Stone was studying Jules, tossing one of the balls back and forth between his two hands.
“What are you betting, Stone?” the marquess asked. “And how many attempts is Westerley allowed?”
This was always the tricky part. A few hundred pounds was one thing, an embarrassing or uncomfortable stunt, quite another. But Jules merely rocked on his heels and waited.
“One attempt.” Stone too, was examining the table. “If you fail, I’ve the use of your baby throughout the Season.”
This was a tricky proposition, indeed. Although, there was something he wanted from Stone, as well… And if he took Charley up north to tour the distilleries for a wedding trip, he’d not have need of his prized vehicle anyway. Risk would be minimal.
“If I succeed”—Jules withdrew two balls from the pocket nearest him—“in balancing these two balls atop one another, I’ll expect a boon.”
“So long as you don’t expect me to act as your butler.” Stone grinned.
Mantis flicked his gaze toward Greys, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Speaking of which, when do you expect Blackheart to join your London staff?”
“One week before the Season commences.”
“Do you agree to a boon then?” Jules addressed Stone again, who then nodded.
“Very well.”
Charley apparently wasn’t only adept at cards and had shown the trick to him the afternoon before… after Jules had shown her a few tricks of his own, realizing that the felt table came in quite handy for—
Jules forced the memory to the back of his mind before he created an embarrassing distraction for himself.
“Only one attempt,” Stone confirmed, looking satisfied with himself. And he should look satisfied, Jules conceded, because balancing two round objects atop one another was an impossible feat.
Unless, that was, the balls were supplied by a feisty American redhead.
Ominous notes sounded from the corner where Peter was kindly providing a musical dose of dramatic tension.
Very well then. Jules flexed his hands around the balls, cradling them, and then lowered one to the felt. Once he was certain he’d placed the red ball correctly, he set the green ball on top of it, shifted it slightly, and feeling less than one hundred percent honorable, backed away from the table.
In the spirit of showmanship, Jules reached for the nearest cue stick, lined up the cue ball, and with one smooth stroke, sent the red ball rolling into the side pocket, leaving the green ball to drop to the table —where it sat motionless—in its place.
“What the hell?” Stone came forward and retrieved the red ball to study it. “This ball’s been altered.”
Jules merely tipped his head. “A bet’s a bet.”
“He did say, and I quote, ‘balancethese two ballson top of one another,’” Mantis offered helpfully.
“Damn you, Jules.” Stone was scowling now. “What’s this boon?”
“I’m going to take Charley up north for a wedding trip, which means we won’t be in London for the first half of the Season. I’m going to surprise her.”
“The distilleries?” Peter asked.
“Every last one between here and the North Pole.” Jules grinned.
“And what does this have to do with the boon?” Stone was scowling. It really had not been a fair bet. Not sporting of Jules at all.
“Tabetha is making her come-out.” The mere thought of his youngest sister on the marriage mart had him gritting his teeth.
“What, you want me to dance with her a few times?”
Jules was quite certain Tabetha was not going to be in need of dancing partners. “Watch over her. Keep her out of trouble.”
The room fell silent at the request.
