Hale nodded.
“If you hit here”—Robert pointed to a spot on the ball—“the ball will go this way.” He pointed to another spot. “Here, it will go this way. Why don’t you take a few trial shots just to get a feel for it?”
Robert moved closer to the other guests, where he could get a better view of Hale’s progress. But he found himself distracted as he leaned against the cue stick. As always, his eyes went to Ian Cameron. “I could teach you, too,” he murmured.
Cameron had already turned him down once before. He was probably an idiot to ask again. He was probably an idiot to want to be closer to him in the first place—but want he did. He wanted the easiness between them when they were alone and forgot about their respective positions. He wanted no reminder of class differences, no reminder of expectations—things were natural between them when they didn’t let the outside world seep in.
Ian did not look impressed. “What would be the point of me learning billiards?”
Robert lifted a shoulder. “For fun?” For me? He didn’t voice that last part.
“I don’t usually have time to be idle,” he said. “Billiards isn’t a working man’s sport.”
The problem was Cameron seemed to have no qualms about bringing up the differences between them, as though he wanted some kind of barrier in place, and Robert was helpless to do anything but watch as it was erected.
He felt like he was losing hold of something, like it was slipping away before he’d ever really had a chance to possess it.
“You would be good at it,” Miss Hale said to Ian. “You have the focus required.”
Robert stared at her. He’d nearly forgotten she was standing there.
“It’s about more than focus,” Ian said with a wry smile. Robert hadn’t seen him smile at Miss Hale before. He wondered if he was softening toward her. He realized he didn’t like the idea of Cameron softening toward a girl who was clearly besotted with him—it was a pinprick of irritation, needling his chest.
Not directed at Miss Hale, though. It was mostly directed at himself. Maybe he wasn’t special. Maybe he was imagining there was something between him and Cameron that wasn’t actually there.
“How much was your bracelet worth?” Robert asked suddenly.
Miss Hale stared. “Pardon me?”
“The one you…” He was going to say the one you lost, but didn’t want to sound too accusatory. “The one that’s missing.”
“Not much. They were paste jewels. I suppose the silver is worth something, though it was a delicate chain.”
Any thief worth their salt would recognize paste jewels. Robert wondered why he hadn’t asked sooner, but he knew the answer to that—he’d been distracted. He’d been too caught up in spending time with Cameron to look at the situation from every angle. Maybe they both needed a reminder of where they should be placing their priorities.
“So it wasn’t an expensive chain? Is it possible it broke and slipped from your wrist?”
She blinked. “I suppose. Though it’s also possible someone took it.”
Robert was skeptical. “You said yourself it was hardly worth anything. And the other things that were stolen wouldn’t amount to much, either.” Small scraps of fabric…expensive fabric like silk, yes, but would there be enough of it to justify attempting thievery right under the victims’ noses?
Robert doubted it.
“What are you saying?”
“You do know that thievery is a serious accusation. Thieves are not punished lightly.”
Her cheeks were starting to turn red. “Of course I know that. Are you insinuating that I made up a story as…as some kind of lark?”
“No.” After a pause, he added. “Though if you had…if you felt like continuing to the end was your only option, it’s not. It would be better to tell the truth later than never.”
Miss Hale’s face turned a darker shade of red with every word he spoke. “Then it is a good thing that I’m already telling the truth,” she said haughtily.
She strode away to observe the game of quadrille, and Robert was left to Ian’s scrutiny.
“That wasn’t like you,” Ian said.
Wasn’t like him? Robert almost snorted. Was Ian Cameron an expert on his habits now? “I wasn’t trying to be cruel, but we’re getting nowhere by searching quietly.”
“Why do ye focus on Miss Hale? If someone simply wanted to cause mischief, it could have been any of them. You never look at Miss Worthington with suspicion.”
Robert glanced to the side. The woman in question was discussing something related to billiards with Mr. Hale, who looked flushed but happy.
“She’s not that kind of woman,” he said.
The look Ian gave him then was strange and intent, and Robert couldn’t really decipher it. “And how would ye know that?”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Miss Worthington was sensible. Miss Hale was not—and he wasn’t trying to be unkind. Robert had known both men and women like Miss Hale before, people who liked drama and excitement enough to create their own when it wasn’t available otherwise. He didn’t know why Ian seemed so oblivious about the girl.
Unless she’d needled her way into his affections through sheer persistence.
He stared at Ian, trying to tell just by studying him, but it was impossible. The man’s face gave little away at the best of times, and now he just seemed annoyed.
“Mr. Hale, then?” Ian asked obstinately. “Why couldn’t it be him?”
He supposed it was possible, but Mr. Hale was just so meek that Robert didn’t readily suspect him of nefarious plans.
He felt a presence at his shoulder suddenly and turned. Speak of the devil. Mr. Hale was regarding him like an eager puppy, all wide, hopeful eyes. “I’m ready, Mr. Townsend.”
Robert summoned a smile. “All right. Show me what you’ve learned.”
With a little practice and no disapproving uncles looming over his shoulder, Hale did much better. After he sank a somewhat difficult shot into the corner pocket, he turned to Robert, beaming. Though he seemed to realize that brooding poets didn’t beam and quickly suppressed his smile for a more indifferent nod.
“That was good,” Robert said. “All it takes is some confidence.”
Hale clasped his arm and leaned forward to speak. “Thank you for your help. Most people don’t have much patience with me, I’m afraid.” He spoke in a low voice, embarrassed.
Robert grasped his shoulder. “It’s more important to have patience with yourself. You did well, Hale.”
He smiled, flustered and pleased, and broke away to speak to Miss Worthington again. Over his shoulder, Robert glanced at Ian—and his breath hitched.
No one else would have noticed it, but Robert was becoming a scholar in Ian Cameron, was learning all the subtleties of his nonverbal language—would happily study them, for years, if he was allowed the chance.
Ian’s shoulders held the slightest tension, and his jaw was just a little too sharp. He caught Ian’s gaze before he had a chance to look away, and there was something hard in his eyes. Hard and hot and almost possessive.
Because of Hale? The idea was so ridiculous Robert wanted to laugh. But it also sent a thrill down his spine.
Hope surged, swift and potent, and he was stunned by its intensity. It felt like stars exploding in his chest.
But Ian turned away quickly, and Robert didn’t speak to him for the rest of the night. When the other guests left to retire, Ian was fast on their heels.
Robert decided not to rush after him. It was a clear night, and he suspected he’d be able to find him soon enough if he wished to. For now, he simply wanted to carry this hope in his hands and pretend it wasn’t brittle.
Because he knew…if he broached the subject, there would be no turning back. It was dangerous. And he didn’t know what good could come of it, except it was getting more and more difficult not to touch Ian the way he wanted to.
He was scared. He could admit that. He was scared of what would happen when there was nothing left between them. But in the end, it wasn’t much of a choice at all.
Ian pulled him like the tide, inexorably, out into the night.
Chapter Twelve