Her Christmas Rogue by Christi Caldwell

Author:Christi Caldwell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Regency
Publisher: Christi Caldwell
Published: 2019-10-30T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

Having ensconced himself in the billiards room with Munthorpe, Trent had given more of his attention to the red velvet curtains than the actual game he now played with the other man.

“It is your shot, Ballantine.” Munthorpe took a long swallow of his brandy and with the nearly-empty glass, gestured to the table. “And yet, you’re woolgathering.” He looked at him with amusement in his eyes. “Again.” Winnie’s eyes.

The eyes of the woman he’d come here to state his intentions for. He yanked at his too-tight cravat, and then with jerky movements returned his attention to the table. “I’m hardly woolgathering.” Young, unmarried debutantes woolgathered. Men…well, they did not. Not and escape ribbing at a close friend’s expense, anyway.

A laugh burst from Munthorpe’s throat as he perched his hip on the edge of the table. “I’ve never known you to be defensive, chap.” He winged an eyebrow upward. “Or a woolgatherer.”

Trent positioned himself across from that familiar hiding place Winnie had long occupied through the years and squinting, he made a show of studying his shot. He’d sworn the red velvet shifted just then, and yet, he’d spent the better part of the hour attending that very curtain and they’d remained remarkably unmoved when all other times they swayed. He slid his cue effortlessly forward and the crack of the balls echoed through the room as his shot then sailed smoothly into the opposite pocket, reaching the set point first, and effectively ending their game.

“I will never understand your recent preference to visit my damn billiards room instead of our clubs.”

Trent choked on his swallow. He’d come here with a specific intention; and that intention hadn’t been a mindless game of billiards. Not this day. Nay, not even every other day. It had always been about her. Being here and near, wherever she was. “There is something I would speak with you on,” he said quietly. Sweat dampened his palms. And now the other man would know just what had brought him to this very room all these years.

Munthorpe started for the entrance of the room. “Oh?” The viscount didn’t break his stride. Would the other man adopt such a bored tone when he discovered what brought Trent here this day? His friend paused and cast a glance back.

Disquiet ran through him as all the old doubts, and his own failings, crept forward. Restlessly, Trent set his cue on the edge of the table alongside Munthorpe’s untouched glass.

James doubled back around. The other man’s patent good-humored grin now gone, he asked; “What is it?”

Trent swiped a hand through his hair. “There is…” After all, was there truly a right way to tell one’s best friend that he’d come to see his sister as a woman he wanted in his bed and in his home?

Munthorpe prodded him with his eyes.

“There is a woman,” he blurted, eager to be out with it.

Silence fell, punctuated by the tick-tock of the long-case clock and the occasional crackle of the blazing fireplace hearth.

His friend angled his head.

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