“When we had company. Otherwise, my husband, my sisters, and my brother played. I enjoy the challenge of controlling the ball.” Especially when she felt herself losing control elsewhere. “Some men might have taken offense at my tricking them.”

“I, on the other hand, applaud your cleverness. I was a swindler in my youth with my little peas. I appreciate a well-played dodge.”

“Dodge?”

“That’s what they call it on the streets, when you gain something by underhanded means or by lying.”

“I never lied,” she was quick to point out. “I simply omitted the truth of things.” She waved the cue stick over the table. “Shall we continue?”

“By all means.” He walked over to the wall, leaned against the space between two large heavily draped windows, and crossed one foot in front of the other and his arms over his chest, appearing relaxed and satisfied. “But know this, sweetheart. If you miss those balls, I will show no mercy. My questions will be designed to make you blush from your toes clear up to your hairline.”

She didn’t know what possessed her to think his inquiries would be more exciting than hers, tempting her to deliberately miss the next shot. “You still haven’t answered the question about paying for your pleasures.”

“I don’t. The ladies flock to me.”

She arched a brow. “Not for the past six months or so.”

“No. I’ve been too busy managing my businesses, in particular making a go of this place.”

“Once the Season is fully underway in the next few weeks, you’ll no doubt see an increase in interest and profit.” Since Parliament had opened in February, most of the nobility was already in Town and the Social Season would soon begin in earnest.

He nodded toward the table. “Let’s see how long you can keep this streak going.”

For hours. She’d often done so, used it as entertainment when she awoke in the middle of the night in her lonely bed and couldn’t drift back off. It amused her to see how long she could go without a miss. So she set herself up for the next shot, took it, succeeded, and glanced over at him. “Do you know who your father is?”

“We’re getting a little personal now.” His tone was flat, carrying the tiniest hint of displeasure.

Still she scoffed. “Asking about your paramours wasn’t?”

He studied her for a full minute before confessing, “Yes, I know who sired me.”

Another successful turn. “Who is he?”

Slowly he shook his head. “Sorry, love. I’ll have to take a forfeit here because as I told you last night, I never discuss him.”

She rather thought she could understand that, how it must have hurt when he learned he’d been given away. “My apologies. I shouldn’t have pried. The question was unconscionable. What’s your favorite color?”