“Oh, I hardly think so!” she said, her eyes glinting up at him for an instant. “I have not forgotten, if you have, that you are driving in an important race tomorrow.”
He stiffened, his mouth shutting hard. She pulled the last knot undone, and stood up. “I trust you are more at ease now, sir,” she said kindly. “But I am persuaded you will not languish for very long in this horrid cellar. So noted a sportsman as Mr Ravenscar will scarcely let it be said of him that he dared not match his famous greys against Sir James Filey’s pair: After such a prodigious bet, too!”
“You doxy!” he said deliberately.
She flushed, but shrugged her shoulders. “Calling hard names won’t help you, Mr Ravenscar. You stand to lose twenty-five thousand pounds on tomorrow’s race.”
“What do you think I care for that?” he demanded harshly.
“Not very much, perhaps. I think you care a good deal your reputation, and will not readily lose by default.”
“You may go to the devil!” he said.
“You cannot have considered your position, Mr Ravenscar. No one but myself, and Lucius Kennet, and Silas, knows your whereabouts. If you think to be rescued, you will be disappointed. There is nothing for you to do but to agree to terms.”
“You may have those bills when, and when only, I am satisfied that my cousin has no longer any intention of marrying you,” said Ravenscar. “There is no pressure you can bring bear on me that could prevail upon me to yield one inch such a Jezebel as you are!”
“I feel sure you will change your mind when you have time to reflect, sir. Only fancy how odious Sir James would be if you failed to keep your appointment tomorrow. I do think that a man of your pride could bear that!”