“She did set up the course,” Kate cut in.
Anthony, Colin, Simon, and Daphne all looked at her in shock, as if they couldn’t quite believe she’d had the nerve to enter the conversation.
“Well, she did,” Kate said.
Daphne looped her arm through hers. “I do believe I adore you, Kate Sheffield,” she announced.
“God help me,” Anthony muttered.
The duke drew back his mallet, let fly, and soon the orange ball was hurtling along the lawn.
“Well done, Simon!” Daphne cried out.
Colin turned and looked at his sister with disdain. “One never cheers one’s opponents in Pall Mall,” he said archly.
“He’s never played before,” she said. “He’s not likely to win.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Daphne turned to Kate and Edwina and explained, “Bad sportsmanship is a requirement in Bridgerton Pall Mall, I’m afraid.”
“I’d gathered,” Kate said dryly.
“My turn,” Anthony barked. He gave the pink ball a disdainful glance, then gave it a good whack. It sailed splendidly over the grass, only to slam into a tree and drop like a stone to the ground.
“Brilliant!” Colin exclaimed, getting ready to take his turn.
Anthony muttered a few things under his breath, none of which were suitable for gentle ears.
Colin sent the yellow ball toward the first wicket, then stepped aside to let Kate try her hand.
“Might I have a practice swing?” she inquired.
“No.” It was a rather loud no, coming, as it did, from three mouths.
“Very well,” she grumbled. “Stand back, all of you. I won’t be held responsible if I injure anyone on the first try.” She drew back on her mallet with all her might and slammed it into the ball. It sailed through the air in a rather impressive arc, then smacked into the same tree that had foiled Anthony and plopped on the ground right next to his ball.
“Oh, dear,” Daphne said, setting her aim by drawing back on her mallet a few times without actually hitting the ball.
“Why ‘oh, dear’?” Kate asked worriedly, not reassured by the duchess’s faintly pitying smile.
“You’ll see.” Daphne took her turn, then marched off in the direction of her ball.
Kate looked over at Anthony. He looked very, very pleased with the current state of affairs.
“What are you going to do to me?” she asked.
He leaned forward devilishly. “What am I not going to do to you might be a more appropriate question.”
“I believe it’s my turn,” Edwina said, stepping up to the starting point. She gave her ball an anemic hit, then groaned when it traveled only a third as far as the rest.
“Put a bit more muscle into it next time,” Anthony said before stalking over to his ball.
“Right,” Edwina muttered at his back. “I never would have figured that out.”
“Hastings!” Anthony yelled. “It’s your turn.”
While the duke tapped his ball toward the next wicket, Anthony leaned against the tree with crossed arms, his ridiculous pink mallet hanging from one hand, and waited for Kate.
“Oh, Miss Sheffield,” he finally called out. “Play of the game dictates that one follow one’s ball!”
He watched her tromp over to his side. “There,” she grumbled. “Now what?”
“You really ought to treat me with more respect,” he said, offering her a slow, sly smile.
“After you tarried with Edwina?” she shot back. “What I ought to do is have you drawn and quartered.”
“Such a bloodthirsty wench,” he mused. “You’ll do well at Pall Mall…eventually.”
He watched, utterly entertained, as her face grew red, then white. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“For the love of God, Anthony,” Colin yelled. “Take your bloody turn.”
Anthony looked down to where the wooden balls sat kissing on the grass, hers black, his appallingly pink. “Right,” he murmured. “Wouldn’t want to keep dear, sweet Colin waiting.” And with that, he put his foot atop his ball, drew back his mallet—
“What are you doing?” Kate shrieked.
—and let fly. His ball remained firmly in place under his boot. Hers went sailing down the hill for what seemed like miles.
“You fiend,” she growled.
“All’s fair in love and war,” he quipped.
“I am going to kill you.”
“You can try,” he taunted, “but you’ll have to catch up with me first.”
Kate pondered the mallet of death, then pondered his foot.
“Don’t even think about it,” he warned.
“It’s so very, very tempting,” she growled.
He leaned forward menacingly. “We have witnesses.”
“And that is the only thing saving your life right now.”
He merely smiled. “I believe your ball is down the hill, Miss Sheffield. I’m sure we’ll see you in a half hour or so, when you catch up.”
Just then Daphne marched by, following her ball, which had sailed unnoticed past their feet. “That was why I said ‘oh, dear,’ ” she said—rather unnecessarily, in Kate’s opinion.
“You’ll pay for this,” Kate hissed at Anthony.
His smirk said more than words ever could.
And then she marched down the hill, letting out a loud and extremely unladylike curse when she realized her ball was lodged under a hedge.
Half an hour later Kate was still two wickets behind the next-to-last player. Anthony was winning, which irked her to no end. The only saving grace was that she was so far behind she couldn’t see his gloating face.
Then as she was twiddling her thumbs and waiting for her turn (there was precious little else to do while waiting for her turn, as no other players were remotely near her), she heard Anthony let out an aggrieved shout.
This immediately got her attention.
Beaming with anticipation at his possible demise, she looked eagerly about until she saw the pink ball hurtling along the grass, straight at her.
“Urp!” Kate gurgled, jumping up and darting quickly to the side before she lost a toe.
Looking back up, she saw Colin leaping into the air, his mallet swinging wildly above him, as he cried out exultantly, “Woo-hoo!”
Anthony looked as if he might disembowel his brother on the spot.
Kate would have done a little victory dance herself—if she couldn’t win, the next best thing was knowing that he wouldn’t—except now it seemed that he’d be stuck back with her for a few turns. And while her solitude wasn’t terribly entertaining, it was better than having to make conversation with him.
Still, it was difficult not to look just a little bit smug when he came tromping over toward her, scowling as if a thundercloud had just lodged itself in his brain.
“Bad luck there, my lord,” Kate murmured.
He glared at her.
She sighed—just for effect, of course. “I’m sure you’ll still manage to place second or third.”
He leaned forward menacingly and made a sound suspiciously like a growl.
“Miss Sheffield!” came Colin’s impatient holler from up the hill. “It’s your turn!”
“So it is,” Kate said, analyzing her possible shots. She could aim for the next wicket or she could attempt to sabotage Anthony even further. Unfortunately, his ball wasn’t touching hers, so she couldn’t attempt the foot-on-the-ball maneuver he’d used on her earlier in the game. Which was probably for the best. With her luck, she’d end up missing the ball entirely and instead breaking her foot.
“Decisions, decisions,” she murmured.
Anthony crossed his arms. “The only way you’re going to ruin my game is to ruin yours as well.”
“True,” she acceded. If she wanted to send him into oblivion, she’d have to send herself there as well, since she’d have to hit hers with all she was worth just to get his to move. And since she couldn’t hold hers in place, h
eaven only knew where she’d end up.
“But,” she said, looking up at him and smiling innocently, “I really have no chance of winning the game, anyway.”
“You could come in second or third,” he tried.
She shook her head. “Unlikely, don’t you think? I’m so far behind as it is, and we are nearing the end of play.”
“You don’t want to do this, Miss Sheffield,” he warned.
“Oh,” she said with great feeling, “I do. I really, really do.” And then, with quite the most evil grin her lips had ever formed, she drew back her mallet and smacked her ball with every ounce of every single emotion within her. It knocked into his with stunning force, sending it hurtling even farther down the hill.
Farther…
Farther…