Mr. Brent and Belmont agreed, both insisting on modest stakes, for what Jess suspected to be completely different reasons. Brent only played to be sociable. Hadn’t his daughter said he disliked gambling? And Belmont could barely afford even modest stakes.
Abel Brent played with an intensity and focus that explained his success in business, though it did not carry over to the billiards table. He lost completely, not helped at all by Destry’s brilliant play.
Jess thought, more than once, that the marquis’s short stature was the key to his success, though he was not stupid enough to share the thought with anyone else.
As they collected the balls to ready them for the next round, Brent came over to where Jess was standing at the drinks table.
“The countess tells me that you invited yourself to this gathering.”
That was blunt, if true. Brent spoke softly but there was an edge of steel in his voice.
“Yes, sir,” Jess said, feeling as though he’d been called before a tribunal of one. He could hear Destry and Belmont laughing over something and wished he were with them.
“If you are hoping to ensnare one of my daughters, I will tell you right now that I will have none of it. They are well-brought-up young ladies and know nothing of wastrels like you.”
Jess pursed his lips. He straightened but did not bow to this man, who was, after all, his social inferior. “The countess knows why I am here and she also knows that I would do nothing to annoy her, which includes dangling after any young woman not yet out.”
Brent gave him a curt nod and, without another word, shoved his cue into the rack and left the room.
“Poor loser, eh?” Destry asked as he rose up and down on the balls of his feet.
“I think he has another appointment,” Belmont said, saluting the two with his glass.
“An appointment?” Destry asked, then smiled. “Ah, with a lady.” He thought a moment more. “With the countess.”
Even though Belmont did not confirm it, he did not deny it, either. Jess became even more certain that Brent and the countess must be having an affair.
It was bad enough to have a corner on Brent’s ill will, but now he was sure that the countess would be watching his every move. Not that it mattered, Jess reminded himself. He was here to win the land from Crenshaw. No other reason.
As for distracting Beatrice Brent from Crenshaw, he would have to tread carefully there. It might be a mistake to flirt with a woman who was too young to understand the game.
Chapter Eleven
AS THEIR MAID was combing out her hair, always her last preparation for bed, Beatrice judged it just the right time for a little gossip.
“Darwell, tell us what you know about the marquis Destry, would you? Please.” Beatrice added the last word as a gesture of goodwill.
Darwell paused a moment. “I do not gossip, miss.”
“Of course not, Darwell, I am not asking for gossip.” Belatedly Beatrice decided that what she wanted was information and that was not gossip, was it?
“I would like to know more about him. Papa could only tell us that he is to inherit the Bendas dukedom someday. Surely there is more to him than that, just as there is more to us than that we will inherit money when Papa dies.”
Darwell finished with her and patted her shoulder. She changed seats with her sister and Darwell began the same routine with Ceci as Beatrice settled on the bed and braided her hair.
“His parents spent most of their time in London and I would often see his nursemaid in the park. He was ever a sickly baby. He grew out of that phase, but his nurse fretted constantly that he was not growing as he should. Finally she told me that they were going north to the family seat in the hope that the bracing Northumberland air would be good for him.”
Darwell shook her head and continued to brush Cecilia’s hair. Beatrice looked at her sister’s reflection in the mirror. Cecilia shrugged her shoulders.
“Do you know the Earl of Belmont?” Beatrice asked.
Darwell brightened at the change of subject. “Not well, but I do know he never misses a trick. He is just the man to go to if you have a puzzle to be solved. I think he could even solve a murder, if the need arose.”
“A murder?” Her hair half braided, Beatrice sat up on her knees, absolutely fascinated.
“That is not all imagination on my part,