A Lady Risks All

But he could see the purpose of the demure coil. It drew one’s attention to the delicate curve of her jaw, the sensual display of her collarbones and the hint of bare shoulders above the gown’s décolletage. It was just the work of another skimming glance to sweep lower and appreciate what was in the gown’s décolletage, that being a well-presented, high, firm bosom. Mercedes Lockhart was absolutely enticing in all respects.

She would be stunning regardless of effort, but Greer couldn’t shake the feeling that this had all been engineered, right down to the colour of Mercedes’s gown for some ulterior purpose he had yet to divine. He understood the basic mechanics of the evening well enough. This dinner party was about business.

Under the bonhomie and casual conversation, there was money to be had. Lockhart, Carlisle and Thurston were in it together. Thurston wanted to sell tables. He’d likely promised Lockhart and Carlisle a commission for the advertising. Each of the other gentlemen at the table owned billiard halls, some in Brighton, a few others from nearby towns. Purchasing a table would be good for their businesses in turn. They understood the favour Lockhart did them by letting them be the first to place orders. It was all very symbiotic. He alone was the anomaly. No one would mistakenly assume he’d be purchasing a table on tonight’s venture.

Mercedes took up an unobtrusive spot in the large second-floor billiards room and plied her needle on an intricate embroidery project. She knew she looked domestic and that was the point. Billiards was a man’s domain. The men gathered around the new Thurston table would not dream of her joining their game. But as long as she looked utterly feminine and devoted herself to her embroidery, her presence would be acceptable. They would see her as the indulged only child of Allen Lockhart, a daughter so loved, her father could not bear to let her wander the house alone while he entertained close business acquaintances. Under those circumstances, what could really be wrong with her joining them as long as she stayed quietly placed in her corner?

Mercedes pulled her needle through the linen and surreptitiously scanned the men. They had finished talking business. Rubber bumpers, warming pans and all the latest technologies to keep the table fast had been discussed. Now it was time for action, time to see what the table could do. It was time to play, the one thing the men had been yearning to do all night.

Her father passed around ash-wood cues from a rack hung on the wall. The two men from the other Brighton billiards halls had the honour of the first game. But her eyes were on the young captain, Greer Barrington. Up close, he did not disappoint. He was precisely as she’d seen him from behind the peephole: tall, blond, broad shouldered and possessed of an easy charm that had no limit. Those blue eyes of his were captivating, his flirtations just shy of obvious, but that was part of his charm. He was not one of London’s sleek rogues with deceitful agendas, even though he possessed the unmistakable air of a gentleman.

Mercedes watched him laugh with Thurston over a remark. Instinctively, she knew he was genuine. Honest in his regard. Yet many would mistake that quality for naïveté, to their detriment. That could be a most valuable commodity if she could tame it. He was no gullible innocent. He’d spent time in military service. He’d seen men die. He’d probably even killed. He knew what it meant to take a life. He knew what it meant to live in harsh circumstances even as he knew what it meant to be comfortable amid luxury.

The opulence of her father’s home had not daunted him. This was where her father was wrong. He saw a young man with no purpose, a half-pay officer at loose ends with few prospects outside the military. Mercedes disagreed.

Greer Barrington was a gentleman’s son. She’d lay odds on it any day. He didn’t have the beefy build of a country farm-boy, or the speech of a lightly educated man. That could be sticky. Gentlemen’s sons didn’t take up with billiards players mostly because gentlemen’s sons had better prospects: an estate to go home to, or a position in the church. Her father, whatever his intentions were, wasn’t counting on that.

Captain Barrington stepped up to the table. The prior game was over and her father was urging him to play one of the men who’d come over from nearby Hove. Carlisle spoke up as the two players chalked their cue tips. ‘You’re a good player, Howe, but I’ll lay fifty pounds on our Captain to take three out of five games from you.’

Mercedes’s needle stilled and she sat up a bit straighter. Fifty pounds wasn’t a large bet by these men’s standards, merely something small and friendly, but big enough to sweeten the pot. But fifty pounds would support a man in Barrington’s position for half a year. There was a murmur of interest. To her father’s crowd, the only thing better than playing billiards was making money at billiards.

Howe chuckled confidently and drew out his wallet, dropping pound notes on the table. ‘I’ll take that bet.’

‘Captain, would you care to lay a wager on yourself?’ her father asked, gathering up the bets.

Barrington shook his head without embarrassment. ‘I don’t gamble with what I can’t afford to lose. I play for much smaller stakes.’

Her father laughed and clapped him on the back. ‘I’ve got a cure for that, Captain. Don’t lose.’

But he did lose. Captain Barrington lost the first two games by a narrow margin. He won the third game and the fourth. Then Carlisle upped the wager. ‘Double on the last game?’

Howe was all confidence. ‘Of course. What else?’

Mercedes wondered. Was this a set-up? Had Carlisle and her father arranged this? Were they that sure of Barrington’s skill and Howe’s renowned arrogance? If so, it would be beautifully done. Howe wasn’t the best player in the room, but he thought he was and that made all the difference. If Barrington beat Howe, the others would be tempted to try, to measure their skill.

Barrington had the lay of the table now. He’d made adjustments for the speed of the slate and the bounce of the rubber bumpers. He won the break and potted three balls to take an early lead. But Howe wouldn’t be outdone. He cleared three of his own before missing a shot.

Mercedes leaned forwards in her chair. Barrington’s last two shots would be difficult. He stretched his long body out, giving her an unadulterated view of his backside, the lean curve of buttock and thigh as he bent. The cue slid through the bridge of his fingers with expert ease. The shot was gentle, the cue ball rolling slowly towards its quarry and tapping it with a light snick, just enough to send it to its destination with a satisfying thud in the corner pocket while the cue ball teetered successfully on the baize without hazarding. Mercedes let out a breath she’d been unaware she held.

‘Impossible!’ Carlisle exclaimed in delight. ‘One shot in a million.’

‘Think you can make that shot again?’ Howe challenged, not the happiest of losers.

Her father shot her a look over the heads of the guests and she mobilised into action, crossing the room to the table. ‘Whether or not he can must wait for another time, gentlemen.’ She swept into the crowd around the table and threaded an arm through Captain Barrington’s. ‘I must steal him away for a while. I promised at dinner to show him our gardens lit up at night.’ Whatever her father’s reasons, he didn’t want Barrington challenged further. As for her, she had suddenly become useful for the moment.

Chapter Three

‘So this is what billiards can buy.’ Barrington looked suitably impressed as they strolled the lantern-lit paths of the garden, which must have been what her father intended. The gardens behind their home were well kept and exclusive.

‘Some of it is.’ Mercedes cast a sideways glance up at her companion. He was almost too handsome in his uniform, buttons winking in the lantern light. ‘My father invests.’

‘Let me guess—he invests in opportunity, like tonight.’ His insight pleased her. Barrington was proving to be astute. Would such astuteness fit with her father’s plans? ‘Tonight’s party was about selling tables.’

He’d guessed most of it. Her father was selling tables tonight, but he was also attempting to buy the Captain. Perhaps her father meant to use him to drum up business for the All England Billiards Championship.

‘That doesn’t explain what I’m doing here. I’m not in the market for a table and your father knows it.’

Too astute by far. Mercedes chose to redirect the conversation. ‘What are you doing here, Captain? Any plans after you leave Brighton? Or do you await orders? We’ve talked billiards all night, but I haven’t learned a thing about you.’

‘I thought I’d wait a few months and see if I am recalled to active duty. If the possibilities are slim, I’ll sell my commission.’

‘You like the military, then?’

Captain Barrington fixed her with a penetrating stare. ‘It beats the alternative.’

They’d stopped walking and stood facing each other on the pathway. There was seriousness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before and she heard it in his voice.

Her voice was a mere whisper. ‘What’s the alternative?’

‘To go back and run the home farm under my brother’s supervision. He’s the heir, you see. I’m merely the second son.’

She heard the bitterness even as she heard all the implied information. A man who’d experienced leadership and independence in the army would not do well returning to the constant scrutiny of the family fold. A little thrill of victory coursed through her. She’d been right. He was a gentleman’s son. But he was staring hard at her, watching her for some reaction.

‘Are you satisfied now? Is this what you brought me out here to discover? Had your father hoped I might be a baron’s heir, someone he might aspire to win for your hand?’ His cynicism was palpably evident.

‘No!’ Mercedes exclaimed, mortified at his assumptions, although she’d feared as much earlier, too. Her father had tasked her with the job of unearthing Barrington’s situation, but hopefully not for that purpose. If not that, then what? An alternative eluded her.

‘Are you sure? It seems more than billiards tables are for sale tonight.’

‘You should ask yourself the same thing, Captain.’ Mercedes bristled. He’d put a fine point on it. She’d stopped analysing her father’s motives a long time ago. Mostly because being honest about his intentions hurt too much. She didn’t like thinking of herself as another of his tools.

The comment wrung a harsh laugh from the Captain. ‘I’ve been for sale for a long time, Miss Lockhart. I just haven’t found the highest bidder.’

‘Perhaps your asking price is too high,’ Mercedes replied before she could think better of the words rushing out of her mouth. She had not expected the charming captain to possess a streak of cynicism. It forecasted untold depths beneath the charming exterior.

‘And your price, Miss Lockhart? Is it too high as well?’ It was a low, seductive voice that asked.

‘I am not for sale,’ she answered resolutely.

‘Yes, you are. We all are.’ He smiled for a moment, the boyish charm returning. ‘Otherwise you wouldn’t be out here in the garden, alone, with me.’

They held each other’s gaze, blue challenging grey. She hated him in those seconds. Not hated him precisely—he was only the messenger. But she hated what he said, what he revealed. He spoke a worldly truth she’d rather not recognise. She suspected he was right. She would do anything for her father’s recognition, for the right to take her place at his side as a legitimate billiards player who was as good as any man.

‘Are you suggesting you’re not a gentleman?’ Mercedes replied coolly.

‘I’m suggesting we return inside before others make assumptions you and I are unlikely to approve of.’

Which was for the best, Mercedes thought, taking his arm. She wasn’t supposed to have brought him out here to quarrel. Of all the things her father had in mind, it wasn’t that. Perhaps her father thought they might steal a kiss, that she’d find the Captain charming; the Captain might find her beautiful and her father might find that connection useful. She could become the lovely carrot he dangled to coax Barrington into whatever scheme he had in mind.