Chapter 9
Men are contrary creatures. Their heads and their hearts are never in agreement. And as women know all too well, their actions are usually governed by a different aspect altogether.
LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 29 APRIL 1814
Or maybe not.
Just as Anthony was plotting the best course to her lips, he heard the perfectly awful sound of his younger brother’s voice.
“Anthony!” Colin shouted out. “There you are.”
Miss Sheffield, blissfully unaware of how close she’d come to having been kissed utterly senseless, turned to watch Colin approach.
“One of these days,” Anthony muttered, “I’m going to have to kill him.”
Kate turned back. “Did you say something, my lord?”
Anthony ignored her. It was probably his best option, since not ignoring her tended to leave him rather desperately lusting after her, which was, as he well knew, a short, straight road to utter disaster.
In all truth, he probably should have thanked Colin for his untimely interruption. A few more seconds, and he would have kissed Kate Sheffield, which would have been the greatest mistake of his life.
One kiss with Kate could probably be excused, especially considering how far she’d provoked him the other night in his study. But two . . . well, two would have required any man of honor to withdraw his courtship of Edwina Sheffield.
And Anthony wasn’t quite ready to give up on the concept of honor.
He couldn’t believe how close he’d come to tossing aside his plan to marry Edwina. What was he thinking? She was the perfect bride for his purposes. It was only when her meddlesome sister was around that his brain grew confused.
“Anthony,” Colin said again as he drew near, “and Miss Sheffield.” He eyed them curiously; he well knew they didn’t get along. “What a surprise.”
“I was just exploring your mother’s gardens,” Kate said, “and I stumbled upon your brother.”
Anthony gave a single nod of agreement.
“Daphne and Simon are here,” Colin said.
Anthony turned to Kate and explained, “My sister and her husband.”
“The duke?” she inquired politely.
“The very one,” he grumbled.
Colin laughed at his brother’s pique. “He was opposed to the marriage,” he said to Kate. “It kills him that they’re happy.”
“Oh, for the love of—” Anthony snapped, catching himself just before he blasphemed in front of Kate. “I’m very happy that my sister is happy,” he ground out, not sounding particularly happy. “It’s simply that I should have had one more opportunity to beat the tar out of that bas—bounder before they embarked on ‘happily ever after.’”
Kate choked on a laugh. “I see,” she said, fairly certain that she had not kept the straight face she’d been aiming for.
Colin shot her a grin before turning back to his brother. “Daff suggested a game of Pall Mall. What do you say? We haven’t played for ages. And, if we set off soon, we can escape the milksop misses Mother has invited for us.” He turned back to Kate with the sort of grin that could win forgiveness for anything. “Present company excluded, of course.”
“Of course,” she murmured.
Colin leaned forward, his green eyes flashing with mischief. “No one would make the mistake of calling you a milksop miss,” he added.
“Is that a compliment?” she asked acerbically.
“Without a doubt.”
“Then I shall accept it with grace and good favor.”
Colin laughed and said to Anthony, “I like her.”
Anthony didn’t look amused.
“Have you ever played Pall Mall, Miss Sheffield?” Colin asked.
“I’m afraid not. I’m not even sure what it is.”
“It’s a lawn game. Brilliant fun. More popular in France than it is here, although they call it Paille Maille.”
“How does one play?” Kate asked.
“We set out wickets on a course,” Colin explained, “then hit wooden balls through them with mallets.”
“That sounds simple enough,” she mused.
“Not,” he said with a laugh, “when you’re playing with the Bridgertons.”
“And what does that mean?”
“It means,” Anthony cut in, “that we’ve never seen the need to set out a regulation course. Colin sets out the wickets over tree roots—”
“And you aimed yours toward the lake,” Colin interrupted. “We never did find the red ball after Daphne sank it.”
Kate knew she shouldn’t be committing herself to an afternoon in the company of Viscount Bridgerton, but dash it all, Pall Mall sounded fun. “Might there be room for one more player?” she inquired. “Since we’ve already excluded me from the ranks of the milksops?”
“Of course!” Colin said. “I suspect you’ll fit right in with the rest of us schemers and cheaters.”
“Coming from you,” Kate said with a laugh, “I know that was a compliment.”
“Oh, for certain. Honor and honesty has its time and place, but not in a game of Pall Mall.”
“And,” Anthony cut in, a smug expression on his face, “we shall have to invite your sister as well.”