Geneva.’ Lockhart gave a derisive chuckle. Greer understood the insult. Holland’s Geneva was a popular, but not high-quality, drink, definitely not the drink of a gentleman used to a superior claret or brandy.
‘Certainly not enough to keep a woman like Mercedes in trinkets and silks,’ Lockhart added astutely as they stepped inside.
‘I’m not looking to keep a woman like Mercedes or any other. I believe I’ve mentioned as much before,’ Greer growled.
‘Really? You could have fooled me today.’ Lockhart chuckled. ‘Well, no matter. She’s in the parlour, remaking a dress if I am any judge of character.’ Lockhart nodded towards the private room they’d used for dinner where a light still burned. ‘I’m for bed. We’ll head out in the morning and try again tomorrow.’
Gentlemen were the very devil with their principles and codes! Lockhart stretched out on his bed, hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling, his mind assessing the events of the day. The Captain had lived up to his suspicions, or down to them depending on how one looked at it. Barrington had gone soft at the critical moment.
It wasn’t the money he minded losing. These stakes had been small. But what if they hadn’t been? What if Barrington chose his conscience over him when real money was on the line? Mercedes would have to be the one to fix that particular flaw. Barrington had not been receptive to his own words of wisdom on that point tonight. Perhaps Mercedes would have more luck.
There was no ‘perhaps’ about it. He’d seen the way the Captain had looked at Mercedes from the start. Mercedes would be his insurance on this. What the Captain wouldn’t do for him, the man would do for Mercedes. When it came to charms, he simply couldn’t compete with his daughter where the Captain was concerned. That was one area Mercedes had an advantage on him.
He did wonder how reciprocal those charms were. To what degree did Mercedes return the Captain’s attentions? He’d seen the two of them at the fair, strolling the booths arm in arm and that telling moment by the horses at the end. If he’d interrupted a little later there would have actually been something to interrupt. And that bauble. Sheer genius on the Captain’s part.
Oh, that had been nicely played, although in all probability the Captain had likely meant whatever sentiments went with it. Men like him usually did. Lockhart chuckled in the dark. A gentleman’s principles might be sticky wickets when it came to billiards, but they could be useful things indeed when it came to a lady’s honour. There were worse people who could court his daughter. He’d seen them and not one of them was good enough for Mercedes with her hot temper and passions.
Mercedes would have to be careful. It would be too easy to fall for a man like the Captain, all handsome manners and good breeding, the very best of English manhood. But she would never fit into Barrington’s world and he would make her unhappy in the end. In the interim, it wouldn’t do to have Mercedes pick the Captain over him. There could be no running off with the Captain on the grounds of false promises the Captain had no intention of keeping. Of course, she could marry the Captain. He wouldn’t stand in the way of that, but he would tolerate nothing less.
Mercedes could be managed. He’d saved her from the consequences of her impetuous nature once before and that deserved her loyalty. He would remind her of that if need be. Still, he wasn’t worried. Mercedes had been down that road before. She’d be wary about trusting the Captain outright.
Lockhart laughed out loud. If he and Mercedes played their cards right, he’d come out of this with a protégé and a son-in-law. He’d give anything to be a fly on the wall in that parlour right now. If Mercedes was smart, she’d give the Captain a piece of her mind and then a piece of her heart.
Mercedes knew something had gone wrong the moment Greer stepped into the parlour. ‘What happened?’ She could guess what it was, though. Her father’s competitive streak had run into Greer’s principles. Nonetheless, she tucked her needle into the fabric and stilled her hands, giving Greer all her attention.
‘This is not what I signed on for—fleecing locals.’ Greer fairly spat the words at her in his frustration.
‘You were warned,’ she said evenly. ‘The night we played for the road, you said you were always serious about money. I thought you understood what that meant.’ In moments like this, she was convinced men were just overgrown boys, squabbling over principles instead of toy boats. A woman was a far more practical creature. A woman had to be.
Greer pushed a hand through his hair. ‘Since when has “come bash around England and generate interest in the billiards tournament” been synonymous with taking money off unsuspecting local players who don’t have any idea who they’re up against?’
Mercedes set down her sewing and rose. ‘Listen to me. If you’d come down off your moral high horse, you’d see the wisdom of it. You need to practise. You can’t simply walk into an elite subscription room in Bath, or a gentleman’s private home, and expect to be perfect without practice. A real player knows “practice” means more than shooting balls around the baize. It means knowing how to work the room to maximum advantage. Places like Bosham are where we practise that skill before we try it out for real in places that count, places that don’t give you a second chance.’
Greer glared at her. ‘What an absolute delight you are. You really know how to cut a man down.’
‘Because you came looking for sympathy and I gave you truth?’ Mercedes stood her ground. His words hurt, especially after the fun of the afternoon and the flirting in the carriage that morning. But she had a job to do, for her father and for herself. Neither job involved making friends with Greer Barrington, no matter how enticing that option appeared on occasion.
‘Lesson one, Captain, is to separate your feelings from your pocket. A good gambler is not emotional about money.’
‘I’m not,’ he snapped. ‘You know very well I don’t wager what I cannot afford.’
‘Your money or theirs,’ Mercedes amended. ‘Emotions go both ways. Your problem is that you get emotional about their money.’ She paused, letting the words sink in. ‘And maybe you should,’ she added.
‘Maybe I should what?’ Greer challenged.
‘Maybe you should play with what you can’t afford to lose. You might try harder to win.’ Mercedes held his gaze, refusing to back down. He had to learn this most primary of lessons before they could move on. A player who could not set himself apart from the money would never reach his potential. She’d seen it happen too many times.
Greer blew out a breath and she had the sense she’d pushed him too far. ‘I can’t believe you’re siding with him.’
The words sliced her as surely as any blade. If he only knew! She wasn’t on her father’s side. She wasn’t on Greer’s side. She was simply on her side, trying to make a place in a world that insisted there wasn’t one for a female. Her own anger began to spill. ‘I’m not siding with him. I’m trying to save you from yourself. Or maybe you don’t care. Not all of us have the home farm waiting for us if this doesn’t work out.’
Damn him and his high-road principles. She didn’t want to need him, but the reality behind all her bravado about emotional detachment was stark and simple. He was her chance. Her success was tied to his although she dare not tell him that.
‘I must apologise.’ Greer clicked his heels together and executed a stiff bow, his tone just as rigid. ‘I’ve taken my frustration out on you. You are merely the messenger of unpleasant news.’ He reached out and covered the star charm where it lay against her neck. His hand was warm on her skin, the gesture intimate, his fingers achingly near her breast. He smiled. ‘We’re in this together.’
Until it’s time not to be. Mercedes masked the self-serving