Page 131 of The Lyon's Shadow
“Good,” Bessie said. “I dislike half-wins.”
The woman reached into her reticule and placed a small velvet pouch on the table. It did not clink. It did not need to.
“I believe we are finished here.”
Bessie did not touch it. “That was never the reward.”
“No. But it mattered to you.”
“It mattered that someone trusted him,” Bessie said, more quietly now. “And trusted her to survive him.”
Silence stretched again, but it was no longer sharp.
Her guest’s voice softened. “When I learned she was in London, I knew I could not act openly. I needed… someone who understood how dangerous waiting can be.”
Bessie’s gaze held steady. “You chose well.”
“I chose the only woman I knew who would not try to save them from themselves.”
Bessie snorted softly. “Love does not survive rescue. Only choice.”
The countess nodded once. “They chose.”
A distant cheer rippled through the Den as a game turned.
Bessie leaned back, studying the woman across from her. “You may take comfort in this,” she said lightly. “The odds were dreadful.”
That earned a quiet laugh. “And yet you took the wager.”
“I would have backed them either way,” Bessie said.
The countess stood. “Then I am glad it was you.”
She hesitated, then added, “Thank you. For watching when I could not.”
Bessie inclined her head. “That’s what friends do for one another.”
The countess paused, touched by the truth of it, then turned toward the door.
Bessie watched her go, then reached for the velvet pouch at last. She did not open it. She only weighed it once in her palm, then set it aside.
“Well done,” she murmured to no one in particular.
The Lyon’s Den hummed on.
And somewhere beyond its walls, they had already chosen.
