Chapter Twelve

S eth had suspected that his cousin was still playing at matchmaker when she sent word that she was feeling poorly and that he must retrieve Frances himself. Not that Seth minded in the least since he would like nothing better than to be alone in a carriage with her. He had not expected that she would also insist on a maid accompanying them. At least the maid would not be about when he was giving her a billiards lesson, nor would his sister likely be present, which would leave Seth very much alone with Frances.

What he had not counted on was Lady Bethany joining them instead of a quiet, non-intrusive maid.

“Lady Bethany gave the servants the evening off,” Frances said as he assisted her into the carriage. “Therefore, she must act as our chaperone.”

“Especially with one of your reputation, Lord Seth.” Lady Bethany grinned at him.

She was as cheeky as his cousin Tessa. No wonder the two were such good friends. “Lady Bethany,” he greeted.

The two ladies took their seats in the carriage and Seth settled across from them for the drive to his home.

As much as he would have liked to have this conversation with Frances in private, Seth asked anyway. “I hope all is well, Miss Hawthorn. I called four afternoons but you were not at home.”

“Oh, I was at home, Lord Seth. Just not to you.”

It was what he had suspected. “Have I done something to offend you?”

It was Bethany who laughed. “She was exhausted.” Then went on to explain that the days following each salon they remained in without guests simply to rest.

He recalled similar days after he had opened The Emerald Garter. He’d been engaged from supper time until the early morning hours, only to return home, collapse on his bed for what seemed like only a few hours before he rose and returned to his gambling establishment. It took time before he managed his time better and put more faith in Jonathan to run things when he was away. The man really should be a partner in the venture for all he did and maybe Seth would make him just that after he married Frances…

Married Frances?

Where the blazes had that thought come from?

Yes, he wanted to spend time with her. Yes, he was courting her, but his thoughts had not moved to anything more permanent.

Nor had they ever and part of the reason he had lost her.

If he wanted to keep Frances in his life, and not just as his dearest friend, he would have to consider if he was ready to marry.

He wanted her near, and he certainly wanted to return to the kisses and affection they had once shared, but that would be all because she was innocent. As his wife, Seth would not need to simply kiss and share a few caresses that left them both frustrated.

Well, he assumed she ended up in such a state because he most certainly did.

However, it had only been a sennight since the two of them became reacquainted after five years and she claimed to have changed. It was something that he could not argue with because he had noted those changes. The question that remained was how much had Franny changed? Would they even suit now?

After they arrived back at his home and he escorted the women into the parlor, his suspicions of matchmaking were confirmed when Blythe’s eyes widened in surprise and disappointment as she glanced at Lady Bethany, who simply shrugged.

Frances had noted her reaction as well and her lips pursed.

As the footman poured wine, the women discussed Athena’s Salon, which Blythe attended two of the four nights, while he stood back observing and listening to the women until dinner was announced. He then offered his arm to Frances to escort her into the dining room with Blythe and Lady Bethany following.

Conversation around the table was polite and general, and nothing of substance as they likely shared during their hours in Athena’s Salon. Though he noted that it was more Blythe and Lady Bethany conversing while Frances said little.

As dinner was concluded Seth stood. “Shall we adjourn to the library for billiards?”

Both Blythe and Lady Bethany looked at him as if he were mad.

“Why would we do so?” Blythe asked.

“It was the purpose of this dinner,” he answered. “I promised to teach Miss Hawthorn how to play but needed you to arrange a dinner so that it was not remarked upon if she simply called.”

“Billiards?” Lady Bethany asked Frances.

“I wish to learn the game,” she answered defensively.

“You two go along,” Blythe insisted. “Lady Bethany and I will enjoy tea in the parlor.”

It is what he hoped her response would be and had counted on the same thing occurring had it been Tessa and her husband at dinner. Though, His Grace may have wanted to join, which would have taken some of the fun out of his teaching.

Frances allowed Seth to guide her down the corridor and into the library. At one end of the large room were shelves of books and a desk piled high with documents. At the far end was a billiards table. However, it was the desk she approached. “Do you not employ a secretary?”

“I see no need to do so,” Seth answered.

“By appearances, you do.” How could he possibly know what was of importance and what could be ignored? Most of the missives had not even been opened.

“We are here for billiards, not to discuss my disorganization.” Seth crossed to a sideboard. “Would you like wine or brandy?”

“Wine, please,” she answered absently. How could he possibly be a successful owner of a gentlemen’s club if this was what his desk looked like?

“I can assure you that my office at The Emerald Garter is much neater and organized, and the books are accurate and up to date.”

He crossed to hand her a glass of wine. “We are here for billiards,” he reminded her again.

She accepted the wine and strolled to the green baize-covered billiards table. The sides were raised and the pockets where they should be. Frances was familiar enough with the game to know what the table looked like, she simply did not understand the game, nor had she ever attempted to play.

“Why do you have this table in your library instead of a billiards room?” she asked. “Don’t most gentlemen have such a room for entertainment?”

“Some do,” Seth answered as he took a small, locked box from a shelf. “I rarely have guests to enjoy the game and usually play, or work on my game, when I am thinking.”

She glanced back at the unorganized and messy desk. “It appears you may do more thinking than working.”

“Appearances can be deceiving,” he answered as he placed the box on the table, unlocked it and drew out the balls.

“Why are they locked away?” Frances asked as she wandered to his side.

“They are ivory and expensive. I would not want anyone to steal them.”

“You do not trust your staff?” she inquired.

“I do not trust visitors to my home, if they would have cause to be in my library.”

Frances placed a hand over her heart. “I can promise that I will not steal your balls, Seth.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “I will happily allow you to handle them whenever you wish.”

There was an odd glint in his eyes, but she couldn’t begin to guess why. Often gentlemen made comments while gambling that she didn’t understand either and decided that they have a different way of speaking that only they understood.

He picked up the two white balls, on which one was a black dot. “Which do you prefer?”

“Does it matter?” she asked. “Why is this important?”

“One will be your cue ball and the other will be mine. The dot is how we tell the difference.”

She studied them and chose the one without markings and Seth placed them on the table next to the red ball before he retrieved one of the sticks mounted on the wall. One end was a rounded tip, though flat at the end. The other end was wider, flat and squared. She assumed that was the end used to hit the ball.

“The idea of the game is to hit your cue ball so that it knocks the red ball into one of the pockets. You can score extra points if you hit both balls,” Seth explained as he placed her cue ball and the red ball at one end of the table then went to the other end and set his cue ball down. He then lifted the stick and bent over holding one end with his right arm and braced his left hand down on the table before he balanced the stick between the thumb and index finger, with his thumb arched. He then drew back and pushed the stick forward. It connected with the ball with such a force that it rolled down the table with enough speed that when it connected first with the red ball it knocked her cue ball, but neither went in a pocket.

He also used the opposite end of the stick, the narrower tip, to strike the ball.

He then stood and held the stick out to her. “Your turn.”

“What do I do?”

“What I did.” He then took the red ball and returned it to where it was originally placed then replaced her ball with his before bringing her ball to the end of the table and placing it where his had been. “This is how the game begins.”

“I do what you did?” Frances asked for clarification.

“Yes. Exactly what I did.”

She took a deep breath then grasped the stick as he had, leaned forward and put her hand on the table to balance the stick, drew back then thrust it forward and hit the ball. It barely rolled forward. “What did I do wrong?”

“Not enough power in your thrust.”

She frowned.

Frances tried again, but this time she barely brushed the side of the ball.

“Try balancing the cue stick like this.” He placed his left hand on the table and this time balanced the stick on the lower part of his middle finger with his thumb braced on the table and then crooked the index around the stick. “Place your hand on the table then the tip of the stick in the hole. Pull back slightly, then thrust forward with enough force that it will hit with enough intensity to move them from their spot.”

He spoke in such a low heated tone that Frances again had the feeling as if he was talking about more than hitting balls with a stick. She couldn’t imagine why it made her flustered, yet it did.

“Try.”

Seth stepped back and Frances again attempted to strike her cue ball as instructed but barely tapped it this time.

“Let me help you.” Seth came around to stand behind her.

“Place your hand on the table again.”

“But the ball has moved,” she reminded him.

“That can wait,” he said as he came around, then bent and curved his body behind hers. One hand he placed on the table by hers, and the other over hers on the stick. “Like this,” he said.

“Line up the tip at the hole in your fingers,” he instructed.

Frances did as instructed. “Pull back and thrust,” he said while demonstrating. “Back and thrust. Back and thrust. Back and thrust.”

Goodness it was growing warm. Likely because of the lamps lit to light the table and the heat radiating from his body.

“Back and thrust. Can you feel the power?”

“Yes,” Frances answered, surprised at the breathlessness of her tone.

“Now, try again.” He let go of her and returned the ball to the place from where she needed to hit it.

Frances drew back on the stick and as instructed, thrust it forward. It shot down the green table and connected with the red ball with enough force that propelled it to the edge of the table where it bounced and rolled back, tapping his cue ball.

“Never underestimate the power of a good thrust to strike the perfect spot for an intense release.”