“That sounds fairly straightforward,” she said.
“It is.” He explained the point system next, which wasn’t too complicated. “That’s it.” Lifting the cue stick, he put his hand on the table, fingers outstretched and thumb slightly raised. He then placed the tip of the cue stick on his thumb’s proximal phalanx. With the other hand, he gripped the back of the cue stick. “You want to hold the cue stick at your hip with your dominant hand and create a bridge with the other the way I’ve done. Bridges vary, so you may want to try a few different positions, but the one I’m showing you right now is the most basic.” He repositioned his legs and leaned forward. “Then lower yourself to the table so you’re looking along the line of the shot you plan on taking. Line up the tip of your cue stick with the cue ball, the red ball and one of the pockets, if at all possible.”
His arm moved the cue stick gently back and forth, sliding the tip across his thumb. Viola stared, her mouth going dry in response to the elegant yet somehow powerful image he portrayed with his jacket drawn tight across his back and fierce concentration straining his features. And then his cue stick shot forward with swift precision, hitting the cue ball and sending the red ball smoothly toward a corner pocket. It landed with a dull thud and the moment it did, Viola cheered.
“Oh, well done!” She couldn’t help but marvel at the skill with which Mr. Lowell had just accomplished his goal. “You make it look so easy.”
Straightening, he grinned, eyes bright with amusement. “Thank you, Viola, but as you must know from learning to shoot a pistol, it just takes practice. Since I practically live here, I’ve played my fair share of games in recent years.” He went to collect the red ball from the pocket. Returning it to the table, he approached Viola and held the cue stick toward her. “Your turn to try.”
Taking the unfamiliar object from him, Viola weighed it in her hand. It was light, so it shouldn’t be difficult for her to hold it as easily as he had done. Recalling how he’d positioned himself, she gripped the end and leaned over the table, placing her hand just so . . .
Something touched her thigh and her heart seized. Fingers curled around hers, and forming coherent thoughts became an impossible task. She swallowed, realizing Mr. Lowell had moved in beside her, his thigh flush against hers as he worked to reposition her hold on the cue stick.
“There,” he said with a husky voice that did awkward things to her insides. “Grip it firmly, but not too tight.” Dear God, that sounded shockingly suggestive! “Now relax your posture. Easy does it . . . Yes, just like that.”
Viola drew a shuddering breath. She could scarcely concentrate on account of the fiery heat coursing through her. His nearness was simply too much. Too . . .
He shifted slightly. His fingers brushed hers on the table as he carefully and with aching slowness rearranged the position of her thumb. Viola’s heart pounded, blood roaring through her veins as she struggled between the urge to run and her desire to stay. It was as if he surrounded her, crowding her with his potent masculinity to the point where she feared her legs might give way.
“Now focus, Viola,” he said so close to her ear she could feel his breath tickle her skin. “Keep your eyes on your target and take your shot when you’re ready.”
Focusing proved a slight problem considering the state Mr. Lowell had put her in. She wondered if he suspected the inappropriate way she’d responded to his words. A sudden flush swept over her body. The man was said to be a seducer of women, so there was a good chance he’d done it on purpose.
She closed her eyes briefly and took a deep breath. She was Viola Cartwright, for heaven’s sake; a woman capable of wielding a pistol and scalpel with equal skill. For the past two years, she’d proved herself capable of achieving more than most men ever did in their lifetimes because of her focus.
Tapping into that resource now honed her concentration and allowed her to send the red ball into the nearest pocket by knocking the white cue ball against it.
Relief and immense satisfaction filled her. “I did it!”
“Well done.” Mr. Lowell collected the red ball from the pocket, placed it on the table and drew the cue stick out of her hand and smiled. “My turn now.”
He didn’t touch her again for the remainder of the game, allowing her to find the positions that worked best for her on her own. Keeping his distance from her by continuously taking his shots from the opposite side of the table, Mr. Lowell remained on his best behavior for the rest of the evening.
“You’re a natural at this,” he told her encouragingly the next time she managed to sink the correct ball in one of the pockets.
“I had an excellent teacher,” she replied with a smile.
“If you are referring to me, then I’m flattered,” he said with a wink right before taking his turn. The yellow ball rolled smoothly across the green felt and clanged against the red ball, which bounced against the side of the table, missing the pocket by a hair’s width. He muttered something beneath his breath and straightened his posture. “Looks like it’s all up to you. If you sink that red ball now, you win the game, Viola.”
She met his gaze, which was warm even though it lacked the sensuality from earlier. Instead she found the same kind of thrilling excitement she felt when competing against someone else. Except in this instance, it wasn’t for himself but for her. He wanted her to succeed, and that piece of knowledge completely undid her.
Averting her gaze from his, Viola gave her attention to the balls on the table. She considered the best angle for the shot and positioned herself accordingly. It wasn’t complicated. The balls were lined up perfectly. But she could feel Mr. Lowell’s eyes on her, and this made her hands tremble. She glanced up at him briefly and relaxed in response to his serious expression.
Shifting her weight for better balance, she honed in on her target and slid the cue stick forward with just the right amount of force to carefully place the red ball in the pocket.
“Brilliant!” Mr. Lowell cheered.
Viola straightened herself and grinned while turning to face him. “What an exhilarating game.” She was thrilled with the progress she’d made in only one evening and with beating a man who’d played so many times before.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” He approached her for the first time since the beginning of the game and held out his hand to accept her cue stick.
As she handed it to him, a pulse went through her in anticipation of his touch. But unlike earlier, he made no attempt to brush his fingers discreetly against hers. In fact, he made sure to keep his hand far enough away from hers on the cue stick to avoid any contact at all.
“Thank you for the game,” Viola muttered. She could not explain the strange sense of loss now filling her body. It was as if an invisible hand had reached inside her and pulled away half of her joy.
When it was finally time for her to take her leave, Mr. Lowell did nothing more than offer a smile before saying, “Thank you for a lovely evening. I look forward to our outing tomorrow.” But he spoke not only to her, but to Huntley, Coventry, Gabriella and Amelia as well, and as proper as that was, Viola was forced to acknowledge a twinge of disappointment when he failed to single her out.
Chapter 10
Viola was finishing her breakfast the following morning when Diana brought her a letter. “This just arrived,” her friend said. She and Harriet had both been up by the time Viola had come downstairs. After giving them a brief account of the previous evening, which had ended later than Viola was used to, her friends had left her to enjoy the morning paper while she ate.
“Shall I start clearing the table?” Diana asked.
“If you don’t mind, I would really appreciate that,” Viola told her. “Huntley and his wife will be here any moment to pick me up.” She tore open the unfamiliar seal and scanned the contents, her pulse accelerating with every word she read.
Dear Madam,
I wish to inform you that His Grace, the Duke of Tremaine has hired me to oversee the case he wish
es to make against you. It is imperative that we meet to discuss the matter at your earliest convenience. I therefore ask that you respond to this letter promptly and apprise me of your availability.
Sincerely,
Michael B. Hayes, Barrister-at-Law
She’d known this would arrive eventually, but she’d allowed herself to forget about the trouble Robert threatened to cause. Instead she’d concentrated on work and enjoying time with friends. Her shoulders sagged and she dropped the letter on top of the table. The prospect of spending the day at Woolwich no longer appealed. The knowledge that she was now officially pitched against Robert in a battle over money had put a sour taste in her mouth.
Briefly, she closed her eyes and envisioned the catastrophe this could turn into. Even if she won, the news of the case would likely be snatched up by some hungry journalist. Her rise to wealth would be stirred up again, reminding the ton that she was an upstart who did not belong.
And if she lost . . .
She shook her head, unable to conceive of such an option.
So she took a sip of her tea. First order of business would be acquiring a barrister of her own. The solicitor who’d helped her with her inheritance and the legalities involved in setting up the hospital, had been older than her husband and had recently died, so he could no longer recommend anyone. Pondering this predicament for a moment, she decided to ask Huntley and Gabriella if they could. With new resolve, she took the letter to her study and placed it on her desk. She then went to put on her spencer, bonnet and gloves, and was ready the moment the knocker sounded at the front door.
“I’ll get it,” Viola called to stop Diana and Harriet from dropping whatever they were doing.
“Have a great time,” she heard them both call from the back of the house.
Collecting her key, she opened the door and sucked in a breath the moment her eyes met Mr. Lowell’s.
“Good morning,” he said, and stepped slightly aside so she could exit her home. “I trust you slept well?”
Viola nodded. “Yes. Thank you.” She shut the door behind her. Hands trembling on account of her silly nerves, she fumbled with the key for a second before she managed to slip it into the lock and turn it. “And you?” she then asked, recalling her manners.
“Oh yes,” he said. Offering her his arm, he escorted her down the steps and toward the first carriage, where Huntley and Gabriella waited. The Coventrys were in the second carriage with the window open, so Viola waved and wished them both a good morning while Mr. Lowell led her forward. “Had a little trouble falling asleep, but once I did, I had the most blessed dream.”
Viola could not for the life of her understand why such a statement would prick at her skin, but there was something about the way he spoke—a suggestiveness that alerted her senses. Of course, it only got worse when his hand clasped her waist in order to help her up into the conveyance. The heat of his touch seemed to linger, reminding her of the danger Mr. Lowell posed to the orderly life she valued.
Greeting the Huntleys, Viola lowered herself to the opposite bench. Mr. Lowell sat down beside her and closed the door, then Huntley knocked on the roof and the carriage rolled forward. Viola clasped her hands in her lap. She could not ignore the feel of Mr. Lowell’s thigh pressing up against hers on account of the narrow space or how solid it seemed.
“It will be fun to get out of London for a bit,” she said in an effort to force her brain to think of something besides Mr. Lowell’s physique. “I have not left the City since I was a child and I accompanied my father to some of his lectures.”
“There is a lot to see outside of London,” Gabriella said. “Have you ever considered traveling?”
Viola thought back on a dream she’d had right after her father died, of running away and not looking back. In it, she invariably ended up in the same place. “I would like to visit the seaside.”
Huntley smiled. “I saw the ocean for the first time myself last summer. The endless expanse of water is definitely impressive.”
“I’ve seen paintings,” Viola said, “but I’m sure it’s not the same thing.”
“It gives an idea, but it does not stir all your senses,” Mr. Lowell said. “When you walk on a beach there are so many sounds and smells to experience. There are the waves rolling toward the shore and the wind tugging at grassy dunes. It’s so much bigger than a painting can possibly convey.”
Intrigued, Viola allowed the description to lure her into a daydream for a while. She lost herself in it until a bump in the road made her thoughts return to the letter she’d received from Mr. Hayes and what her response to it ought to be. She supposed she should try and meet with him as soon as possible—tomorrow even, if that was an option. Because as much as she wanted to ignore the entire debacle and toss the letter into an open fire, she knew that wasn’t possible.
“Are you all right?” Gabriella asked her when they arrived at Woolwich. The carriages had been parked and they were now waiting for Amelia and Coventry to alight from theirs.
“Perfectly,” Viola said. She forced a smile.
“You’ve been awfully quiet for the last half of our journey.” Gabriella eyed her carefully. “If there’s anything you would like to talk about . . .”
Viola glanced toward the Coventry carriage where the duke was assisting his wife, and then toward Huntley and Mr. Lowell, who were now discussing an upcoming boxing match.
Cupping Gabriella’s elbow, Viola gently maneuvered her friend farther away and said, “As a matter of fact, I mean to ask if you or your husband are able to recommend a good barrister.”
Gabriella’s eyes widened. “Heavens, Viola! You’re not in some sort of trouble I hope?”
Viola bit her lip and scrunched her nose. “I might very well be. Robert—the Duke of Tremaine, that is—wants to oppose my husband’s will. He . . .” Her heart suddenly lurched with suppressed panic. “He plans to take back the money Peter left me by whatever means necessary.”
“Good Lord!” Gabriella’s face blanched.
“What is it?” Huntley asked, noting his wife’s distress.
Viola shook her head. She did not want her problems to be aired like this and she didn’t want to ruin what promised to be a fun outing for the rest of the group.
“It’s, um . . . I . . .” Gabriella gave Viola an apologetic look. “You did ask me if I or my husband can help, so I have to ask.”
“Ask about what?” Mr. Lowell said, stepping right into the middle of the conversation.
Viola groaned. “It is nothing. Forget I said anything, Gabriella, and let us simply enjoy the market. We can talk about this later.” And then, to stop any further discussion, she deliberately pasted a smile on her face and went to greet Amelia and Coventry, who were now approaching.
Henry studied Viola as they walked between the stalls. She’d grown distant after mentioning her desire to visit the seaside. It was as if a matter of tremendous weight pressed upon her mind. She’d also looked anxious when Huntley had wanted to know what she and Gabriella were discussing. More so when he’d inquired, leaving no doubt in his mind that she did not want him involved with whatever it was that was bothering her.
Gabriella of course gave nothing away. She’d simply told Huntley that they would discuss this—whatever this was—later, no doubt upon their return to London when there was no one else around to overhear.
And that bothered Henry, because he really liked Viola now that he’d gotten to know her. There was a playful side to her that she often suppressed, but he’d managed to bring it out a few times already. Watching her find amusement in pastime activities, to smile for a while and abandon her serious demeanor, thrilled him. Her happiness had started to matter to him, so if something or someone was threatening her peace of mind, he wanted to help. But how could he when she’d deliberately placed a wall between them the moment he’d asked?
He continued to ponder this while watching her stroll along. Her thoughts were clearly not engaged with the task she was s
upposed to be performing because she kept missing items that he was sure would fit perfectly with the Persian look she was aiming for.
Intent on drawing her attention to this, he came up beside her and caught her by the arm. The gasp she emitted was a welcome change from the solemn mood she’d been in so far, as was the light sparking in her eyes when she saw it was he.
Appreciating her response, he casually looped his arm with hers. “I want you to see something special,” he said as he pulled her around and guided her back to a stall they’d passed a few minutes earlier.
She looked briefly uncertain. “But what about everyone else? We can’t simply—”
“We’ll catch up with you,” Henry called to the rest of their group. “If we lose you, we’ll meet you back at the carriages!”
“Mr. Lowell, I—”
“Will you still not call me Henry?” he asked.
“Please don’t take offense, but I’m not sure that would be wise.” Her words were quietly spoken amid the din of the crowd.
He drew her to a halt and waited until she looked up into his face before saying, “Because you fear the intimacy of such informality?”
Her throat worked as if she tried to form words but failed. A dark pink hue flushed her cheeks but she didn’t look away. Indeed, Viola was too brave to do so—too strong to give up when challenged.
“You know my intentions where you are concerned, for I have been honest about them right from the start,” he added. “I want you, Viola, in ways I can’t even begin to describe.”
“You should not say such things.” Her voice was breathless, and although her words attempted to push him away, her eyes told a different story of longing and deep desire.
“Then you must forgive me, for I cannot seem to help it.” He dropped his gaze to her lips and felt every muscle inside him strain at the sight of her tongue darting out to moisten the soft piece of flesh. “Christ, Viola.” The things she did to him. “All I ask is to hear you say Henry.”
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