The Duke Identity (Game of Dukes #1)(34)

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Tessa managed to keep her expression calm while excitement tumbled through her.

Being no fool, she was certain that Bennett had been behind the exploding fountain. She had to admire his ingenuity: rigging a fountain was no small feat. One that required more expertise than even her bucket-over-the-door gambit. The fact that he’d taken the pains to set up the elaborate prank filled her with hope.

Could he be interested in me? Even a little?

Lying in her bed, she’d come to a realization: she wanted Bennett. He was the man she was supposed to spend her life with. He was her lightning, and she’d been struck. Of course, this led to some problems. Her grandfather wanted to marry her off to Ransom, and there was the matter of securing Bennett’s affections. She’d deal with the former when necessary, and as for the latter…

Blacks never gave up without a fight. They didn’t mope because of one rejection; they dusted themselves off and went another round. And another and another, as many as necessary to achieve their goal.

Since her goal was Bennett, she would have to fight to win his heart (and other body parts).

The truth had been dazzlingly simple. And contemplating matters further, she’d recognized that she hadn’t exactly done a stellar job of endearing herself to Bennett. What man would want a woman who served him salty tea, embarrassed him in a tea shop, had him nearly arrested for theft, and destroyed his favorite boots? Then, to top it all off, she’d thrown herself at him without any warning.

Crikey, she needed to work on her flirtation skills. She’d decided to turn a new leaf. Her new strategy was this: instead of plaguing Bennett, she would try to act in a more pleasing manner. To be more accommodating and biddable, more in the usual mold of females.

Now she had the unexpected opportunity to try out her plan.

Anticipation squeezed her lungs; it felt like the whole room was holding its breath.

Bennett crossed over to the collection of billiard accessories hanging on the wall. She watched, captivated by the care he took choosing his instrument. His long fingers glided over the sticks, testing each for balance and weight, and she shivered, imagining that masterful touch on her skin.

His final selection was a cue of polished ash. She, herself, preferred playing with a mace, a shorter, carved stick with a small shovel-shaped block at the end.

“What shall we wager?” she said.

“I don’t take money from ladies,” he said dismissively.

As if you’d beat me. She managed to bite back the rejoinder. Men, she knew, didn’t like being bested; if she meant to flirt with Bennett, she should probably let him win.

Drat. Flirting was difficult.

Then an inspiration hit her. Flirting was about getting to know one another, wasn’t it? If she wanted to ascertain Bennett’s feelings, there was one sure way to do it.

“Let’s play for something more interesting than money,” she suggested.

His brooding look was a bit too penetrating. “Such as?”

“Whoever loses the given shot answers a question of the other’s choice,” she said innocently. “If it’s a tie, we both have to answer.”

His scarred eyebrow lifted. “You name the first shot.”

Careful to contain her excitement, she said, “Hitting from the baulk line, the ball that lands closest to the back cushion wins.”

The shot was her specialty. She’d practiced it hundreds of times.

“Ladies first,” he said.

Placing her mace on the table, she lined up her shot. As she bent over, her medallion slipped from the neckline of her wrapper, the heavy gold getting in her way. She pulled it off, put it on the table’s edge. Taking aim with her mace, she gave a precise shove.

Her white cue ball hit the far end of the table and rolled back, stopping a mere two inches from the back cushion. A winning shot, if she’d ever seen one.

She turned triumphantly to Bennett, whose gaze appeared riveted on her medallion.

“Your turn,” she said.

His eyes snapped to her ball. “Not bad.”

“Let’s see you do better,” she retorted.

Oops. Habits were hard to break.

He didn’t seem put off by her challenge. Instead, a wolfish gleam appeared behind the polished lenses of his spectacles. Removing his jacket, he casually slung it over a chair and took his position at the table.

Her heart pitter-pattered at his splendid form. He radiated virility in his unadorned blue waistcoat, his rolled-up sleeves revealing sinewy forearms sprinkled with hair. His wide shoulders lowered as he set up his cue ball. She wetted her lips as his long trouser-clad legs formed a powerful stance, the muscles of his thighs subtly flexing as he leaned over his cue.

He thrust, the movement fluid and powerfully controlled. The ball glided across the table, rebounding from the far end. Her eyes widened as it rolled toward hers, then past it, coming to a stop…a hairsbreadth from the mark.

She blinked. “You win.”

“Lucky shot.”

She didn’t believe it for a moment. Admiration rolled through her. And, being no sore loser, she said, “What’s the forfeit?”

He studied her, his gaze inscrutable. “I can ask you anything?”

She nodded.

“Where did you get that medallion?”

“This?” She retrieved her necklace from the table’s edge. “Grandpapa gave it to me. Why?”