A Lady Risks All

The garden had not been successful in that regard. Not that she’d have minded a kiss from the Captain. He certainly looked as if he’d be a fine kisser with those firm lips and mischievous eyes, to say nothing of those strong arms wrapping her close against that hard chest. Truly, his manly accoutrements were enough to keep a girl bothered long into the night.

‘Shilling for your thoughts, Miss Lockhart.’ His voice was deceptively close to her ear, low and intimate, all trace of cynicism gone. The charmer was back. ‘Although I dare say they’re worth more than that from the blush on your cheek.’

Oh, dear, she’d utterly given herself away. Mercedes hazarded part of the truth. ‘I was thinking how a quarrel is a waste of perfectly good moonlight.’

He’d turned and was looking at her now. ‘Then we have discovered something in common at last, Miss Lockhart. I was thinking the same thing.’ His blue eyes roamed her face in a manner that suggested she had the full sum of his attentions. His hand cupped her cheek, gently tilting her chin upwards, his mouth descending to claim hers in a languorous kiss.

She was aware only of him, of his other hand resting at the small of her back, intimate and familiar. This was a man used to touching women; such contact came naturally and easily to him. Warmth radiated from his body, bringing with it the clean, citrusy scent of oranges and soap.

It wasn’t until the kiss ended that she realised she’d stepped so close to him. What distance there had been between their bodies had disappeared. They stood pressed together, her body fully cognisant of the manly planes of him as surely as he must be of the feminine curves of hers.

‘A much better use of moonlight, wouldn’t you agree, Miss Lockhart?’

Oh, yes. A much better use.

‘Will you help me with him?’ It was to her father’s credit, Mercedes supposed, that he’d waited until breakfast the following morning before he sprang the question, especially given that breakfast was quite late and the better part of the morning gone. The men had played billiards well into the early hours, long after Captain Barrington had politely departed and she’d gone up to her rooms.

Mercedes pushed her eggs around her plate. ‘I think that depends. What do you want him for?’ She would not give her word blindly; Barrington’s remarks about being for sale were still hot in her ears.

Her father leaned back in his chair, hands folded behind his head. ‘I want to make him the face of billiards. He’s handsome, he has a good wit, he’s affable and he plays like a dream. For all his inherent talents, he needs training, needs finishing. He has to learn when it pays more to lose. He has to learn the nuances of the game and its players. Billiards is more than a straightforward game of good shooting between comrades in the barracks. That’s the edge he lacks.’

‘Playing in the billiard clubs of Brighton won’t give him that edge—they’re too refined. That kind of experience can only be acquired …’ Mercedes halted, her speech slowing as realisation dawned. ‘On the road,’ she finished, anger rising, old hurts surfacing no matter how deeply she thought she’d buried them. She set aside her napkin.

‘No. I won’t help some upstart officer claim what is rightfully mine. If you’re taking a protégé on the road, it should be me.’ She rose, fairly shaking with rage. Her father’s protégés had never done her any good in the past.

‘Not this again, Mercedes. You know I can’t stakehorse a female. Most clubs won’t even let you in, for starters.’

‘There are private games in private houses, you know that. There are assembly rooms. There are other places to play besides gentlemen’s clubs. You’re the great Allen Lockhart—if you say a woman can play billiards publicly, people will listen.’

‘It’s not that easy, Mercedes.’

‘No, it’s not. It will still be hard, but you can do it. You just choose not to,’ she accused. ‘I’m as good as any man and you choose to do nothing about it.’

They stared at each other down the length of the small table, her mind assembling the pieces of her father’s plan. He wanted to take Barrington on the road, to promote the upcoming July tournament in Brighton.

‘Maybe he’s not interested.’ Mercedes glared. What would a gentleman like Barrington say to being used thusly? Maybe she could make him ‘uninterested’. There were any number of things she could do to dissuade him if she chose. A cold shoulder would be in order after the liberties of last night.

‘He’ll be interested. That’s where you come in. You’ll make him interested. What half-pay officer turns down the chance to play billiards for money and have a lovely woman on his arm?’ So much for the cold-shoulder option.

‘One who has other options. He’s a gentleman’s son, after all.’ Of course it was a wild bluff. She knew how Captain Barrington felt about his ‘options’. ‘Even if his options are poor, no family of good birth is going to let their son go haring about the country gambling for a living.’

That comment struck home. Her father had always been acutely aware of the chasm between himself and his betters. No amount of money, fame or victory could span that gap. ‘We’ll see,’ he said tightly. ‘Men will do all variety of things for love or money. Fortunately, post-war economies do much for motivating the latter.’ Mercedes feared he might be right on that account.

‘I need you on this, Mercedes,’ he pleaded. ‘I need you to travel with us, to show him what he needs to know. I’ll be busy making arrangements and setting up games. I won’t have near enough time to mould him.’

‘I’ll think about it.’ She was too proud to surrender easily, but in her heart she knew it was already done. It was the only offer she was likely to get and she was her father’s daughter. She’d be a fool not to invest in this opportunity. On the road, she could show her father how good she really was, how indispensable she was to him. Perhaps they could recapture some of the old times. They could be close again, like they’d been before her tragic misstep had driven a wedge between them. Anything might happen on the road. Even the past might be erased.

‘Well, don’t think too long. I’m sending a note to Captain Barrington inviting him to dinner. If this proposition succeeds, I want to leave within days.’

Yes, anything might happen, especially with weeks on the road with the attractive Captain and his kisses. Damn his blue eyes. His presence would make the trip interesting once she decided if she should love him or hate him. He was both her golden opportunity and the fly in her ointment. He was the man stealing her place beside her father, but, in all fairness, the place hadn’t been hers to start with. She didn’t possess it outright and hadn’t for years. She merely aspired to it, as much as the admission galled her. Then there were his kisses to consider, or not. She had to be careful there. Kisses were dangerous and she wasn’t about to fall in love with her father’s protégé. She knew from experience such an act would dull her sensibilities, make her blind to the job that needed doing. But perhaps one could just have the kisses. She’d be smarter this time.

All in all, going on the road was an offer she couldn’t afford to refuse. Perhaps Barrington would say she’d just found her price.

Greer sat at the small writing desk in his lodgings, sorting through the dismal array of post. At least he had an ‘array’ of it. He should take comfort that the world had not forgot him even if it had nothing pleasing to send.

He slit open the letter from the War Department. It was his best hope for good news. A friend of his father’s with higher rank and influence had enquired about a new posting on his behalf. Greer was eagerly awaiting a response. He scanned the contents of the letter and sighed. Nothing. It was something of an irony that the goal of the military—to maintain peace and order—was the very thing that made the military a finite occupation. In peace, there was no work for all the aspirants like himself.

Greer set aside the letter. It was becoming more evident that his military options were coming to a close. Of course, he could stay on half-pay as long as he liked, but with no re-posting imminent, it seemed a futile occupation.

The second letter was from home and he opened it with some dread. He could predict the contents already: news of the county from his mother and a directive to return home from his father. As always, a letter from home filled him with guilt. He should want to go back. But he didn’t. He didn’t want to be a farmer, and he didn’t want to be a countryman. His father was a viscount, but a poor one. The title had come with only an estate four generations ago, and money had always come hard for the Barringtons. He did not want a life full of expenses he could barely meet and responsibilities he was required to fulfil. His older brother was better suited to that life. To what he himself was suited for, Greer did not yet know.

He reached for the third letter, surprised to see it was from Allen Lockhart. The short contents of the note brought a smile to his face. Mercedes and I would like to invite you to a private supper this evening to become better acquainted.

The sentiments of the note might be Lockhart’s, but the firm, cursory hand that had penned it was definitely Mercedes’s. Greer could see Mercedes penning the note with some agitation, her full lips set in an imperious line, in part because she didn’t want to see him again and in part because she did. He was quite cognisant that Mercedes had no idea what to do with him—kiss him, hate him, or something in between if that was possible.

Mercedes.

She’d stopped being Miss Lockhart the moment he’d taken her in his arms. Their kiss had been far too familiar, far too intimate to think of her any longer on a last-name basis. In his arms, she’d been alive, warm and far more passionate than the sum of her cold hauteur had indicated at dinner. It had been the most pleasant surprise in an evening full of surprises. Therein lay the rub.

Had it been a surprise? Greer thumbed the corner of the heavy paper in contemplation. The kiss had seemed completely spontaneous at the time. They’d been quarreling. He’d thought the moment for stealing a kiss had passed and then suddenly the moment had returned.

He’d done the kissing. He distinctly remembered making what might be termed as the ‘first move’. But Mercedes had supplied the motivation. She knew very well what she was doing with her reference to moonlight. Was the flirtation contrived? Had it been her last effort to comply with some secret plan of her father’s for the evening? Had she realised that quarrelling with a coveted guest was not constructive? The note he held in his hand certainly suggested as much. There had to be a reason for getting ‘better acquainted’. And yet the kiss itself did not seem contrived in his memory. Instead, it seemed very much the honest product of curious passion.

And now there was to be a private dinner. Greer was aware there was more to it than a simple dinner, but even so, he was looking forward to it a great deal. There would be good food, good wine and the intriguing Mercedes would be there. That alone was enough to secure his acceptance.

Chapter Four

The atmosphere at dinner was decidedly different than it had been the prior evening—less orchestrated, less of a show—but no less impressive because of it, and Greer found he was enjoying himself immensely.

The three of them dined informally in a small, elegantly appointed room done in subtle shades of gold designed expressly for the purpose of holding more intimate entertainments. Even the mode of eating reflected that intimacy. They dined en famille on juicy steaks and baby potatoes, helping themselves to servings from the china bowls in the centre of the round table and pouring their own rich red wine from glass decanters, thus removing the need for hovering footmen.

Greer had lived with the deprivations of military life long enough to fully appreciate the little luxuries of the moment, and man enough to appreciate the woman across from him.

Mercedes Lockhart glowed in the candlelight, dressed in a copper silk trimmed in black velvet, a gown so lovely it would have driven his sisters to violence. Her hair shone glossy and sleek, the flames picking out the chestnut highlights winking deep within the dark tresses. Tonight, she wore those tresses long, their length furled into one thick curl that lay enticingly over the slope of her breast, a most provocative cascade to be sure and a most distracting one. He nearly missed Lockhart’s next question.

‘What are you doing in Brighton, Captain?’ Lockhart poured wine into his empty glass. ‘Our sleepy little resort town must be tame by comparison to the military.’

Greer picked up his newly filled goblet. ‘Waiting for the next adventure.’ Brighton wasn’t all that different in that regard than the military. There’d been plenty of waiting in the army as well. Hurry up and wait; wait to live, wait to die. He was still waiting, only the scenery had changed.

‘Will there be one? Another adventure?’ Lockhart probed in friendly tones but Greer sensed he was fishing for something, looking for some piece of information. He’d discussed his situation with Mercedes last night but she’d apparently not chosen to pass the details on to her father. He shot Mercedes an amused glance. Why? To prove she wasn’t her father’s agent as he’d accused?

‘Well, that’s the question.’ Greer saw no reason to dissemble. His life was a fairly open book for those who cared to read it. Open and relatively dull, if the truth was told. ‘A family friend is making enquiries on my behalf, but I am not alone in my desire for a posting.’

‘I expect not these days,’ Lockhart replied with a knowing nod. ‘There are a lot of officers looking for work. Half-pay is a hard way to live. It’s not enough to support a wife or start a family.’ Lockhart offered him a smile that bordered on fatherly. ‘No doubt those things are on your mind at your age.’

‘Eventually, I suppose, sir.’ Greer thought the question a bit too personal on such short acquaintance. Lockhart was still fishing, but this time Greer chose not to bite. Lockhart was not put off by his cool response.

‘Sir?’ Lockhart laughed good-naturedly. ‘The military has trained you well, but there will be none of that here. We are not so formal as that, are we, Mercedes?’