How to Capture a Countess (Duchess Diaries 1) (27 page)

Just you and me.
There was something about the way he said the words that made her smile. “How did you manage to get the others to resign?”

“With great cunning and trickery.”

She laughed. “I see.”

“Actually, all I had to do was point out that you were the best representative of your fair sex, while I was the best representative of mine. After I put it that way, they were content to sit back and allow us to fight an epic battle on our own.”

She pretended to consider him, looking him up and down, trying not to linger on certain areas. “I suppose you’ll make a decent replacement player. It will certainly mean less work for the footmen, as Miss Isobel always shoots wild. She hit a tree yesterday.”

“From here?” He shaded his eyes and looked toward the stand of trees near the lake. “That’s impressive. It’s a wonder no one was killed.”

“I think her grace feared for the windows.”

“And with reason, apparently.” He gestured to the opening hoop. “Shall we?”

They strolled across the lawn, a rare and warm intimacy between them. Rose sent him a glance from under her lashes. “I must say, this is far more pleasant than my punting expedition yesterday.”

He pulled to a halt. “Perhaps I owe you an apology for that.”

“And perhaps I owe you one for treating you as if you had the plague.” She turned to him. “I’ve been meaning to have a word with you about our conversation in the library.”

“Are we about to have another argument? For if we are, I’d feel better if we weren’t carrying weapons.”

She laughed. “I took a vow to never use my mallet as a weapon, so you’re safe with me.”

“I shall take a similar vow, then.” He held up his hand and mumbled something that included “mallet” and “forever.”

“There.” He dropped his hand. “You are now safe from a violent death.”

“I’m relieved,” she said, trying to keep the laughter from her voice. “As I was saying, I allowed your great-aunt’s fear to lead me too far down the path of caution. She was right that we should be more careful, but I should have come to you and said that. Instead, I just avoided you. It was cowardly of me.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps it was very smart.” He slanted her a glance that was as hot as a coal. “I would be lying if I said I didn’t want you in my bed, for I do. And it would be a lie if I said that I would stop attempting to win you there, for I won’t.” He leaned down, his voice intimate. “I can promise you one thing, Rose Balfour: one day you will accept my invitation.”

As Rose looked into his eyes, a sweet, urgent yearning swept through her. If she closed her eyes, she would know exactly where he was from the tug her body felt from his presence.

She wanted desperately to answer that call. To be honest, she would have been painfully disappointed if he’d stopped attempting to seduce her. It was quite heady having a man pursue one so single-mindedly. “Perhaps I am thinking the same thing.”

Sin looked at Rose in surprise, the light in his eyes telling her he wanted to kiss her.

Rose had to fight the urge not to throw her arms about his neck.
Why is it that good things end so quickly, while the bad and mundane seem to march forever?
And he was part of something good—not something permanent, but a part of her life she’d never regret.

Sin tilted his head to one side and the wind ruffled his hair, while the sunlight made his eyes seem almost golden.
I only have one more week of freedom. One more week of being only Rose and not Rose-the-housekeeper or Rose-the-sock-mender or Rose-the-chaperone. I have to take advantage of this opportunity. If I don’t, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.

Over the thud of her heartbeat, she heard herself say, “We
could
make this match more exciting. I believe we owe each other a tiebreaker.”

“Yes, yes—a thousand times yes! And the forfeit?”

“Whatever the winner wishes.”

He bowed, looking into her eyes the entire time.

Rose had never felt so alive. She gestured to the opening hoop. “Shall we play, then? Just to pass the time until we’re ready for . . . other things.”

“If we didn’t have an audience, I’d show you how ready
I
am for other things, as well.”

“Audience?” She followed his gaze to the terrace, shading her eyes. “Oh dear. The duchess and Lady Charlotte, Mr. and Mrs. Stewart, and Lady McFarlane, too. Even the vicar.”

“Yes, we are this afternoon’s entertainment. I feel as if we’re on a stage.”

“I’d offer to sing, but it would only upset any nearby cows. I shall have to astonish them with my superior pall-mall skills, instead.”

“Superior? Compared to what? I was quite good as a child.”

“I’m sure you were quite good . . . as a child. Now pray just stand back and watch how an adult plays.” She bent, lined up her mallet, and—
whack—
sent her ball rolling.

Sin’s brows rose. “Not bad.” He placed his ball, lined up his shot, and followed suit. It rolled to within a foot of hers.

“Not bad.” She sent him a mischievous look. “But not good enough, either.”

“I’m only warming up, Miss Balfour. I find that it’s important to save one’s strength for the finish.”

“A good credo, if one were a horse.” They played on and two shots later, she misjudged a dip in the ground and her ball went to one side. “Blast it!”

From the terrace, Lady Charlotte cupped her mouth and yelled,
“A bit more to the left!”

Rose turned an amazed gaze toward the house while Sin chuckled. “My, such vigor from a woman sitting in a chair and knitting.”

She pulled her gaze back to him. “Fortunately, I can’t lose; I have the lucky red mallet.”

“And I have the lucky green one. I fear one of our mallets is bound for disappointment.”

She kindly patted his arm. “It won’t be mine.” She went on to make her point by outshooting him at the next two hoops.

Sin badly wanted to win, and not just for the prize. With Rose, nothing else was good enough. He concentrated on his shot and managed to beat her to the next hoop.

And thus it went for the next half hour. Every shot she made, he either matched it or came close. But try as he would, he couldn’t pass her. Their audience on the terrace continued to yell comments, most of them useless and all of them irritating.

Finally, they reached the final four hoops. Rose aligned her mallet. Before she could hit the ball, Lady Charlotte yelled from the terrace,
“Not to raise the pressure on you, dear, but we have a lot of pin money riding on this.”

“Wonderful,” Rose muttered.

“But don’t get nervous,”
Lady Charlotte yelled.
“Just play as you normally do.”

“Only better,”
the duchess shouted.

“Yes, a little better,”
Lady Charlotte continued.
“Play on, Miss Balfour!”

“They’re worse than my sisters,” Rose said under her breath. The wind had picked up a bit, so she had to watch her skirts as she lined up her shot. If the wind
puffed just as she swung, her skirts could tangle with her mallet.

She waited until a breeze had passed and then took her shot. It rolled straight and true through the hoop.

Applause erupted from the women on the terrace, accompanied by groans from the men.

Sin grinned at their enthusiasm and took his shot, which followed hers almost perfectly. The applause erupted again.

Rose and Sin stopped at the final hoop. The sun was almost down and there was only enough light for a few more moments. “It’s a bit rocky in this part of the lawn,” Sin said.

“It’s going to be tricky.”

“Good God, will someone play?”
Mrs. Stewart yelled from the terrace.
“I have twenty quid on the gel and it’s almost naptime!”

Rose laughed and peeped at Sin from beneath her bonnet. “Our last shots. May the best pall-maller win.”

“To the best.” Sin stood to one side and watched Rose prepare for her turn. She lifted her face to the wind and judged it, eyed the rough grass, and then gripped her mallet, a determined expression on her face.

She bent her head to make her shot. Her sweet neck was exposed between her bonnet and the neckline of her gown, and he was suddenly aflame with the desire to press his lips to that spot and feel her shiver against him.

He moved a bit closer, his eyes locked on the spot.
If they weren’t being watched so closely, he would have kissed her tender skin right then and there.

Rose swung her mallet back and—

“Ow!”
Sin grabbed his shin and hopped. “Damn it!” he said through gritted teeth. From the howls of laughter from the terrace, Sin gathered that everyone had seen Rose’s shot. Half of them were cackling and crowing while the other half whooped. The sound was as demonic as his shin felt.

Rose was looking at him, her eyes wide, her hand over her mouth.

“Not your fault,” he said through gritted teeth. Though his leg still throbbed, he released it and straightened. After a few deep breaths, he was able to say in a relatively normal voice, “Just take your turn. If you don’t, those hyenas on the terrace will never quit.”

She glanced at the terrace and nodded. She turned and made her shot. Her ball hurdled straight to the pole, easily knocking his ball out of the way.

“Good play!”
the duchess called.

“One for the ladies!”
Lady Charlotte said, clapping.

“And a jolly good blow to the shin, too!”
Mrs. Stewart added.
“An excellent strategy!”

Sin, who could feel the knot rising on his shin, snarled, “Vultures, the lot of them.”

“They’re not being very kind,” she agreed.

“Well, I have one shot to best you and I’m going to take it, pained shin or not.” He eyed the distance
with a considering gaze and then limped over to line up his mallet.

He bent to shoot, then stopped and looked up at her. “You’re in the light.”

Rose moved to one side. The evening wind was rising and she had to keep her hands down to her sides to keep the wind from whipping her skirts too much.

Sin began his swing. Just as he did, a strong wind rippled across the lawn, sending her skirts flapping despite her efforts.

Sin caught the flutter of her skirts out of the corner of his eye just as he swung at the ball. His gaze immediately turned her way and as he looked, so went his mallet. Instead of hitting the ball head-on, he clipped it and it spun into a small dip beside a shrub.

“Damn it!” he snapped.

“Another one for the ladies!”
Lady Charlotte called from her knitting.
“Thank you, Lord Sinclair! I just won two shillings from the vicar!”

“As did I!”
called the duchess.

The vicar was staring bleakly at them. “Oh dear,” Rose said. “I hope he didn’t also wager with Mrs. Stewart. She gloats horribly.”

Sin didn’t answer.

She turned and saw that the green mallet had already been returned to the leather case. Sin was gone, his broad shoulders catching the final rays of the sun as he headed for the stables, limping.

From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe
I’ve never heard a vicar speak like that. Had I known he could curse in such a superior fashion, I might have listened to his sermons more closely.

Dinner that night was lively. Rose was feted by the game watchers, toasted as the Queen of Pall-Mall, and given a crown made of silver paper. Lady Charlotte and the duchess were giddy and couldn’t stop talking about the game. Even Mrs. Stewart, who was usually asleep by the second course, had been so enlivened by winning a shilling from the vicar that she managed to stay awake for the entire meal.

As dinner progressed, Sin heard such exaggerations about the game that he began to wonder if he’d attended the same one. But the worst of it was the mockery he had to endure. He had thought that at least Mr. Stewart would show some restraint, but the elderly gentleman had made such comic faces while telling the story of Sin’s injured leg that Lord
Cameron and Mr. Munro had been sent into gales of laughter.

Rose occasionally sent him commiserating glances, which he appreciated, but they did little for his wounded pride.

By the time the gentlemen were having port, Sin was eager to escape. He wouldn’t have a chance to speak with Rose this evening since she was the center of attention, so he sent the duchess a message that he was retiring early and left for the quiet of his bedchamber.

Once there, he tossed off his coat, waistcoat, and boots, then stood for some minutes at the window watching the moon spill over the lake. Then he’d found a book, settled in the chair by the fire, and tried to read. Instead, he promptly fell asleep.

He awoke hours later to a dark room, a streak of moonlight limning the room in silver-gray. The fire was almost out and the house was cloaked in silence. Rubbing sleep from his face, he placed his book on the table beside his chair, and then, yawning mightily, went to the window to close the curtains. The full moon washed the castle lands with a gleaming light, while an evening breeze made the grass look like a rippling silver loch.

The beauty of it held him for a long moment before he turned to retire. But just as he turned, a movement caught his eye. On the black ribbon of the drive, a horse cantered along, ridden by a slight woman in a cloak. Sin cursed under his breath.
Rose.

And it wasn’t just any horse, either, but a huge, bruising monster of a mount. Rose looked like a doll perched upon its back, at risk of being thrown at any moment. No groom followed her; she was alone.

Rose cantered down the end of the drive and turned eastward on the stage road.

Cursing, Sin threw on his coat and boots and ran out to the stables. A single lantern hung at the far end of a row of stalls. “Hello?” he called.

A burly groom came around the corner and eyed Sin with distrust. “Aye, me lord?”

“I’m the Earl of Sinclair, her grace’s great-nephew. Did you saddle a horse for Miss Balfour?”

“The lass is no’ in danger,” the groom said sullenly.