Page 17 of Nothing Compares to the Duke
“Without knowing what I intend to ask?”
“I have one of my own but I’ll tell you after I win.”
“Ifyou win.” She frowned at him. “Why are you here?”
It was a simple question, arguably the first she should have asked but it left his mouth dry. “I... wished to see you, Bella. It’s long overdue that I say—”
“No, why are you in Essex?”
He didn’t want to talk about the estate. Not yet. He moved to the end of the table, risked a step closer, and was relieved when she didn’t retreat. The candlelight caught the gold in her eyes and they sparkled, less fierce than when he’d entered the room but still not warm. Still not welcoming.
“Right now, I’m only here to do what I should have done years ago.”
She inhaled sharply as if she dreaded what he’d say next and then gestured at the table. “Shall we begin?”
Rhys didn’t expect her to be so unwilling to hear his apology, but to say the words would be tugging at old wounds. If she preferred a game of billiards, it was the least he could do. Having any excuse to remain in her company suited him.
“Ladies first.”
“That didn’t used to be your policy.”
“Perhaps I’ve become more civilized.” Now, that was the farthest thing from the truth he’d said in years. She seemed to know it too. One auburn brow winged high.
“Not according to London gossip.”
Rhys chuckled at that. “Have you begun reading tattle rags?”
“Of course not,” she snapped. “But people talk.”
Ah yes. There’d been a time when he’d liked being the name on everyone’s tongue. Infamy was far better than others laughing at your foibles. But he’d never thought any of it would find its way back to Bella. She hated gossip.
“And when the talk was about me you listened?” he asked her softly, a little too hopefully.
She smirked. “The Debley twins visit and they’ve always enjoyed their London tattle rags. I listen to be polite.”
Without waiting for his response, she bent, positioned her cue against her white ball, and took her shot. Her ball bounced against his.
“First point. Your turn, Your Grace.”
Your Grace? Good God, were they as chilly as titles now?
He angled his arm, imagined where a strike would land her ball, and sent his spinning toward hers. The ivory spheres clicked when they collided but he barely dislodged hers an inch.
“One point each,” she said.
She moved closer to take her next shot, and Rhys’s pulse built a faster tattoo as she did. He watched her as she calculated. When Bella was thinking, it was almost as if one could see all the brilliant thoughts organizing themselves in her head. She pursed her lips,two little divots formed between her brows, and the notch in her chin became more pronounced.
She was concentrating so determinedly that she moved close enough for her arm to brush his.
He could have stepped aside. He should have, but he craved the contact.
Bella didn’t seem to agree. “Pardon,” she said softly. “I need to stand where you are.”
He wasn’t a proper gentleman. He’d rarely even tried to be, but he knew that if anyone deserved an attempt, she did.
Stepping back, he gestured for her to take his place near the edge of the table.
A little nod was all he got in the way of gratitude before she bent over her cue, took her shot, and sent his ball spinning to the opposite end of the table. The grin she gave him over her shoulder made him want to let her take the next turn too.
