“Whoever loses the given shot answers a question of the other’s choice,” she said innocently. “If it’s a tie, we both have to answer.”
His scarred eyebrow lifted. “You name the first shot.”
Careful to contain her excitement, she said, “Hitting from the baulk line, the ball that lands closest to the back cushion wins.”
The shot was her specialty. She’d practiced it hundreds of times.
“Ladies first,” he said.
Placing her mace on the table, she lined up her shot. As she bent over, her medallion slipped from the neckline of her wrapper, the heavy gold getting in her way. She pulled it off, put it on the table’s edge. Taking aim with her mace, she gave a precise shove.
Her white cue ball hit the far end of the table and rolled back, stopping a mere two inches from the back cushion. A winning shot, if she’d ever seen one.
She turned triumphantly to Bennett, whose gaze appeared riveted on her medallion.
“Your turn,” she said.
His eyes snapped to her ball. “Not bad.”
“Let’s see you do better,” she retorted.
Oops.Habits were hard to break.
He didn’t seem put off by her challenge. Instead, a wolfish gleam appeared behind the polished lenses of his spectacles.Removing his jacket, he casually slung it over a chair and took his position at the table.
Her heart pitter-pattered at his splendid form. He radiated virility in his unadorned blue waistcoat, his rolled-up sleeves revealing sinewy forearms sprinkled with hair. His wide shoulders lowered as he set up his cue ball. She wetted her lips as his long trouser-clad legs formed a powerful stance, the muscles of his thighs subtly flexing as he leaned over his cue.
He thrust, the movement fluid and powerfully controlled. The ball glided across the table, rebounding from the far end. Her eyes widened as it rolled toward hers, then past it, coming to a stop…a hairsbreadth from the mark.
She blinked. “You win.”
“Lucky shot.”
She didn’t believe it for a moment. Admiration rolled through her. And, being no sore loser, she said, “What’s the forfeit?”
He studied her, his gaze inscrutable. “I can ask you anything?”
She nodded.
“Where did you get that medallion?”
“This?” She retrieved her necklace from the table’s edge. “Grandpapa gave it to me. Why?”
“I was intrigued by the markings. It’s unusual jewelry for a lady.”
“Oh…I suppose it is.” After a moment’s hesitation, she held it up, showing it to him. “This is the crest for the House of Black. Grandfather modeled it after a medieval device. See the crossed swords? One represents protection, the other vengeance.” She tapped her fingernail against the small ruby embedded at the tip of one of the blades. “The blood is what binds our kin and warns our enemies not to cross us.”
“The medallion is a calling card to your enemies?” There was a harshness to his voice that she didn’t understand. “If they receive it, they know vengeance has come calling?”
“No.” Frowning, she tried to explain it better. “Grandfather doesn’t give the medallion to foes, only family members, loyal retainers, and those to whom he wishes to grant a boon. The medallions are meant toprotectthe wearers from anyone who might do us harm.”
Something passed through Bennett’s eyes. She didn’t know what he was thinking, but she felt the shift in his emotion. It invaded the room, as heavy and ripe as the air before a storm.
Uncertainty pelted her. “Um, ready for the next shot?”
The long case clock counted the moments as he studied her. Just like that, the storm seemed to pass. His expression cleared, and he nodded.
Relieved, she said, “Let’s play a winning hazard. You go first this time.”
