As the afternoon wore on, Jules suspected they’d absent themselves from the evening meal as well.
His mother would not be pleased.
The alternative was for him, Greys, Stone, Peter, Mantis, and Chase to present themselves as they were: several sheets in their cups and drowning in their wind. Or something like that. By this point, it was quite likely Jules was mixing his metaphors.
“I’ve always been your favorite, Greystone.” Jules made an attempt to bring the lofty marquess into focus.
“Oh, no, Blackheart is about to become his favorite.” Stone laughed heartily. “I will honestly declare for the first time in my life, I can hardly wait for the Season to begin.”
Mantis dealt the cards around the table and they all anteed up.
As a few servants moved around the room lighting sconces, Jules realized dinner had likely commenced.
Did Charley miss him? Although she’d looked almost crestfallen when he’d put an end to their tête-à-tête in the cellar, she’d quickly recovered.
And he’d had to wonder if he’d imagined that she’d wanted his kiss because she’d seemed quite unaffected when he’d left her outside the door of her chamber. She hadn’t gazed up at him longingly, willing him to kiss her goodbye. She’d not invited him inside. She’d not even alluded to any future meetings.
Damned chit had bid him good afternoon by shaking his hand.
“At least you will be free from all the husband-seeking chits and their matchmaking mamas this year.”
Jules stared at his cards, unseeing.
“Are you staying in?”
“Jules?” Stone’s voice jerked him back to the game at hand.
Two kings looked back at him along with a jack and an ace, but it was the queen who made up his mind.
Damnit, he should have kissed her.
“Folding.” He pushed himself away from the table. “I’m going to join the others.”
Five sets of incredulous eyes gawked at him as though he’d grown a second head.
“Why in God’s name would you do that?” Greys frowned, looking only slightly more perturbed than his normal unflappable self.
Surprisingly enough, the others folded as well and were pushing back their chairs. “What kind of friends would we be if we allowed you to return to the hunt without rein… reinforcements?” Chase swayed, slurring his words slightly.
“You’d be level-headed intelligent gentlemen, that’s what you’d be.” Greys dropped into a large chair, lifted his feet onto the low table in front of it, and leaned back, closing his eyes.
With a shrug, Stone scooped up their jackets and they assisted one another into what they believed was each of their respective garments.
“Wait!” Mantis reached out one hand. His arm managed to be stuck halfway into the jacket Stone had handed him. Peter, on the other hand, all but swam in his.
After trading off, they each took one last swallow of the bottle they’d been drinking from, and with a resounding belch from Chase, deigned themselves prepared for battle, er, to mingle with his mother’s guests.
And as they ambled along to the withdrawing room, the closer they got, an odd urgency grew in Jules.
Anticipation.
“Where have you been?” Jules’ mother caught his arm practically before he’d made it through the door. “Good God. Have you been smoking? And drinking?”
All he wished to do was scan the room to search for a certain bright redhead but instead, he gave his mother his attention. “Isn’t that what gentlemen are expected to do in the afternoon?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Afternoon is long since passed. You missed dinner.” She eyed the gents who’d entered behind him warily. “All of you.”
“And that was my loss, Mother, as you look particularly beautiful tonight. Is that a new gown?” He planted his feet wide so as to afford him additional balance and drew back his shoulders. “It was the height of rudeness. Will you forgive me?”
