The Duke is Wicked (League of Lords #3) - Tracy Sumner Page 0,38
was fearless, but her heartbeat beneath his knuckle had been frantic. “What suitable host doesn’t inquire about his guest’s health?” he murmured against the crystal rim.
Simon released a soft snore, and they turned to find him asleep, head buried in his arms, long body folded halfway across the chessboard, the pieces scattered about him.
Sebastian removed the glass from Simon’s hand. “Was the libation your idea? You’re his elder by at least, what, two years?” It was a subtle way to find out how bloody old she was. He was starting to feel like an immoral uncle.
Delaney tilted her head and considered her inebriated friend with a smile that shook Sebastian with its candid affection. If she’d only look at him like that. “I’m twenty-two, so I imagine Simon and I are close in age.”
Turning to the sideboard, Sebastian placed the glasses next to the open gin bottle. Twenty-two. Too old for Simon, too young for him. “He’s seventeen. And the few times he’s had a drink, very few because Julian holds a tight leash, he’s taken it upon himself to rob someone blind. Pockets things when he’s in the mood, which Julian hopes, like the haunts, he’ll outgrow. Although lately, he talks to one in particular, and I wonder if he’s smitten with a woman long departed. As if a young man’s minority weren’t hard enough to struggle through without falling in love with a ghost.”
“Oh. Goodness, we only had one glass. But it was a rather generous pour.” Turning to gaze around the gaming room, she whispered, “Ghosts? Are they here? Now? He mentioned they were.”
Sebastian glanced over his shoulder, a grin teasing his lips. “Try not to think about it. That’s what I do.”
Delaney looked fascinated and aghast, the mix charming him to his toes. He laughed, which he’d done more since that damned bee sting than he had his entire life.
It wasn’t simple, this attraction.
When he’d always counted on attraction being simple.
She wagged her finger, swaying as she did it. “Come here, Tremont. Your cravat is askew, as usual. When I tie a smart mail coach knot.”
He paused in squeezing lime juice into a glass, telling himself alcohol brought dreadful impulses to the forefront. A petite woman, it wouldn’t take much to knock her off her feet. He wasn’t about to let her touch his cravat in this weakened condition—his or hers. “I feel I must refuse and continue on with my tilted neckpiece.”
She scooted off her chair, strolled to the billiard table and hopped to sit on it like she’d done it a thousand times before, her gown a buttercup swirl around her slender body. He battled to smother his surprise. No English woman, not one, could have copied the move. Certainly not while making it look rakish and elegant. So incredibly lovely and unladylike. “I love this house,” she said and rolled the eight ball along the baize and into a pocket, her crooked grin breaking his heart just a little. “It’s fit for a duke, as fit as any fortress I’ve ever seen. The dungeon alone makes me want to weep. I think the suit of armor in the library is real.”
Sebastian closed the distance between them, not close enough to touch but enough to reach, handing her a glass. With a quick sip, she sulked to find water, lime and nothing else.
“I was a third son, Temple, did you know that? From your research in Debrett’s, I thought you might.”
She hummed low in her throat but didn’t comment. Evidently not. That would mean giving up valuable information about herself.
“Third sons, even of a duke, lead charmed lives. Although this fire-starting business bungled that. So I bought an army commission to escape and went off to fight battles I’m no longer sure mattered, then returned to find myself stuck with the weightiest title in the land. And, still, the fires raged.” Grabbing a cue, he anchored his elbow on the table, aimed and pocketed a ball with the gentlest kiss imaginable. He was a dangerous player himself. “A third son lives here, not a duke. No upsetting memories assail me when I walk through that Tudor door you like so much.”
“Your father, the fountain.” Her penetrating gaze cut over her glass as she took a sip.
“Ah, so I did talk out of turn while down and out? Not really cricket of you to listen.”
“Cricket?”
Sebastian rounded the table, studied his target, squinted and took a precise shot that had a striped ball cutting past her