Harlequin Historical July 2013 - Bundle 2 of 2: Her Highland Protector\A Lady Risks All\Lady Isobel's Champion by Ann Lethbridge

Author:Ann Lethbridge
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2013-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

‘Double or nothing, then?’ Mercedes laughed up at the young heir to an earldom. He was so very rich, but he was going to be a few pounds lighter when he left. She ran a light hand down his chest. The poor boy blushed, obviously revelling in being treated like the man he thought he was by a very beautiful woman who’d seemed to have stepped straight from his fantasies. Mercedes moved closer to him and flashed him a come-hither smile. ‘Be warned, good sir, I can make that shot all night long.’

‘It’s true, she can. Your money is safer in your pocket.’

The all-too-familiar voice made her freeze. Good Lord, Greer was here! Mercedes turned from the young earl and faced him, her stomach plunging to her toes when she saw Ogilvy too. Had Ogilvy just happened to bring a friend? Or was something more malicious afoot? Had Ogilvy sold her out after all? He’d be very sorry when Helen heard about it. There was nothing for it but to brazen it out and hope for the latter while believing the former. Greer’s comment left her very little room to pretend he didn’t know it was her.

Mercedes smiled sweetly and sailed around the table. ‘Mr Ogilvy, have you brought a friend?’ She linked her arm through Ogilvy’s and stared up at Greer, giving him an assessing once-over.

‘This is Lord Captain Barrington of the Eleventh Devonshire.’

‘Enchantée.’ Mercedes unlinked her arm from Ogilvy’s and performed a delicate curtsy, the gesture and the French compliments of Mrs Bouchard’s Academy for Girls.

Greer took her hand and raised it, pressing his lips to her knuckles, conjuring up memories of the last time he’d done that. ‘Mon plaisir, Madam Mason.’ He made her name sound deliciously sophisticated, drawing out the Mason to Ma-sown. ‘Est-ce que vous jouez?’ She retrieved her hand and shot him a narrowed-eye look. He knew very well her French was limited to about ten useful phrases and that—whatever it was he’d said—wasn’t one of them. She hadn’t exactly excelled at French. She regretted telling him that during one of their long mornings in the carriage.

‘I believe Bonaparte lost the war, Captain. We speak English at Mrs Booth’s.’ That brought a round of laughter from her court.

Greer wasn’t daunted. He selected a cue and began to chalk up. ‘Mr Ogilvy tells me you play a good game.’ He glanced around the room, smiling broadly. ‘Good enough to beat most of the gentlemen present on more than one occasion. He has compelled me to come and defend men everywhere.’ He gave the chalk on his cue tip an efficient blow, looking entirely likeable.

‘Hear, hear,’ came a few cries from the back of the room.

The dratted man was going to steal her crowd if she wasn’t careful. Usually she admired Greer’s ease, how people wanted to cheer for him. She wasn’t admiring that trait at the moment. Beneath his aura of bonhomie, he was primed, a veritable powder keg and the fuse was lit.

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