Bronwyn Scott Read Free

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