Page 43 of Make Mine a Marquess

Phoebe frowned. “You aren’t shocked?”

Beatrice’s lips curved upward in a small but knowing smile, and she looked at her for the first time. “No. I expected something like this.”

“Beatrice Stanwell! You are my cousin and closest friend. You should be talking me out of it.”

“Why?”

Phoebe glanced at her full plate, suddenly not as hungry as moments before. “Because…because nothing good can come out of this fascination.”

“Ha! So you are fascinated by the marquess.”

Phoebe wanted to clap a hand across her mouth. Had she just admitted that? “That’s not what I meant.”

“Let’s sit.” Beatrice took her plate and sat at the far end of the dining table. Phoebe followed and joined her. Most of the ladies were still in bed. Only Lord Delmont and Lord Milton were up, sitting at the far end of the table engrossed in their own conversation with The Times spread out between them.

Beatrice unfolded her napkin and placed it across her lap. “It’s because I love you that I approve. I already told you that I don’t believe Lord Willard would make you a good husband.”

Phoebe reached for her water glass and swallowed. “It’s already been decided.”

A servant entered carrying a teapot and poured hot tea into both of their teacups.

Beatrice added a lump of sugar to her tea and stirred it. “Nothing is final until the vows are exchanged. Meanwhile, what harm is there in playing a game of backgammon with Lord Landon?”

Much harm. Perilous harm. Phoebe’s history spoke volumes. She had little resistance to handsome scoundrels.

Except Landon wasn’t a scoundrel. He was proving himself to be caring and thoughtful. More attuned to her needs than her fiancé. Especially during last night’s “entertainment.” Never had she thought she’d freeze in panic. Or that Landon would come to her aid. Or show up later at her door to check on her well-being.

It was all so complicated.

“Backgammon is just a game, Phoebe. You’re not spending a clandestine evening together. After all, what could go wrong?”

…

“She’s hiding something,” Landon told his friend. “Miss Dawson was scared the mesmerist would make her confess to a crime.”

Aram chuckled. “What? You think she’s a murderess?”

The two were on their way to the billiard room to meet the other men for an afternoon of spirited play.

“No.” Of that fact, Landon was certain.

“Unlike the Madison twins. I overheard them talking badly about Beatrice. They believe she is competition for Roxborough and Malvern,” Aram said.

Landon shook his head in disbelief. “Who would want either? Those coxcombs don’t have two brain cells between them. As for the lovely Phoebe, I look forward to finding out her secrets. I offered to teach her how to play backgammon.”

“Tavlou? You think she’ll want to play?” Aram asked.

Tavlou was the Armenian name for the popular Middle Eastern game. Landon would be sure to teach her that as well.

“I think she’s eager for a distraction,” Landon said. “She finds the ladies’ activities stifling.”

The door to the billiard room was open and they stepped inside. They were early and the first ones to arrive.

As soon as Landon lay eyes upon the billiard table, memories rushed back. Sunlight shone through the windows and slashed across the magnificent table.

He’d had it custom made by John Thurston, the well-known cabinet maker who’d turned his focus to making more lucrative billiard tables. It was solid oak with ornate side panels and mesh pockets with gold tassels. The table was covered with green wool baize which tended to wrinkle. Footmen ironed the baize before a game was played for a smooth surface. The cue sticks and maces were also custom, and twelve inches of each of the butt ends were ornately decorated with brass. Landon preferred to play in the daylight when large windows lit the table. For play at night, oil lamps set in a permanent framework were suspended above the table.

As Landon lovingly ran his hand over a side panel, the rest of the men arrived. Landon handed Willard a cue stick. “Want to go first?”