Cocky Earl - Annabelle Anders Page 0,29

the difficulty of the task Blackheart had ahead of him. Hell and damnation, if anyone could do it, Black could.

And yet Jules really did hate to walk away from such an excellent contest. “The duration is too long. Even Blackheart won’t be able to keep from slipping into his ducal self over the course of two and a half months.” Although it didn’t seem quite fair that Jules would go against his old friend when Black had voted on Jules’ success.

“He’ll do it. I’ve yet to witness Blackheart fail at anything. Consider me in,” Spencer spoke up from where he’d appeared to be napping on the settee. “The losers of this wager must make a mad dash through Hyde Park the morning after the last ball of the Season wearing ladies’ evening gowns.”

“Pishaw.” Chase waved a hand. “Far too easy. They must be naked. But for a masque.”

“He’ll succeed.” This from Chase. “And I’d far prefer to wear a lady’s gown.”

“Same,” Mantis agreed. “Jules?”

“He can’t do it. He’s a blasted duke, for Christ sake. What will it be, a gown or nude?”

“Nude,” Greys said. “And I’m inclined to agree.”

“Count me out of this one.” Peter slid one finger down one string on his instrument, punctuating his decision with an ominous sound.

Mantis wrote the details in his little book and Jules chuckled. He did feel slightly more confident knowing he was on the same side of this one as Greys. Running through the park in nothing but what God gave him held little appeal.

“And on that note, I’ve duties I must attend to,” Jules said. “If you’ll be so kind as to excuse me.” He returned his cue to the rack on the wall before making a quick bow and heading toward the exit.

“One hundred pounds says Westerley is betrothed to the chit by sunup tomorrow.” Stone Spencer’s voice barely floated out the door as Jules closed it behind him.

Stone’s pockets, he feared, would be one hundred pounds lighter come morning. In order to uphold his promise to Mr. Daniel Jackson, Jules feared he’d have to play his long game. Honor was concerned, making success the only acceptable outcome.

The last time Jules had failed to uphold his gentleman’s code, the result had been tragic. He could never sacrifice his honor again.

“There you are, darling. Are you enjoying the party so far?” Jules pivoted just as his mother approached from the opposite end of the foyer and took hold of his arm.

If Bethany and Jules both took after their father in appearance, Tabetha most definitively carried on their mother’s blonde beauty. And despite the fact that she was nearing the half-century mark, their mother remained a handsome woman.

“How could I not when you’ve done all the planning?” Jules covered his mother’s jeweled hands and proceeded to stroll alongside her to whatever destination she had in mind.

“I do try to be original,” his mother said with little modesty. “So many house parties consist of the same activities over and over again. It’s especially difficult this time of year, when we cannot count on the weather to cooperate.”

“I hear that yesterday’s activities provided the utmost of enjoyment.”

“Did Lady Felicity tell you that? She is looking prettier than ever, if I say so myself.”

Jules tilted his head, making a cracking sound before he could stop himself.

His mother cringed. “I do wish you wouldn’t do that.”

“I’m sorry.” But she’d forget the cracking as soon as she discovered that her future daughter-in-law would not be the daughter of one of her dearest friends but of a man who made American whiskey for a living.

“Have you spoken to her privately?”

His mother’s question drew his attention back to her. “Who?”

“Why, Lady Felicity, of course. Can I be so optimistic as to hope for an announcement on the night of the ball? It would make for an excellent end to the party.”

Luckily, they’d arrived at the entrance to the dining room, where he suspected his mother would wish to inspect the seating arrangements and décor.

“I hate to disappoint you, Mother—”

“So you must intend to surprise me. Have I ruined your surprise, darling?”

Jules ran a hand through his hair without answering.

“It’s just that she’s waited such a long time. And you, Julian Elias Fitzwilliam, have achieved your thirtieth year. It’s high time you do more than simply contemplate setting up your nursery if you’re ever to beget an heir.”

“I see your point, Mother.” Jules winced. “But what if—”

“Oh, no! Smythe, you cannot seat Lady Turlington beside Mrs. Reddington! Do you want