Page 119 of How the Belle Stole Christmas
Claire wasn’t sure how to interpret that statement, so she remained silent.
He indicated a carved marble chess set in the corner. “While we are waiting for dinner, would you care to partner me in a game?”
Again, Claire wasn’t sure how to respond.
She had been set upon her course, but now that the earl was altering it off course, she wasn’t sure how to react.
Lifting her chin slightly, she said, “I don’t really play.
” She immediately thought of the billiard table and decided that there might be a way for them to mix some light enjoyment with a bit of exercise. “But I am quite skilled at billiards.”
He lifted a brow, either in mockery or amusement, she wasn’t sure which. “Are you?”
“I am.” She gave a challenging lift of her lips. “I would be willing to engage in a match if you were amenable. And we can work on some of your therapeutic maneuvers at the same time.”
“Ah. The lady has an ulterior motive,” he murmured, and the sound skated up her spine to the point she nearly shivered from the effect. He got to his feet with the assistance of his ivory tipped cane. “Lead the way, Miss Meyer.”
As Ethan followed behind the lady, he found it difficult to keep his mind from straying to some rather licentious thoughts and his gaze from straying to her shapely bottom.
But since he knew he couldn’t act on the impulse to smother her with hot kisses, he supposed in the end, she was his penance for being such a nasty creature for the past few years.
However, with any luck, he would be able to stride into a room or kneel without groaning in pain and praying for death to ease his discomfort.
She walked over to the cues lying in silent wait on the top of the table and walked over to hand him one. “Shall you break, or shall I?”
He waved his hand. “Ladies first.”
She inclined her head. “Very well.” She moved to the top of the table where the solid and striped balls were already in a pile and eagerly waiting to begin, the cue ball sitting a short distance away.
“While I am setting up my first shots, I want you to hold the stick out in front of you and squat as far as you are able in place.” She moved to the wall to demonstrate. “Can you do that?”
He lifted his mouth in a half smile. “I can try, but I make no promises.” As he flattened his back against the wall, he held the stick out in front of him like a staff, preparing to fight off an enemy, then he slowly slid down the wall until his leg began to scream in protest, and then he straightened.
“Good,” she praised. And then she took her position.
As Ethan saw her straighten the stick in front of her, he thought perhaps she might have exaggerated her skill at the table—until he spied the concentration on her face.
He couldn’t have portrayed a better poker face.
But he was more interested in the slight shadow of her breasts as she bent forward.
With the precision of a true player, she struck the cue ball and it rolled in a perfect line toward the grouping of balls, sending them scattering in all directions.
Two of the solids immediately dropped into pockets and as she rounded the table to observe the scene and consider her next move, she was even closer to him.
From this angle, he could appreciate the curve of her hip through the layers of her dress and that plump derriere was displayed rather nicely.
A bead of perspiration appeared on his brow, but it had nothing to do with the exercises. At this point, his movements had almost faded from his mind, although he could feel his body moving with the rhythm he’d created.
His hips, however, wanted to create another rhythm entirely.
He clenched his jaw as she called out, “Red in the corner.” And expertly sailed the ball where she’d indicated while keeping the cue safe from following the previous ball.
It was a common error with those of limited skill, and he was pleasantly surprised to see that she was anything but a na?ve player.
There were not many people that could put a particular spin on a ball or handle a stick like she did.
And he was quite happy observing her movements and imagining that they were put to better use than at this baize table.
When she had all of the solid colors accounted for, she set her focus on the black one which would be the match point, while Ethan had not had the chance to offer up a single stroke.
He watched with rapt attention as the ball sailed toward the pocket, but veered to the left at the last moment, causing her to miss.
She glanced at him with a shining light in her blue gaze. “I suppose it’s your turn.”
He paused his exercises. “I appreciate you giving me a chance to play.” He lifted his brows. “I’m glad I didn’t attempt to place any bets on your knowledge of the game or I would be quite a bit lighter in my coffers right now.”
She laughed, and he found the sound rather delightful. It almost made his lips lift in turn. But that would be getting too close to false happiness. While he would admit he was having a bit of fun now, it wouldn’t last because it never did.
He bent over the table and was glad to find that his leg had loosened a bit.
He could almost bend the knee, but he didn’t try for fear it would collapse beneath his weight.
One embarrassing fall is enough, thank you.
As he began to call out his numbers, he found his concentration on something other than the pain for the first time in weeks, perhaps months.
It was a novel experience, but he was grateful for the reprieve, however slight.
As he made his way around the table, sinking every ball that he called out as it fell into the respective pocket, he straightened as all that remained between him and victory was the lone ball and the cue which would decide his fate.
“I applaud your skill,” Miss Meyer complimented. “I daresay you are a worthy opponent.”
“As are you,” he returned, turning his focus back to the table.
He had a choice to make. He could either declare victory, or he could allow their playful banter and flirtation to carry on throughout the evening.
Since he wanted to make amends for his crude behavior earlier, it seemed the choice was obvious.
Bending down, he took the shot. The cue ball headed straight for the black ball and together, they fell off the table into the pocket.
He hung his head in a moment of shame and laid his stick on the table. “It appears you are the winner, Miss Meyer.”
“Am I?” she challenged with a light lift of her brow. “I am given to wonder if that scratch was intentional.”
His lips twitched again. “I suppose it will forever remain a mystery.”