His competitor smiled. “Are you certain you wouldn’t like to take a few practice swings, Your Grace? The game isn’t as easy to play as it appears from the sidelines.”
“I am well aware of that, Miss Robertson. Continue on with the game, and I shall strive to pay closer attention.”
“As you wish, Your Grace. Fifteen–love.”
Fifteen–love. Love. It suddenly occurred to him that he wouldn’t mind her applying love toward him in a conversation that would take place away from the tennis court. He’d first thought he felt only desire for her, but he was no longer sure. What was it about her that called to him so?
The ball was back in his court before he’d expected it, but he volleyed it across to her side with less force. She scampered across, gracefully swung her racket, and returned the ball to him. They volleyed back and forth. If she were Anne, he would have kept the volleying going, but she wasn’t, and he didn’t. He waited until the timing was right, until his previous swings had carried the ball and her farther back on the court, and then he lightly tapped the ball, giving it only enough momentum to clear the net.
She scrambled for the ball, but only succeeded in knocking it into the net. Picking the ball up off the lawn, she glared at him. “You seem to be a natural, Your Grace.”
He tilted his head slightly and grinned. “I merely follow your example.”
He enjoyed watching her play. Her graceful movements belied her determination to win; but the set of her jaw, the firm line of her mouth, the concentration in her eyes all spoke more loudly than any words might have. She won the first game and seemed quite proud of herself.
As well she should have been. He’d not allowed her to win. She’d earned the victory, and he suspected if he didn’t try a little harder, she’d earn his box at the opera.
He held up his hand, his fingers curled slightly. “Toss me the ball, and we shall see if you have any better luck returning my serves than I did returning yours.”
She was more skilled than he’d realized and made him work for every point. He was not hampered by a skirt or corset. A gentleman would have made allowances for that handicap, but, as in all things, he played to win. Defeat was not an option. He controlled the game, the victory.
The second game went to him. The third to her. Luck was with him for the fourth. The fifth was especially hard fought, hard won, and the winning point cost him dearly. He’d misjudged the velocity of the ball, its arc, had thought it was going to go out of bounds, realized too late that it wasn’t and had to make a mad dash, fairly flying through the air to make contact with it, twisting his body, hearing Anne screech, swinging the racket…
Thump!
The ball flew back toward her, and before he hit the ground, he saw her miss. Victory at last!
She was a worthy opponent. By God, she would make a worthy duchess.
“Richard, are you all right?” Anne asked, scampering to his side.
“I’m fine, Anne.” Actually, he was almost wonderful, even if his body did protest his rising to his feet. He walked a bit stiffly toward the net to receive his congratulatory handshake. Kitty met him there, breathing heavily, her features set with determination.
“By Jove, Weddington, I’d forgotten how well you played,” Farthingham said.
Kitty’s eyes hardened. “You said you couldn’t play.”
“No. Anne said that I didn’t play, meaning that I played once and no longer play.”
“Then you had a disadvantage over me because I thought you were a novice.”
“Are you implying that you went easy on me?”
The familiar hiking of her chin. “No. I played for all I was worth.”
“And you are worth a great deal, Miss Robertson.”
It pleased him to watch a blush blossom on her cheeks, to imagine the shade deepening with passion.
He extended his hand. “Do you only shake your opponent’s hand when you win?”
“Of course not.” She put her gloved hand within his. Her touch was brief, stiff, and obviously resentfully given.
“As fate would have it, there is a performance at the theater this evening. To the victor go the spoils. I’ll be by for you later.”
Ah, he saw the anger flare in her eyes, the rebuke hovering on her tongue. He watched the delicate motion of her throat as she swallowed, and once again the angling of her chin. “All you’ve won is my presence in your box.”
“Had I indicated that I expected more than that?”
“Kitty, whatever is wrong with you?” Farthingham asked. “This wager was quite clever on my part, if I do say so myself. Whether you won or lost, you’d have the opportunity to attend the opera as you’ve wanted to do for some time now.”
“I’m simply not accustomed to losing,” she pointed out.
“Neither am I, Miss Robertson,” Richard said. Nor was he usually one to gloat over his victories. “Anne, we need to go before we overstay our welcome.”
“Of course. Miss Robertson, you played a splendid game.”
“Thank you, Lady Anne. I hope you’ll return so we might play another game sometime.”
“I’d be delighted.”
“Did you want us to drop you off at your home, Farthingham?” Richard asked.
“Yes, please, if you don’t mind.” He reached out and squeezed Kitty’s hand. “Enjoy yourself this evening. I’ll see you tomorrow, and you can tell me all about it.”
“I’ll fill you in on every detail.”
Richard thought he detected a note of warning in her voice, a subtle command that he should behave, because she would go beyond discussing the finer points of the operatic performance and include all the details of the night.
He was quite looking forward to the evening.
Chapter 7
She was dreading the evening.
Kitty still found it impossible to believe that Farthingham had placed her in the awkward position of attending the opera with Weddington.
“I don’t know what you’re worried about,” he’d said before he left that afternoon. “He’s a gentleman and a good friend. You’ll enjoy yourself immensely.”
A good friend. She’d been incredibly tempted to send that notion to hell by revealing Weddington’s visit earlier in the week, but to do so would no doubt leave the door open to Weddington’s revealing how he and she had originally met, which would only lead to further inquiry and discoveries. With the truth of her exploits exposed, what would Farthingham think of her?
She cared for him so much. Briefly she’d lost her way for a few days at the coast. Farthingham’s presence served as her anchor, and when he’d not been there, she’d flirted with danger, danger in the form of a man.
And tonight she would attend the opera with that very man. She loathed the passing of each moment that brought her nearer to being in his presence.
Her parents had already left for the evening, to attend dinner with friends. Kitty hadn’t bothered to tell them about her plans, because she’d known that they’d be appalled to learn of Farthingham’s wager and more disturbed to hear of its outcome. Besides, they trusted her completely, expected her to have a swirling social season, and didn’t require that she inform them of every outing she intended to make.
American ladies were much more liberated, seldom chaperoned—which probably accounted in large part for the reason that many English lords sought them out. The gentlemen could get away with much more when with an American lady. Among Kitty’s American friends it was often commented that an English lady went to her wedding bed without ever having the skin at her elbow touched by a gentleman.
Kitty had come to realize that the English way might be a good habit to follow, especially when she took into account how she reacted whenever Weddington was near. Despite Farthingham’s protests to the contrary, she fully believed that Weddington might seek to take advantage of his time with her that evening, might attempt to touch a good deal more than her elbow. Best to dress with that possibility in mind. A woman’s
clothing could serve as protective armor when need be. That night it needed to be.
Kitty spent an inordinate amount of time trying to decide what to wear. She couldn’t dress as drably as she would have preferred because she would be in public, and although Farthingham wouldn’t be in attendance, many of his friends and acquaintances would be. For his sake, she had to make a favorable impression, because word would no doubt travel about London that she’d been at the opera without him. At the same time, she didn’t want her clothing to give the impression that she was seeking to impress Weddington.
She cursed Farthingham for the hundredth time since that afternoon, then for good measure cursed Weddington for the thousandth.
After carefully considering every evening gown at her disposal, she chose one of pale blue silk and satin. The sleeves were gracefully gathered right below her elbow. Wearing her gloves left none of the skin on her arms exposed. She didn’t know why that detail should make her feel safe.
Lace gathered around the gown’s square neck kept the exposure of her throat modest. In her hair, she wore a wreath of jasmine flowers and forget-me-nots woven together with a pale blue ribbon, its loops graced with heron feathers of the same color. All in all, she thought she appeared exceedingly elegant, yet quite unapproachable.
She had no plans nor desire to encourage Weddington’s attentions in the least. If forced to converse, she would discuss the weather, fauna, flora, and her intention to become an excellent wife to Farthingham. She smiled triumphantly at her reflection in the mirror. Yes, indeed, she would mention Farthingham and the affection she held for him at every conceivable opportunity.
The rapid knock on her door set her heart to racing with trepidation and her confidence plummeting. She took a deep breath to shore it back up. “Enter.”
With her dark hair flowing down her back, a red ribbon tied into a perfect bow keeping it from her face, Emily bounded into the room. “The Duke of Weddington is here. Why are you going out with him instead of Lord Farthingham?”
“Because Farthingham lost the wager.”
“He bet on you?”
Turning away from the mirror, she tweaked Emily’s nose. “As is Farthingham’s way, he thought he was doing me a favor, giving me something that I wanted.”
“You wanted Weddington?”
She forced herself to laugh lightly while her heart was pounding furiously. “No, silly girl. I wanted to attend the opera.”
“Papa could take you to the opera anytime you wanted.”
“I know, but I think sometimes Lord Farthingham is bothered by the fact that he can’t give more to me himself, that he’s reliant on Papa’s generous nature for so much.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You don’t have to.” She sighed, considered inviting Emily along to serve as a buffer between her and Weddington, discounted it as inappropriate, and strolled out of the room.
It was from the balcony that she first spotted Weddington, standing within the entry hallway. His black trousers were tightly fitting, and she imagined that if she looked closely enough, she would discover they revealed the finely defined muscles of his thighs. She did not wish to look that closely, but her mind apparently already had because even though her gaze had moved on to his black, swallowtail coat, she continued to see muscles. She gave herself a firm mental shake. Holding his top hat in the hand that also balanced a walking stick against the floor, he appeared darkly dashing, and she cursed him yet again, certain she would reach two thousand before the evening was finished.
He must have felt her uneasy perusal, because he slowly lifted his gaze, capturing hers with a startling intensity and accuracy. He’d not had to glance around, but had homed in on her like an arrow aimed for the center of its target.
As though butterflies had taken flight below her ribs, she experienced an unsettling yet pleasant fluttering.
“Why does he look so angry?” Emily asked, crossing her arms on top of the railing and leaning over to place her chin on her hands.
“I don’t think he’s angry. He’s simply deadly serious. Not nearly as much fun as Lord Farthingham.” She patted her sister’s back, finding comfort in the contact and Emily’s innocence. “I’ll tell you all about the opera tomorrow.”
“I could wait up, and you could tell me about it tonight.”
“Best not. I shall be very late, I’m sure. Besides, I’d have to take it up with your governess first, and I really don’t have time. Be a good girl and do as she says.”
Emily made a comical face that at any other time would have caused Kitty to burst out in laughter, but she was too anxious about the coming evening to do anything more than offer her sister a winsome smile.
Then she began her descent down the stairs into what would surely be hell—an evening spent in the company of Weddington.
Damnation! As she neared, she saw approval in his eyes and wished she’d chosen to wear something a little less flattering. A potato sack, perhaps. Anything that might make it appear she’d not gone to great lengths to prepare herself for her evening with him.
He bestowed on her a devastatingly handsome smile. “Each time I see you, I am amazed to discover how my memory of your beauty pales when compared with the reality.”
“I am very close to being officially engaged, Your Grace. I think we should keep that in mind as we go out this evening.”
His smile dimmed. “Believe me, Miss Robertson, when I say that particular thought is never far from my mind.”
He settled his hat on his head and extended his bent arm. “Shall we go?”
The challenge in his eyes forced her to place her hand on his arm as though being so close to him mattered not at all. The butler opened the door.
“Have an enjoyable evening, miss.”
“Thank you, Robbins,” Kitty said, surprised the dryness of her mouth allowed her to speak at all while she walked through the doorway as though she were being escorted to her own execution.
The black coach with the duke’s family crest emblazoned on the door loomed before her. While the vehicle was grand, it suddenly seemed too small to hold both of them. She thought of being enclosed within its dark interior with his scent wafting around her, suffocating her, his presence pressing in on her. Within the confines of the coach, she would find no escape from his powerful masculinity.
A footman dressed in full livery opened the door, and the black abyss yawned wide and threatening. She thought if she fell into it, she might never escape. It was only when her fingers started to ache that she realized how tightly she was gripping the duke’s arm. Avoiding his gaze, she snatched her hand free, placed it in the hand of the waiting footman, lifted her skirt, stepped up, leaned into the coach, and froze.
“Good evening, Miss Robertson,” Lady Anne announced, sitting in the shadowy corner, her smile bright enough to dim the darkness.
“Lady Anne, what an unexpected pleasure.”
“Surely you didn’t expect me to risk tarnishing your reputation by taking you to the opera without some semblance of a chaperone?” Weddington asked near her ear, his breath skimming along the sensitive skin at her neck, the collar of her gown suddenly seeming not nearly high enough.
She jerked her gaze around to glare at him, to offer him a smile of appreciation for his thoughtfulness, to chastise him for confusing her, to thank him for his consideration. “I wasn’t certain what to expect.”
“I assure you that I have no wish to cause you any unhappiness, Miss Robertson.”
“You have a strange way of accomplishing that goal.”
“If you will recall, I was not the one who suggested the wager. I also firmly believe you would have been more angry at me had I purposely lost.”
She couldn’t stop herself from truly smiling then. “You are quite right, Your Grace.”
“Then let us make the best of the evening.”
She wasn’t exactly sure how to interpret that comment, but decided that she’d been reading much too much into his a
ctions. He was behaving perfectly gentlemanly, and she couldn’t determine why she didn’t trust him or his behavior.
She clambered into the coach and took her place on the seat beside Lady Anne while Weddington climbed inside and sat opposite her. With his walking stick, he rapped the ceiling of the coach, and the conveyance lurched forward.
“I’m so pleased you’re joining us this evening,” Lady Anne said. “I do so love the opera.”
“Then you shall miss it when you marry your commoner,” Weddington said.
Kitty smiled although she doubted it was visible within the shadowy confines of the coach now that the door had been closed, effectively cutting off most of the light, except for that which sneaked in through the windows. “Are you engaged, Lady Anne?”
“Hardly. Although I am quite taken with a gentleman.”
“Only taken with him?” Weddington asked. “The last I heard he’d captured your heart for all eternity.”
“Don’t be difficult, Richard.”
Kitty was amazed by the obvious affection in Weddington’s voice as he verbally sparred with his sister, the affection in hers as she parried back. She didn’t know what possessed her to cast herself into the fray. “Do you not believe in love, Your Grace?”
“I believe in it wholeheartedly, if you’ll forgive my pun. I am also of the conviction that women give it away far too easily, before they’ve considered all the ramifications.”
“So you believe one should shop for love as one might consider a new evening gown?”
“More along the lines of purchasing a new pair of gloves, I should think, where the snug fit is as important as the appearance.”
“Perhaps it has failed your notice, but the bodice of an evening gown may fit just as snuggly.”
“I promise you, Miss Robertson, the snug fit of your bodice did not fail to garner my notice. However, you did not specify the bodice, but rather the entire gown. It is the skirt which I believe completely fails your analogy.”
“On the contrary, Your Grace, it allows freedom, which I believe is essential to the success of love. Gloves can be quite confining; my fingers often become numb before the evening is done. I should hardly welcome your concept of love, and I fear you will have little luck in securing a woman who does.”
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