

Jameson angled her head back. Her neck was bare, her face still cast in shadow. “Yes. I do.”

The next instant, Avery’s fingers were buried in his hair—and she wasn’t gentle. There were times when the anticipation of their lips touching was as powerful as any kiss, but neither one of them was in the mood for anticipation right now.

He needed this. He needed her. Kissing Avery always felt right. It felt like everything, like more, like there was a purpose to his hunger, and this was it.

This was it.

This was it.

And still, he couldn’t turn off the part of his brain that said he’d failed. That yet again, he wasn’t enough. Ordinary.

Avery was the one who pulled back—but only slightly. Her lips grazed his as she spoke. “There’s something else I need to tell you. It’s about the man you were playing whist with.”

Jameson’s body pounded with the ghost of her touch, every one of his senses heightened. “Playing whist against,” he corrected, recalling the tone with which Branford had called him boy.

“Did he tell you his name?” Avery asked.

“Zella called him Branford.” Jameson knew Avery’s tells, all of them. “You know something.”

“I was informed that Branford is a title, not a name.” Avery picked up his hand, turning it palm up “A courtesy title, which I guess means he hasn’t inherited the big one yet.”