“He bet that you’d announce your betrothal to Miss Jackson by noon yesterday,” Mantis supplied.
“It seems Blackheart was overconfident in the great Westerley charm,” Greys finally spoke up, “as we’ve heard of no such thing. You did ask her, no doubt.”
Jules turned his gaze on each of his friends. “Was Blackheart the only one with faith in me?”
“It wasn’t that I couldn’t put my faith in you, Jules old man. Miss Jackson, however, has quite a spirited look in those emerald eyes of hers.”
What the devil was Greys doing noticing her eyes? Was it possible he wanted her for himself? Jules met the marquess’s matter-of-fact expression with a half-smile of his own.
Of course not. Greys was the most fastidious of them all as far as appearances. When he married, the chit would be a perfect English Rose from an old and lofty family.
“But that’s not the beauty of it,” Mantis inserted. “It was an idiotic wager for Blackheart to take.”
Jules lifted a brow in question. “He mentioned putting his affairs in order.”
Chase slapped his thigh and even Greys cracked a smile. Even Peter Spencer, who sat in the corner, randomly plucking the strings of his cello, was grinning.
“To make good on the bet,” Chase said when he could bring himself to sit up again. “Simon Benjamin Alexander Harold Cockfield, the seventh duke of Blackheart,” Chase shook his head until he gained control of his mirth, “must act as Greystone’s butler.”
“Surely not!” No wonder Blackheart had seemed stunned. “For how long? A week? A fortnight?”
“In town. Throughout the entire Season.”
Jules didn’t know how to respond to such an unexpected announcement. How was it even going to be possible? The man was a bloody duke, for god’s sake!
“And he mustn’t break character. If he does, then he’ll be required to allow Greys to choose the future Duchess of Blackheart.”
“He’ll never be able to do it.” Good Lord, and all because he’d put his faith in Jules’ ability to convince Miss Jackson to wed him within twelve hours of making her acquaintance. Jules rarely bet against Greys. Blackheart ought to have known better.
“Care to wager on that?” Mantis turned to challenge Jules, appearing rather beastly, considering the way the evening sunlight slanted across his scar.
Jules weighed the duke’s ability and character against the difficulty of the task Blackheart had ahead of him. Hell and damnation, if anyone could do it, Black could.
And yet Jules really did hate to walk away from such an excellent contest. “The duration is too long. Even Blackheart won’t be able to keep from slipping into his ducal self over the course of two and a half months.” Although it didn’t seem quite fair that Jules would go against his old friend when Black had voted on Jules’ success.
“He’ll do it. I’ve yet to witness Blackheart fail at anything. Consider me in,” Spencer spoke up from where he’d appeared to be napping on the settee. “The losers of this wager must make a mad dash through Hyde Park the morning after the last ball of the Season wearing ladies’ evening gowns.”
“Pishaw.” Chase waved a hand. “Far too easy. They must be naked. But for a masque.”
“He’ll succeed.” This from Chase. “And I’d far prefer to wear a lady’s gown.”
“Same,” Mantis agreed. “Jules?”
“He can’t do it. He’s a blasted duke, for Christ sake. What will it be, a gown or nude?”
“Nude,” Greys said. “And I’m inclined to agree.”
“Count me out of this one.” Peter slid one finger down one string on his instrument, punctuating his decision with an ominous sound.
Mantis wrote the details in his little book and Jules chuckled. He did feel slightly more confident knowing he was on the same side of this one as Greys. Running through the park in nothing but what God gave him held little appeal.
“And on that note, I’ve duties I must attend to,” Jules said. “If you’ll be so kind as to excuse me.” He returned his cue to the rack on the wall before making a quick bow and heading toward the exit.
“One hundred pounds says Westerley is betrothed to the chit by sunup tomorrow.” Stone Spencer’s voice barely floated out the door as Jules closed it behind him.
Stone’s pockets, he feared, would be one hundred pounds lighter come morning. In order to uphold his promise to Mr. Daniel Jackson, Jules feared he’d have to play his long game. Honor was concerned, making success the only acceptable outcome.
The last time Jules had failed to uphold his gentleman’s code, the result had been tragic. He could never sacrifice his honor again.
