His hazel eyes widened innocently. “Moi? Mais, je suis français.”
Yes, Lucien was a Frenchman, and the le Ducs possessed the only pocketless French-style billiards table in Cressmouth.Carambolehad been the last treat Uncle Jasper bought them before his health kept him out of the smithy.
“Ladies take the first shot.” Désirée raced her brother out of the parlor, knocking against him when they both tried to cram through the doorway at the same time.
When they reached the billiards room, the others were there waiting. Uncle Jasper was seated in the far corner, his heavy feet propped up high atop a stool. Her middle brother was handing him a glass of brandy, no doubt courtesy of their guest.
Rakish Sébastien was the fashionable le Duc sibling. Men called him Bastien, but the ladies called him Beau because they considered him the equal to Beau Brummell. Without the profligacy, of course.
Désirée tweaked Bastien’s cravat—not because it was imperfect, but because touching its immaculate folds would vex her brother—and retrieved a cue from the closet. She busied herself with chalking the tip before turning to face Jack. She neededsomethingin her shaking hands to belie how much he affected her.
Not because she cared what Jack Skeffington thought. Lucien wouldthrottleher if he believed she fancied an Englishman.
Jack was, naturally, just as dashing tonight as he was on every other occasion in which she’d glimpsed him. Soulful dark eyes the color of fine chocolate. Too-long black-brown hair, a carelessly shaven jaw, a scar that drew her attention right back to those gorgeous, thick-lashed eyes…
“Good afternoon,” he said in English.
Jack was Lucien’s antithesis. Regardless of the language spoken to him, Lucien replied in French. And regardless of the language spoken tohim, Jack replied in English. Somehow they managed to become the best of friends; thick as thieves.
Perhaps because theydidn’tspeak the same language.
Or perhaps because they were, in fact, thieves.
In town, Jack was renowned for his impressive wine cellar. What the villagers did not know was thatles messieurs le Ducaided Jack in his dealings with their countrymen in exchange for a percentage of the profits. In fact, if it weren’t for Jack Skeffington, Désirée’s family would not have held a prayer of paying off the loan in time to keep their property. He kept them informed during their monthly billiard matches, and each time their portion was even greater than the month before.
“There’s brandy,” he said.
“There’s always brandy,” she replied in French.
She suspected Jack understood French every bit as well as Lucien understood English, but refused to speak a word of it just to annoy her brothers. Désirée approved.
“There’s also champagne, if you prefer.” He gestured to a side table. “1811 Veuve Clicquot, if you’re choosy about your vintage.”
Désirée was not choosy. She also could not have asked for better champagne, as he well knew.
“You are hoping that if I drink enough of this, you will finally win a game.” But she poured herself a glass anyway. She loved champagne. This was what France would taste like when she returned home. Crisp and dry and bubbly.
“Teams,” Bastien commanded in French.
Carom billiards was not properly played in teams, but because all four of them were formidable players, they had developed a way to stretch out the fun and make the scoring fairer. Four games, each played with two players, until each player from the first team had played both players from the second team.
Since all four of them were occasionally known to accumulate the required ten points to win the game on their first turn at the table, even this method did not last as long as some of the English games with pocket tables Désirée had witnessed at the castle.
But their way was more fun.
She bit her lip. It was time to choose a partner. “I choose…”
“Me,” Lucien said. “Bastien, you’re with Jack. Désirée, you take the first shot.”
She downed her champagne before setting the empty glass aside and settling into position. Going first was her favorite. If she was playing her brother, she would have finished in one turn. If she was playing Jack, she would take her time.
“Qui m’oppose?Jack? Bastien?”
“Me.” Jack’s dark eyes grinned at her above his glass of brandy. “Should I bother selecting a cue, or are you going to finish the game before I take a single shot?”
“Have a seat.” She lined up her cue, then narrowed her eyes. “Where are your children?”
“Out in the garden with Chef.”
