“Ah, Miss Addison, hello! I did not see you there. That is a very good question. I think I would have to experiment. So it would be brilliant if I actually could make it rain, whatever the weather was originally going to be.”
“Ah, but you cannot begin today.” The Duke’s voice was gravely remonstrating.
“Oh, I wouldn’t! We’re playing Perfectly Normal Pall-Mall today, which does best in the sunshine.”
Miss Addison heard the upper cases and tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. “How many types of pall-mall do you have?”
“Oh, so many!” Lord MacKinnon glanced up at her with an absent smile. “Well, depending on what you compare with. But about twenty or so, a little more than my types of chess but a lot less than my card games.”
“Do you have them written down? I would love to read them.” Miss Addison smiled impishly at the Earl.
“Oh, that you want to read?” Emmanuel laughed incredulously. “When I had to sit you down and make you listen to a simplified version of the Perfectly Normal rules so you could be an informed cheering section?”
Miss Addison was blushing ever so slightly, hardly at all, when she made her rebuttal. “You invited me to join you in playing the game and not to cheer you on. Although I was perfectly prepared to do so whether I knew the rules or not. I did have to choose between reading the pall-mall rules or the lengthy treatise on fishing you sent me. So I ignored the pall-mall note.”
“I know what you mean,” Lord MacKinnon said, “I’ve never really understood the ins and outs of fishing either, so I leave it up to my crofters to do the actual fishing on my land. I just benefit from their labor.” He grinned at them.
The other guests began arriving—Lord Morley, who had been with Emmanuel at Cambridge, an amiable gentleman with a retiring manner. He and the Addisons were not acquainted and so Emmanuel introduced them.
Miss Addison’s parents found acquaintances to socialize with. Not everyone was here to play, some just wanted to watch while others were here to see and be seen. The Duke and Lord MacKinnon were joined on the field by Lady MacKinnon, Lord and Lady Carrington, and Mr. Wilson—a very distinguished barrister.
Miss Addison and Lord Morley retired to the benches to watch the match while her parents walked around the garden with a couple of dowagers.
“So what are the rules? Refresh my memory, please.” Lady Jane Carrington looked to the MacKinnons, mallet already in hand.
“All right, the rules of Perfectly Normal Pall-Mall! Everyone begins at the starting peg but not all at the same time. The first in line hits the ball with the mallet, followed by the second player, and then the third player.”
Lady Mackinnon took over the explanation from her spouse. “Yes! Then the fourth. However, we begin with the first player chosen at random. Should your right-colored ball pass through a hoop, you get an extra shot and there’s an excellent chance in the beginning that you can get two extra shots if you manage both the first hoops in one go. But that’s actually much more difficult than it looks, even though they stand sort of close together.”
“Well, rather. You’d have to shoot the ball in an almost straight line!”
“That’s what I usually try to do, and that’s what’s really difficult.”
Emmanuel tried to listen to them, just to make sure Lord MacKinnon’s idea of Perfectly Normal Pall-Mall was the same as his own, but he kept getting distracted, his gaze drawn to the bench where Miss Addison and Lord Morley sat. Miss Addison was talking animatedly, gesturing with arms and hands, and Lord Morley was listening raptly, occasionally commenting, or asking questions. They must have been clever interruptions because Miss Addison answered them with her whole face bright with interest.
Lord Morley was not flirting, though. Emmanuel knew Lord Morley well, had seen him flirt at the rare house parties Emmanuel threw, and this was not it. He seemed genuinely interested in what Miss Addison had to say.
Of course, flirting would most likely get nowhere with Miss Addison, whereas impressed admiration had certainly made her notice Emmanuel. Or, had convinced her of Emmanuel’s interest, if one looked at it another way.
“Now, if you hit someone else’s ball,” Lord MacKinnon was saying, “you’re allowed to knock them out of position, and then you still have an extra shot left, to get through the hoop. You do not have to knock them out of position, though. There is no rule that says you have to…
Emmanuel had lost all interest in the game, all his attention being taken by the animated conversation he could not hear between Miss Addison and Morley. He wondered if it would be beyond the pale to simply march over there and pull her away from him. That was his betrothed.
His.
Am I not allowed to have something without someone else attempting to take it away?
Emmanuel could feel himself begin to seethe with fury. Perhaps this tournament had been a mistake.
Lord MacKinnon held out four slim wooden sticks, and they all picked one each. The tips of the sticks, which had been hidden in his hand, had different colors, and Lady Carrington got red, Lady MacKinnon yellow, Mr. Wilson blue, and the Duke green.
“Ah, so I start,” Lady Carrington said. “Don't worry, if I play through the entire course in my first round, I'll still have to wait one round for you lot to get out on the lawn before I win. So you will get to play a little, at least.”
“Very generous, Lady Carrington. That's how I beat you four years ago, if I remember correctly,” Mr. Wilson observed.
“And I get to start last, to chase after all of you, all lined up for me,” Emmanuel said. “How nice.” He sensed his smile was something feral, predatory, as he accepted his mallet from Lord MacKinnon, and hefted it, judging its weight and balance—and this time he did look up towards that certain bench, and immediately met Miss Addison's eyes.
They were riveted to him, intense and unwavering. Miss Addison's gaze slowly traveled down to the mallet, and then even slower up his body again, back to his face. Emmanuel saw the movement in the long, pale, strong neck as Miss Addison swallowed, and then, solemnly, nodded.
Emmanuel showed some more teeth and nodded back, adding a wink on a whim. Miss Addison settled into stillness on her bench and Emmanuel knew he had his audience's full attention. Lord Morley seemed slightly cut adrift, but accepted his fate and sat back beside Miss Addison to watch the game.
Mr. Wilson swung his mallet in a circle. “Right, then. Shall we get on with it?”
“No wishing ill will on any players in Perfectly Normal Pall-Mall, please,” Lady MacKinnon said, looking a little worried.
Lord MacKinnon put the red ball into place in front of the starting peg and Lady Carrington walked up to it, steadied her hold on her mallet, and played the first shot.
Lady Carrington made it through the first two hoops on one stroke and used her two extra shots to go through the third hoop in such a way that it lined her up to easily breeze through the Crown, in the center of the lawn, on the next extra shot.
The two shots earned got her through the sixth hoop, but at an angle that left the pair of seventh and eighth hoops a nearly impossible attempt. Instead, she used her last extra shot to get into position—no one doubted the position was well planned.
Lady MacKinnon aimed for quite a while and then carefully struck her yellow ball. It trundled slowly through the first hoop and stopped at an off angle in front of the second. Lady MacKinnon gave a little skip and smile of delight.
“Yes! One hoop!” She smiled broadly, as she walked the few steps up to her ball, but then stuck her tongue between her lips, concentrated, and aimed. She took quite a bit of time, aiming.
“While we're young, dear,” Mr. Wilson sighed.
Lady MacKinnon looked up. “Oh. Yes, sorry. But now you made me lose my concentration and I'm going to have to aim again.”
Lady MacKinnon hunched over her ball again, concentrating on aiming. When she finally struck, she looked up at once to see where her ball had stopped.
It had gone through the s
econd hoop. She would not be able to get through the third hoop from there, though, so she used the extra shot to place the ball in a sort-of straight line from it, hoping to go through in her next round.
Mr. Wilson cleared both of the first hoops in one stroke. He took up position behind the ball again and aimed for long enough that he got Lady MacKinnon to comment.
“You're aiming at me!”
“Not quite, Lady MacKinnon.”
“You know you won't get any extra shots for it, right? Because I haven't gone through the third hoop yet?”
“I know,” Mr. Wilson said calmly.
He struck the ball and it came to a stop just behind Lady MacKinnon’s. Then he lined up again, struck, and knocked both balls through the hoop.
“Oh, thanks, Mr. Wilson. That was very nice of you.”
“Wasn't it just? Because now that you're through the third hoop, I get two extra shots when I hit you.”
He struck and promptly hit Lady MacKinnon’s ball again.
“Oh,” she said.
Finally, it was the Duke’s turn. Emmanuel took a stance behind his ball and surveyed the lawn for a short while before knocking through the first two hoops. As he walked to catch up, he briefly glanced over his shoulder to confirm that, yes, he had Miss Addison's complete attention. As well as Lord Morley’s, but that was neither here nor there.
You can sit next to him, as long as you’re still looking at me.
He most certainly did not add a bit of swagger to his walk before aiming again, and he did not strut towards the third hoop to clear it on his second extra shot. Moreover, he was not showing off in the least, he had meant to strike the ball that hard, with no good angle at all, towards the Crown.
Because…because there was Mr. Wilson's ball, right there. He struck and hit it.
“And now he's asking himself,” Mr. Wilson said, “did he mean to put me here to hit again now? Or does he think he can get all the way to ninth without letting everyone else getting a round in? If it's the former, he really should have hit my ball into a better position. If it's the latter, he has quite a challenging route up to sixth.”
A voice yelled from the audience. “Boo! You’re all really dreadful players, and the only reason you’re getting anywhere is that you’re all equally bad.”
They looked up to see Lady Carrington trying to silence her husband, slightly hampered by the fact that she was giggling helplessly as she did so.
“Well, I for one, have no complaints about how well His Grace is playing,” Miss Addison said. Her voice was not loud, but carried to all the players clearly. She sat still, looking satisfyingly mysterious and cool with her cheekbones standing out and a pretty pout on her mouth.
I might just want to kiss you.
The Duke’s eyes lingered on her, unable to look away. The way that she stood up for him had the most peculiar effect upon him. It made her burnt sienna eyes glow as bright as the surface of a shallow stream when the sun skipped along it. Tendrils of her chestnut hair, dancing on the breeze, drew his eye and he wanted to curl his hand in her soft, wavy locks and pull her head toward him…plunder her lips and show her that she truly belonged to him.
He did not bother to hide his smile and did manage to get through the sixth hoop, although at another bad angle. He stepped behind his ball and eyed Lady Carrington's.
“You'd better hit me at first attempt and then run far and run fast, Helmsfield,” she said.
“All right,” Emmanuel aimed, struck, and missed the red ball by half an inch.
“Well, now,” Lady Carrington said and twirled her mallet just a little before striking and hitting Emmanuel's ball.
Chapter 7
Pall-Mall
Lady Carrington was thoroughly enjoying her day. A new level of challenge and unpredictability was added to the annual game by the skill and determination of the Duke of Helmsfield. Naturally, he was nowhere near the level of experience she and Mr. Wilson had reached, but his level of in-game ruthlessness was not as far behind.
According to her estimate, two rounds from now both of them would be in perfect positions to show Helmsfield exactly how the game was supposed to be played.
Isabella had been sitting on the edge of her seat, muttering under her breath.
“No, go after the red one here.”
“Curve farther to the left!”
“Do you have a strategy at all or are you doing this only to annoy me?”
Before long, she had taken to directing her comments to the Duke. He glanced at her, rolled his eyes, and looked away without acknowledging her suggestions, and, worse, without obeying.
She could see that he heard her next comment but only proceeded to glare at her and then continue to play. He ignored her next three very helpful directions. When the next five came in rapid succession, he asked the other players to kindly excuse him, and marched towards the bench where Isabella and Lord Morley were sitting.
“Lord Morley,” he said, not even glancing at Isabella, “do you think you could make sure to keep the noise from the spectator section to a minimum? It's very distracting.”
“'Course,” Lord Morley said, with a cheeky grin.
“I was trying to be helpful,” Isabella complained, “or at least I would be if you would just do as I say.”
“This morning, you didn't know the first thing about pall-mall,” the Duke reminded her, “whereas I have been playing my whole life.”
“For heaven's sakes, what's to know? The rules are perfectly simple, and now that I know them and have seen how the others play, it is perfectly obvious what you should be doing, and yet you are not doing it. Are you deliberately playing to lose?”
The Duke schooled his face to be perfectly calm, which made Isabella close her mouth and back away a little.
“Ah, but here's the thing, Miss Addison. You have not seen how the others play. Not Mr. Wilson nor Lady Carrington. They've shown you, at a guess, one-fourth of what they're capable of.”
“On the other hand,” Lord Morley said, “you've seen only about a tenth of what Helmsfield is capable of.”
Isabella took a slow breath and gingerly settled back on the bench. “All right,” she said. “Show me.”
The Duke grinned and nodded once. “Watch me,” he said. Then he turned and strode back out onto the lawn.
* * *
Emmanuel did not end up winning the match. That honor went to Lady Carrington. Her game was greatly helped by Mr. Wilson’s strategy—he was always attempting to move his opponents’ balls to abysmal positions, making their shots as challenging as possible. Still, the Duke comported himself well and he was proud of his performance. He was especially pleased when Miss Addison came up to him and complimented him on his game.
“Your swing is quite strong, Your Grace,” she said running her eyes along his arm. He barely refrained from flexing it to show her exactly how strong it was.
“Why, thank you, Miss Addison. You’re very kind to say so.”
She took a deep breath, blinking a few times and then dragging her eyes up to his. “Would you like to get some refreshments?”
He held out his arm to her. “I would be delighted.”
* * *
Emmanuel found that he wanted to ask about Lord Morley. If he had captured Miss Addison’s interest or if she had just been making friendly conversation. He was well aware that it was his own demons spurring him on to ask her such a thing. He suspected that she would be offended if he ventured to ask such a question and he could not fault her for that.
They were clearly in the beginning of a courtship and she had not spurned him or given him any reason to believe she might not be interested. She had seen his leg and not been repulsed. She must have heard the whispers by now. The things people said about him. But she was still here, giving him a chance to prove that he was worthy of her.
I would not throw that chance away on pointless jealousy.
They went to the refreshments table where her parents were deep in di
alogue with the MacKinnons. Emmanuel remembered again his vow to speak with Miss Addison’s father and apprise Lord Gefferton of his intentions. The man had not shown him an overly friendly demeanor but his wife and daughter were clearly in support of the match, so Emmanuel assumed he would be, too. If he was not…well then, Emmanuel would just have to change the man’s mind.
He quickly went through all the advantages he brought to the match. His lands were flourishing and Gefferton’s daughter would not lack for a single thing when she was with him. That had to count for something, especially as Miss Addison was not a social butterfly who would waste away should he take her back to his seat with him, where he spent the majority of his time. He had a vast library. If she had three lifetimes she probably would not be able to get through it. Anything else her heart desired, he was willing to give. There was no reason to doubt that the match would be a good one.
A Sinful Duke She Can't Refuse (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 6
