enough of the world in his ten years of military service to know when the game was afoot. It was definitely afoot tonight, and it had been ever since Kendall Carlisle had offered him an invitation to the Lockhart party. There seemed little obvious logic in a man of Lockhart’s celebrity inviting an anonymous officer to dine.
Greer surveyed the small assemblage with a quick gaze as Allen Lockhart greeted him and drew him into the group of men near the fireplace, a tall elegant affair topped with a mantel of carved walnut. Suspicions confirmed. First, the small size of the gathering meant this was a special, intimate cohort of friends and professional acquaintances. Second, Allen Lockhart lived finely in one of the forty-two large town houses that comprised Brunswick Terrace. Greer had not been wrong in taking the effort to arrive polished to perfection for the evening, and now the buttons on his uniform gleamed appreciably under the light of expensive brass-and-glass chandeliers.
‘You know Kendall Carlisle already from the club, of course.’ Allen Lockhart made the necessary introductions with the ease of a practised host. ‘This is John Thurston, the man behind the manufacture of the new table.’ Greer nodded in the man’s direction. He knew of Thurston. The man ran a billiards works in London and a billiards hall off St James’s.
‘John,’ Lockhart said with great familiarity, ‘this is Captain Greer Barrington.’ Lockhart had a fatherly hand at his shoulder and Greer did not miss the reference. Either Lockhart was a quick study of military uniforms or he’d done his research. ‘The Captain has a blistering break—sounds like a cannon going off in the club every time. He ran the table on Elias Pole yesterday.’
Ah, Greer thought. So Lockhart had been watching. He’d thought he’d sensed the other man’s interest in his game. Appreciative murmurs followed with more introductions.
Talk turned to billiards until a young woman materialised at Lockhart’s side, stopping all conversation—something she would have done without saying a word. ‘Father, dinner will be served shortly.’
This gorgeous creature was Lockhart’s daughter? Whatever game was afoot, Greer mused, he’d gladly play it and see where it went if she was involved. There was no arguing her beauty. It was bold and forthright like the flash of a smile she threw his direction.
‘Captain, you haven’t met my daughter, Mercedes,’ Lockhart said affably. ‘Perhaps I could persuade you to take her in to dinner? I believe she’s seated you with her at the one end.’
‘It would be my pleasure, Miss Lockhart.’ Yet another pleasant addition to the evening. This invitation was turning out splendidly. Mercedes Lockhart was a stunning young woman with dark hair and wide grey eyes framed with long lashes. But there was an icy quality to that perfection. Beautiful and cold, Greer noted. Greer was confident he could change that. He smiled one of his charming smiles, the one that usually made women feel as if they’d known him much longer than they had.
She was less than charmed. Her own smile did not move from that of practised politeness, her sharp grey eyes conducting a judicious perusal of their own. Greer stepped back discreetly from the group, drawing her with him until he had space for a conversation of his own.
‘Do I pass?’ Greer queried, determined to make this haughty beauty accountable for her actions.
‘Pass what?’
‘Inspection is what we call it in the military.’
She blushed a little at his bluntness and he took the small victory. She looked warmer when she blushed, prettier too if that was possible, the untouchable coldness of her earlier hauteur melting into more feminine features.
‘I must admit more than a passing curiosity to see the man who beat Elias Pole. My father talked of nothing else at supper last night.’
There was a fleeting bitterness in her tone, some of her hard elegance returning. Provoked by what? Jealousy? The defeat of her champion? Elias Pole was a man of middle years, not unattractive for his age, but certainly he wasn’t the type to capture the attentions of a young woman.
Greer shrugged easily. ‘I am flattered I aroused your curiosity. But it was just a game.’
Her eyebrows shot up at that, challenge and mild disbelief evident in her voice. ‘Just a game? Not to these men. It would be very dangerous to think otherwise, Captain.’
Ah. Illumination at last, Greer thought with satisfaction. Now he had a better idea of why he was here. This was about billiards.
Dinner was announced and he took the lovely Mercedes into supper, her hand polite and formal on the sleeve of his coat. The dining room was impressive with its long polished table set with china and crystal, surrounded by the accoutrements of a man who lived well and expensively: silver on the matching sideboards and decanter sets no doubt blown in Venice.
Greer recognised the subtle signs of affluence and he knew what they meant. Allen Lockhart aspired to be a gentleman. Of course, Lockhart wasn’t. Couldn’t be. Lockhart was a billiards player, a famous billiards player. But fame could only advance a man so far.
That was the difference between Lockhart’s shiny prosperity and the time-worn elegance of Greer’s family estate. Greer’s father might not be wealthy by the exorbitant standards of the ton, but he’d always be a gentleman and so would his sons. No amount of money could change that. Nevertheless, Greer knew his mother and sisters would be pea-green with envy to see him sitting down to supper in this fine room. He made a mental note to send them a letter describing the evening sans its circumstances. His father would be furious to think any son of his had sat down to supper with a gambler, even if the son in question wasn’t the heir.
Greer pushed thoughts of family and home out of his mind. Those thoughts would only make him cross. Tonight he wanted to enjoy his surroundings without guilt. He had delicious food on his plate, excellent wine in his goblet, interesting conversation and a beautiful woman in need of wooing beside him. He meant to make the most of it. Life in the military had taught him such pleasures were fleeting and few, so best to savour them to the fullest when they crossed one’s path. Life had been hard these past ten years and Greer intended to do a lot of savouring now that he was back in England.
‘Where were you stationed, Captain?’ A man to his right asked as the fish course was served.
‘Corfu, although we moved up and down the peninsula with some regularity,’ Greer answered.
Corfu caught John Thurston’s attention. ‘Then you may have played on the table we made for the mess hall there.’
Greer laughed, struck by the coincidence. ‘Yes, indeed I did. That table was for the 42nd Royal Hussars. I wasn’t with that regiment, but I did have the good fortune of visiting a few times. The new rubber bumpers made it the fastest game to be had in Greece.’
John Thurston raised his glass good-naturedly. ‘What a marvellously modern world we live in. To think I’d actually be sitting down to supper with a man who played on one of my tables a thousand miles away. It’s quite miraculous what technology has allowed us to do. To a smaller world, gentlemen.’
‘My sentiments exactly.’ Greer drank to the toast and applied himself to the fish, content to let the conversation flow around him. One learned a lot of interesting things when one listened and observed. Mercedes Lockhart must think the same thing. She was studying him once more. He could feel her gaze returning to him time and again. He looked in her direction, hoping to make her blush once more.
This time she was ready for him. She met
