Cocky Earl - Annabelle Anders Page 0,28
impossible shot.”
“Ten pounds says I will.” Jules held his body relaxed and steady.
“Very well.”
All Jules had to do was bank the ball just so… He slid the cue forward with a jerk and straightened to watch in satisfaction as the white ball hit the red, which hit his ball, which rolled perfectly into the corner pocket.
“Damn.” Mantis reached into his pocket to note the result. “Perhaps your run of bad luck has come to an end.”
All of Jules’ intimates knew of his situation with Mr. Jackson. They were also aware of the details and circumstances surrounding the unspoken agreement that had existed with Lady Felicity’s father. None of them questioned that Jules must honor the bet with the Whiskey King.
He ambled around the table, bent over, and with a short stroke, sent another ball rolling smoothly into a side pocket.
Had it been a run of bad luck? He supposed Lord Brightley would see it that way. Would Felicity be disappointed? His sisters would be. And his mother, of course. But there hadn’t been a contract. Extricating himself from their expectations oughtn’t prove to be all that complicated.
Jules ran the table and then stepped back while Viscount Mantis reset it.
“Speaking of bad luck, how are matters progressing with Miss Jackson?” Mantis gestured to Chase to take the first shot.
An inkling of irritation stirred Jules and he scowled across the table and up at the good side of the viscount’s face. “I cannot have my future wife referred to as bad luck and would appreciate you refraining from doing so in the future.” Jules had held the losing hand that night, but there’d be no further mention of it. It wasn’t proper to allow such disrespect.
Jules had found himself watching her closely throughout much of the performance the night before. Not only out of curiosity, but because he… enjoyed looking at her.
Chase grunted but Mantis nodded.
Greys met Jules’ stare from where he sat in the corner and lifted one haughty brow.
“Speaking of bad luck, what happened between you and Blackheart?” Jules changed the subject, directing the question to the least talkative amongst them.
“He made the epic mistake of agreeing to a wager with Greys, that’s what,” Chase said. “He ought to have known better.”
“He bet that you’d announce your betrothal to Miss Jackson by noon yesterday,” Mantis supplied.
“It seems Blackheart was overconfident in the great Westerley charm,” Greys finally spoke up, “as we’ve heard of no such thing. You did ask her, no doubt.”
Jules turned his gaze on each of his friends. “Was Blackheart the only one with faith in me?”
“It wasn’t that I couldn’t put my faith in you, Jules old man. Miss Jackson, however, has quite a spirited look in those emerald eyes of hers.”
What the devil was Greys doing noticing her eyes? Was it possible he wanted her for himself? Jules met the marquess’s matter-of-fact expression with a half-smile of his own.
Of course not. Greys was the most fastidious of them all as far as appearances. When he married, the chit would be a perfect English Rose from an old and lofty family.
“But that’s not the beauty of it,” Mantis inserted. “It was an idiotic wager for Blackheart to take.”
Jules lifted a brow in question. “He mentioned putting his affairs in order.”
Chase slapped his thigh and even Greys cracked a smile. Even Peter Spencer, who sat in the corner, randomly plucking the strings of his cello, was grinning.
“To make good on the bet,” Chase said when he could bring himself to sit up again. “Simon Benjamin Alexander Harold Cockfield, the seventh duke of Blackheart,” Chase shook his head until he gained control of his mirth, “must act as Greystone’s butler.”
“Surely not!” No wonder Blackheart had seemed stunned. “For how long? A week? A fortnight?”
“In town. Throughout the entire Season.”
Jules didn’t know how to respond to such an unexpected announcement. How was it even going to be possible? The man was a bloody duke, for god’s sake!
“And he mustn’t break character. If he does, then he’ll be required to allow Greys to choose the future Duchess of Blackheart.”
“He’ll never be able to do it.” Good Lord, and all because he’d put his faith in Jules’ ability to convince Miss Jackson to wed him within twelve hours of making her acquaintance. Jules rarely bet against Greys. Blackheart ought to have known better.
“Care to wager on that?” Mantis turned to challenge Jules, appearing rather beastly, considering the way the evening sunlight slanted across his scar.
Jules weighed the duke’s ability and character against