“Yes, my lord.” Dunn busied himself while Sin sipped his toddy.
Today hadn’t turned out as he’d hoped, but at least he’d made some progress in thawing Rose. It was irritating that he had only a week left. It would be nice if he could get Rose away from the house on another ride. But how? His options were growing less by the day. Perhaps it was time he stopped being so proud. Even though he’d told his great-aunt that he didn’t play—
A noise sounded in the hallway. “Dunn, did you hear that?”
Dunn, folding small clothes by the wardrobe door, frowned. “Did I hear what, my lord?”
“Never mind. I must have . . . ” He frowned at the door and then stood and crossed to it, but by the time he got there, the faint noise had abated.
Holding up a hand to indicate silence, Sin pressed his ear to the panel and listened, his hand about the doorknob.
After a few seconds, he stepped back and yanked the door open with a jerk. He’d thought to surprise whoever had been lurking outside his door, but the hallway was empty.
He frowned. How odd. I know I heard something. I—
His gaze fell on his boots sitting out in the hall to be cleaned. “Bloody hell, you little sneak! Don’t chew on my damn boots!” He lifted a small brown pug by the scruff and scowled at it.
The dog dropped his ears in placation, its tiny tail spinning. Sin’s irritation softened instantly.
Dunn picked up the boots, his mouth tight with disapproval. “The left tassel is torn, and it appears the right tassel has been eaten.” Dunn glared at the dog. “Shall I take this filthy creature to the kitchen, my lord?”
A door down the hallway opened and Aunt Margaret’s dresser stuck her head out. She looked up and down the hallway until she spied the pug. “Och, there he is! Her grace has been lookin’ fer the wee thing all evenin’.” Mrs. Dennis came to collect the animal, cooing, “Aw! Such a precious puppy ye are! Thank ye, Lord Sinclair, fer findin’ him.”
“I didn’t,” Sin said. “He was wandering the halls.”
“He dinna usually do tha’, me lord, but he’s taken to hiding in Miss Balfour’s room.” The maid glanced at a door just two down from his own. “The precious puppy loves her dearly. I daresay her door was closed and he couldna get in, and so he came to yers.”
“Pardon me, madam,” Dunn said in a frosty voice, “but your ‘precious puppy’ has eaten one of Lord Sinclair’s tassels and mauled another.”
“Och no!” She looked at the pug, a horrified expression on her face. “He dinna!”
“Yes, madam, he did.”
She hugged the dog. “The poor little pup! I do hope it doesna make him sick.”
“Poor pup? What about poor Lord Sinclair? The tassels were gold.”
Mrs. Dennis’s mouth thinned. “I’ll be sure to tell her grace tha’ ye want yer tassel back.” She lifted her brows. “I suppose we can set a footman to lookin’ fer it.”
“No, no,” Sin said hastily. “That won’t be necessary.” He took Dunn’s elbow and pushed the man back into his room. “Good night, Mrs. Dennis. Convey my compliments to my aunt.”
“Aye, yer lordship.” Mrs. Dennis bobbed a curtsy and Sin closed the door.
Dunn held the boots to the light. “Impertinent woman. If she knew what these boots cost, she’d have taken a different tone.”
“We can get more tassels,” Sin said absently, feeling elated. So that’s Rose’s bedchamber. Smiling, he returned to his seat by the fire and stretched his feet toward the blaze. Thank you, dog. That information is well worth two gold tassels.
• • •
Late the next day, Rose stepped outside and tightened the ribbons on her poke bonnet to keep the wind from stealing it. She took a deep breath of the scent of warm grass and sunshine. It was late afternoon, when the sun slanted at a deep angle, tossing a final golden glow over the world before it faded away. Her favorite time of day.
And it had been a good day. She and Sin had reached an accord and he’d been very polite to her, talking to her with such ease that several times she’d been betrayed into a genuine laugh. Those moments had been bittersweet, though, since she still felt a deep longing for him.
A cacophony of barking made her look across the lawn and she saw the pugs, happy to be outdoors as they tumbled over one another, moving toward her like a swarm of bees.
Followed by a harried-looking footman, they arrived at her feet in a pile of wiggly pug noses and twirly pig tails. She laughed when Teenie ended up sitting on Meenie’s head, refusing to move until Meenie squirmed out from under him.
“I’m glad I’m not one of your littermates,” she told Teenie, who looked unrepentant, panting with his tongue hanging out one side.
Beenie barked, his tail twirling so fast it looked like a blur. Grinning, Rose bent to pat them all, scratching ears and bellies until the arrival of Lady Charlotte and her fascinating bag of yarn sent them all racing to the terrace.
Chuckling to herself, Rose walked down the lawn to where MacDougal was overseeing the footmen as they put up hoops for a game of pall-mall.
MacDougal smiled as she approached. “How does it look to ye, miss?”
She eyed the course. “The final two hoops are a bit close.”
“Do you think so, miss?” MacDougal took a mallet from the leather holder and measured. “Aye, ye’ve the right of it.” He gestured to a footman. “Davies, be a guid lad and move that second hoop. ’Tis a bit close.”
The footman bent to fix the hoop.
“Ye play often, miss?” MacDougal asked politely.
“Oh yes. My sisters and I frequently play.” And Rose almost always won, much to Dahlia’s chagrin. Lily wasn’t interested in playing unless there was a prize at stake. If there was no prize, she was frequently distracted from the game and had to be constantly reminded when it was her turn.
But Dahlia . . . Rose smiled. She loved her youngest sister’s sense of competition. No one had a fiercer desire to win. Well, except Rose.
She wandered to the mallets and selected a bright red one.
“A poor choice,” said a deep voice.
She turned, surprised to find Sin standing slightly behind her; the thick grass and the deep brim of her bonnet had hidden his arrival. “Why is red a poor choice?”
“It’s unlucky. Surely you’ve heard that.”
“Actually, I’ve heard that red is the luckiest color of all,” she countered.
He was dressed in his riding clothes, which explained where he’d been all afternoon. His smile glinted. “Green is the best color but, unfortunately for you”—he leaned past her and took the green mallet—“someone already has it.”
Her heart trilled. “You’re playing? The man who just last night called the game ‘childish’ and ‘a bore’?”
“I was just trying to scare off the competition. And I believe I was successful, for it appears we will be the only two on the field. All of our competitors have bowed out.” He smiled down at her, and the afternoon sun made him look like a lion, all gold and powerful. “It appears that it’s just you and me.”
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.