Page 85 of The Duchess Games

Someone was in the billiards room; he heard the clack of the balls rolling across the green baize. Blackpool most likely. He wasn’t in the mood for his friend’s knowing smirks. Or his sister’s. He picked up his pace.

“Caught,” Summer sang out from the doorway.

Blackpool crossed behind her, cue in his hand. “Your sister cheats.”

“I do not!”

“You bent over,” he muttered. “In that dress.”

Callum pinched his nose. “Blackpool, don’t make me throw you out on your arse.”

“That’s not cheating,” Summer argued, darting out to grab Callum’s arm and dragging him inside.

A chandelier burned bright over the table and there were chairs along the wall for spectators. And whisky. Callum made a beeline for it, adding a dollop into his tea. And another. He felt Summer and Blackpool exchanging a glance behind his back. He turned, scowling. “What?”

Summer rolled her eyes at the set of his jaw. “Clearly, you need something stronger than kittens.”

“Leave it, Summer.”

“As if I would. Don’t be absurd.”

He sipped his tea, burnt his tongue, added more whisky.

“Honestly, Callum. You and Miss Sparrow are made for each other. Always have been. Anyone could see it. Why do you think our mother was so cross?”

“Besides the obvious?” Blackpool asked.

“Which is?”

“She’s always cross.”

“True.”

Blackpool never said a harsh word about a woman. Not a lady, not a servant girl. Predictably, he took Cat’s side. “I don’t know what she did, mate. And I don’t care. Neither does Summer. I’ve never seen you so wretched. Any moment, I expect you to start spouting bad poetry.” He shuddered theatrically.

“Shut it.”

“Get it sorted.”

“She stole from me.”

“If you tell me she stole your heart, I might gag.”

“Jackass.”

“There he is,” Blackpool grinned. “I knew he was somewhere under all that ducal superiority.” He nodded at Summer. “Your turn.”

“Arsewit.”

“I meant at billiards.”

“Oh.”

“Are you two quite finished?”

“I don’t know, are you going to stay here and mope?” Summer shot back.

“I’m going to London.”