Definitely Not Mr. Darcy

Then Henry’s lips curled into a smile. If he’d seen through her disguise, he didn’t seem upset at her. “What is your name—boy?” he asked.

“Charles—sir.” Chloe bowed her head and pushed Cook’s glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“Charles. Right. Do take off your hat, Charles.”

“No—no, thank you, sir, I cannot stay.”

“Fancy a drink?” Henry asked.

Chapter 12

S ebastian bent over the red-wool-covered bil iard table. While his leather-tipped cue stick thrust toward the eight bal , he leaned forward and his tight “inexpressibles” left Chloe unable to express—anything. The floor-to-ceiling Merlot velvet draperies provided a stunning backdrop for his unruly black hair, crisp white shirt, and tanned face. “You cannot offer a servant a drink, Henry,” he said, and with a click, the eight bal sank the seven into the right corner pocket.

Chloe locked her knees to keep them from turning to white soup in her footman stockings.

Another footman unglued himself from the wal next to a flowery tapestry to pour more red wine into Henry’s and Sebastian’s depleted glasses.

Henry set his book aside, stood, and chalked his cue stick. “True. Personal y, I would not want Charles to be sent packing.” He looked Chloe up and down, head to mud-splattered toe. “Al for a mere moment or two of immediate gratification.”

Chloe tugged at her cravat; she must’ve tied it too tight, it suddenly seemed. She tried to clear her head, then her throat, and lowered her voice an octave or two, directing her words to Sebastian. “I most certainly do not want to be sent home, sir,” she said. “I am quite honored to be here. It is such a—stimulating—experience.” She wanted his attention, after al .

Sebastian stared at the pool table, not at her.

Henry scoped out his shot. “Have you had many similarly stimulating experiences in your young lifetime, Charles?” He looked up at her with mischief in his eye.

“This definitely ranks as one of the most stimulating.”

Henry raised an eyebrow, then made his shot. The resounding clunk reminded Chloe of her impending doom should Henry decide to rat her out.

Two bal s sank in the left corner pocket. Henry wouldn’t expose her before she had a chance to apologize, would he? She’d have to pack her trunks tonight if he did. Her livery coat felt heavy.

Sebastian slid dangerously close to Chloe, reaching above her head for a tin of snuff on a high shelf. The seam of his shirtsleeves fel just below his broad shoulders and his undone cravat hung carelessly around his col arbone. “My foot hurts, for some reason or another.” He kicked his boot up onto a chair.

“Gout,” Henry said. “Too much red meat and red wine, Sebastian.”

Sebastian shot a fleeting glance at Chloe. “What is it, my boy?” He looked good even when shoving snuff up his nostril and sniffing into his sleeve.

Chloe swal owed, pushing Cook’s glasses up the bridge of her nose, careful to lower her voice to the proper level. “I have it on good authority, sir, that the item found in Miss Parker’s reticule was planted there and I vouch for her innocence. It’s not in her character to do such a thing.”

Sebastian was stalking the bil iard table, hunting out his next move. “Of course we know that. We’re not taken in by the ridiculous shenanigans that must go on among those women at Bridesbridge Place.”

This was a revelation, although a bit derogatory toward the women.

Across the room, near the fire, Henry again raised his wineglass, breathed in the bouquet, and set it aside. Chloe could practical y taste the wine rol ing past her tongue, down her throat . . . If only she could have another drink to steel her nerves.

“Exactly what is Miss Parker’s character?” Henry asked. He walked toward her, leaned on the edge of the bil iard table, and looked her straight in the eye.

No guy had ever asked her that kind of question before. A lightning bolt of fear cracked through her as Sebastian took his shot, and a bal ricocheted off the side of the table, but missed the pocket.

“Do tel , Charles,” Sebastian said. “I’d quite like to know myself.”

Henry took off his glasses, folded them, and placed them atop the mantel. “I assume you’re around her enough to know the answer.” He smiled, and for the first time, Chloe noticed a dimple on the left side of his clean-shaven cheek. And his sideburns were cut so perfectly.

She spun to face Sebastian, who was chalking his cue stick. Now was her chance to lay it al out on the neoclassical mahogany bil iard table.

“Miss Parker, from what I can tel , seems fabulous. She’s the living embodiment of al the best old-fashioned values.” Chloe folded her gloved hands behind her back. Candles were suspended from some kind of contraption above the bil iard table, their wax dripping into the tray underneath; she noticed that the fixture didn’t provide much light, and breathed a sigh of relief.

Sebastian walked over to his empty wineglass. “I’m not sure I believe al this balderdash.”