The Hellion (Wicked Wallflowers #1)(64)

“What manner of competition?” he asked with far too much enthusiasm. He, along with his siblings, had always been practical. Jests, joking, and games had been an even greater rarity than finding food for their bellies. Despite her jaded exterior, Cleopatra had retained a lightheartedness that was infectious.

“Oi find the billiard’s room, you let me teach you the steps of a waltz.”

Adair covered a laugh behind his hand. “And what do I get when I win?”

She snorted. “You need me to make all decisions for you, Thorne?” She paused. “And it’s if you win.”

“We shall certainly . . .” He glanced over to the spot she’d occupied moments ago.

Gone.

And with far more enthusiasm than he’d felt the whole damned evening, Adair grinned and started for Lord Beaufort’s billiards room.



Cleopatra stole through the halls of Lord Beaufort’s sprawling townhouse. The winding halls, covered in plush carpets, were a house thief’s greatest dream. No loose floorboards or uneven slates to give a person’s movements away. It made her task of locating the marquess’s billiards room all the easier.

Cleopatra had been determined to never be dependent upon any man . . . in any way. As such, it was so very odd to find one’s happiness so closely linked with one.

Not just any one—Adair Thorne, Black’s brother. Though, in the time she’d lived among family, she’d been reared to hate, their names had mattered far less. Rather, they’d not mattered very much at all.

If your brother could hear you, he’d strip you of a say in all business dealings at the Devil’s Den.

Cleopatra reached the end of the corridor and stopped. She considered each direction and then continued along the intersecting hall until she’d reached the last door. Briefly pausing, she stole a glance about and then let herself inside her host’s billiards room.

The moon filtered through a crack in the brocade curtains, that faint shaft the only light to break the darkness. She blinked several times to adjust her eyes.

A soft whistle pierced the quiet. “When will I learn it’s folly to doubt you, Cleopatra Killoran?” Adair drawled from his position at the velvet billiards table. “But how in hell did you find Beaufort’s billiards room?”

Another time, she wagered he would have made some insulting crack about her having no doubt committed a theft in this very home. No longer. “Fancy toffs like to keep their gaming rooms farthest from all the respectable ones.” With a laugh, she drifted over to the opposite end of the billiards table. “They’re all the same.” And I’ll be married to one. Fighting back that depressing thought, she lifted her chin. “And what about you, Thorne? How’d you know about Beaufort’s layout? Rubbing elbows with the nobs now?”

“In a way,” he demurred.

Cleopatra tipped her head.

“Lady Beaufort is, in fact, Penelope’s sister.”

With a snort, she hitched herself up onto the edge of the table. “You already knew your way about. Oi’d say that’s cheating.”

He rolled a black ball back and forth between his hands. “You set the terms,” he reminded her.

There’d be no dancing, then. It was silly to feel a keen disappointment, but as she’d put forward the competition, there had been a thrill of excitement at teaching Adair those sweeping movements . . . and of being in his arms. He rolled the ball toward her, and she put her palm up, preventing it from colliding with the edge of the table. “What do you want, then?” she asked, shoving the ball back.

He grinned. “I haven’t decided.”

Her belly fluttered wildly. She followed his languid movements as he quit his spot and fetched two sticks from the wall. “Here,” he called, lightly tossing one at her.

Squinting in the dark, Cleopatra caught it to her chest.

Adair gathered the balls into the proper place at the center of the table. “The best two out of three competitions, wins?”

Her lips twitched. “You’re assuming I play.”

He glanced up from his task, and that slight movement sent a dark lock tumbling over his brow, lending him a boyish look. “Cleopatra Killoran, I’d wager there isn’t a thing you don’t know how to do.”

And just like that, Cleopatra fell in love. Hopelessly, helplessly, she lost her heart to Adair Thorne.

She froze, and his gentle teasing came as muffled as the time she’d dived into the Thames to escape capture by the constable. But God help her, this was all the worse. I love him. I’ve gone and fallen in love with him. When the last possibility of a match could be with this man. Her breath came in quick, shallow spurts, and the cue slipped from her fingers, clattering to the table.

“. . . and . . . Cleopatra?” Adair’s easy smile slipped as concern wreathed his features.

“Two out of three,” she said sharply, quickly retrieving her cue. “I cut.” Through the panic swamping her senses, she bent over and launched her stick at her cue ball. It jumped and sailed past her intended mark.

“Now, that I did not expect,” he murmured to himself as he attended his shot.

She pressed her eyes closed. No, it wasn’t what she’d expected, either.

He valued her opinion and saw her worth, but what was more, he treated her as an equal. And beautiful. Even with your scars and spectacles and figureless form, he’d also made you feel in ways you never believed possible. And there could never, ever be anything more with him. Not if she were to care for her sisters so that they didn’t have to marry pompous peers.