“Miss Jackson’s version is sweeter.” Westerley sent her a wink as he stepped sideways into the row of chairs.
“It is just something I’m trying.” Charley clarified. “Our primary product is dry.”
“Surely you don’t drink the whiskey yourself?” Felicity asked.
“But she would have to,” Bethany explained. “She assists in making it.”
And in that moment, Charley felt everyone’s gaze on her. She sipped some lemonade and hoped it would cool the flush creeping into her cheeks. Being the center of attention was not a circumstance she ever aspired to or even partly enjoyed.
The leader of the quartet chose that moment to instruct the players to lift their bows to their strings, and Charley could hardly have felt more grateful. Just as she turned around to watch the musicians once again, a warm hand landed on her shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze. She didn’t have to look back to know who it was.
Lord Westerley.
Her heart slowed, and she was able to enjoy the music once again. Only this time, she didn’t lose herself so completely.
Knowing Lord Westerley was seated behind her was more of a distraction than she’d like to admit. She couldn’t help but compare the sensation to how she’d felt around Nash.
Nash had left her feeling unsettled as well. She’d known she wasn’t as pretty as the other ladies in their circles back home and had often felt uncertain and on edge.
Lord Westerley sent unsettling feelings through her but of an entirely different nature. Did this mean that she was safe from him? He was a flirt of the worst kind but seemingly with the kindest of intentions.
Was it possible that she could agree to his suggestion with the understanding that she could only ever be his friend? Because despite the wager he’d made with her father, she could not marry him. They lived, quite literally, in different worlds.
Chapter 8
SPEAKING OF BAD LUCK
“You’ll never make it.” Chase folded his arms across his chest as Jules bent over the billiards table. “It’s an impossible shot.”
“Ten pounds says I will.” Jules held his body relaxed and steady.
“Very well.”
All Jules had to do was bank the ball just so… He slid the cue forward with a jerk and straightened to watch in satisfaction as the white ball hit the red, which hit his ball, which rolled perfectly into the corner pocket.
“Damn.” Mantis reached into his pocket to note the result. “Perhaps your run of bad luck has come to an end.”
All of Jules’ intimates knew of his situation with Mr. Jackson. They were also aware of the details and circumstances surrounding the unspoken agreement that had existed with Lady Felicity’s father. None of them questioned that Jules must honor the bet with the Whiskey King.
He ambled around the table, bent over, and with a short stroke, sent another ball rolling smoothly into a side pocket.
Had it been a run of bad luck? He supposed Lord Brightley would see it that way. Would Felicity be disappointed? His sisters would be. And his mother, of course. But there hadn’t been a contract. Extricating himself from their expectations oughtn’t prove to be all that complicated.
Jules ran the table and then stepped back while Viscount Mantis reset it.
“Speaking of bad luck, how are matters progressing with Miss Jackson?” Mantis gestured to Chase to take the first shot.
An inkling of irritation stirred Jules and he scowled across the table and up at the good side of the viscount’s face. “I cannot have my future wife referred to as bad luck and would appreciate you refraining from doing so in the future.” Jules had held the losing hand that night, but there’d be no further mention of it. It wasn’t proper to allow such disrespect.
Jules had found himself watching her closely throughout much of the performance the night before. Not only out of curiosity, but because he… enjoyed looking at her.
Chase grunted but Mantis nodded.
Greys met Jules’ stare from where he sat in the corner and lifted one haughty brow.
“Speaking of bad luck, what happened between you and Blackheart?” Jules changed the subject, directing the question to the least talkative amongst them.
“He made the epic mistake of agreeing to a wager with Greys, that’s what,” Chase said. “He ought to have known better.”
