returned with a nod letting him know the carriage was ready before slowly approaching her.
“Good evening, young man,” Simon said, noting that she’d already sipped half of her fourth whisky down. The poor girl would regret that decision in the morning.
“Evening, sir.”
Simon almost laughed at her husky voice, except his anger at her actions stopped him. “I do believe you were told to remove your hat.”
“Why’d I need to do that?” she mumbled.
“It’s my policy.”
“It’s a senseless policy. I like my hat on my head.” She drank another sip of her whisky.
“Hat off.”
“No.”
“It appears we may have another cheater, Riley,” Simon said in a loud enough voice that most people could hear.
Miss Drake stumbled out of her seat, almost falling to the floor. “I’m no cheater!”
Before she could move, he hefted her over his shoulder, all the while praying Emma would have enough sense to hold her hat on her head. “Cheaters will not be tolerated in Hell.”
“Let me go! I’m not a cheater.”
A small fist hammered at his back. He glanced down and didn’t see the hat or hear anyone gasping at her. Only low chuckles from the customers followed him. He strode down the hall with her until he reached the carriage where he dumped her inside.
She scrambled up to a seat, still clutching her hat to head.
Simon entered the carriage and then took the seat across from her. “I do not tolerate cheats in my gaming hell.”
She laughed and, in her drunken state, forgot to lower her vocal range. “I have never cheated.”
“Of course not, that is what all the cheaters say.”
“Why are you in the carriage with me?”
“I personally take care of all the cheaters who dare enter Hell,” Simon said in what he hoped sounded like an ominous tone.
“Are you going to kill me?” she whispered, her blue eyes wide.
“Perhaps.” He tried not to smile as her face drew grim, and then a slow smile brightened her face.
“You don’t wanna do that,” she mumbled, staring at his lips. “You wanna kiss me.”
Simon stared over at her in disbelief. He knew the alcohol caused her to say such foolishness but still.... “No, I don’t kiss boys.”
“I know you wanna kiss this boy.” She leaned forward, pressing her arms to her sides as if to produce more cleavage. She glanced down as if realizing her clothing did not expose any amount of flesh to him. A frown of confusion lined her face.
“And I don’t kiss innocents either.”
She leaned back with a pout. “No one wants to kiss me,” she said under her breath before leaning back with a pout.
She couldn’t possibly believe that. If she were anyone else, Simon would have laid her back against the velvet squabs and enjoyed every inch of her.
“At least I can scratch off numbers two and three tonight. I think I can. Am I foxed?”
“Oh, you are definitely foxed,” he remarked, wondering what she’d meant by scratching off two and three.
“Good.” She giggled. “I wasn’t certain.”
“What was number two?”
“I can’t tell you that,” she said with a flirtatious smile. “No one can know.”
Damn. So much for the loose-lipped drunk. “Why not?”
“’cause it’s a secret. Only Susan knows.”
Susan must be Miss Lancaster. The same woman Emma had talked to the night of Lady Leicester’s ball.
“To whom do you owe money?” he asked, again believing she must be in debt to someone if she attempted to steal and gamble.
“I don’t owe anyone...and what happened to my winnings?” She looked around the carriage. “Did you steal my money?”
“No. I will see that your winnings are returned to you.”
She giggled. “You don’t even know who I am, so how will you return them?”
Simon shook his head, trying not to find the sight of the perfect Miss Emma Drake, well and completely foxed, so damned amusing. “I will figure it out.”
“Are you going to seduce me?” she asked in a hopeful voice. “I’ll bet you are. It’s what you do. I still remember the day you were making love to that wench in the gaming hell.”
Wench? If Meg had heard that statement, Emma would never have made it out of Hell. “I wasn’t making love to her.”
“Looked like it to me.” She put her hands out as if to steady herself and blinked hard. “What were you doing then?”
“Fucking,” he said to shock her.
“Fucking?” she repeated slowly with a tilt of her head. “That doesn’t sound at all nice. Making love sounds nice.”
And now all he could think of was making love to Emma Drake. Taking