Sven widened his eyes innocently, then chuckled. “Well, now, so Grandpa doesn’t know all. I’m disappointed-and surprised you hadn’t heard. They made a bet. Malcolm thought she’d end up liking the shooting, she said she wouldn’t. They bet on it.”
”What in God’s name did they bet? Margo’s broke. I know. I won’t give her an allowance until she’s earned one.”
Kit trusted Malcolm as far as any man would with a granddaughter who looked and behaved the way Margo did; but he couldn’t imagine what she might have wagered–and given the effect she had on men, he knew the male libido well enough to imagine the worst, even from Malcolm.
Sven patted his shoulder. “Not to worry. Scuttlebutt has it she bet her life story against a guided tour.”
”Her life story? Huh.” The rest of Margo’s life story was something Kit would have paid a ransom to hear. “Too bad Malcolm lost.”
Sven grinned. “You said it. There’ll be other bets. I’ll start her on bladed weapons next, but I’d like her to settle down before then. Think about the Britannia Gate. Might do her some good.”
”Yeah,” Kit said glumly, thinking about that billionaire and the fish pond. “But will it do the rest of us any good?”
Sven just laughed at him. “Your grey’s showing, Grandpa. How about a sparring session?”
Kit considered it, then shook his head. “No, I think I’ll take your advice. Which means I’d better hunt up Malcolm before he accepts a job to Mongolia or someplace equally improbable. Thanks, Sven.”
”Don’t mention it.”
Kit found the freelance guide working the newcomers who planned to do the London trip. He waited until a curvaceous young thing had turned him down, then approached while Malcolm was looking bluer than a well-aged round of Roquefort cheese.