“Er, excuse me,” came the Stanton chit’s unwelcome voice. “You’re standing in the path of my ball.”
Gavin kicked it out of his way.
“Er, fair enough,” the Stanton chit mumbled. “I’ll just hit it from here, then.”
“You’ll never change,” Rose snapped before sweeping off in the opposite direction without a backward glance.
No?
He stalked over to where he’d kicked the Stanton chit’s ball, swiped it from the grass just in time to avoid having his knuckles shattered by her swinging mallet, and tossed it to its original location a few feet to the left. She stumbled at the sudden lack of resistance. He caught her by the shoulders, righted her, and aimed her toward her ball.
“Sorry,” he muttered, earning an even more startled glance. “I have a feeling I’m going to become fairly adept at apologizing before this party concludes.”
The Stanton chit shot him a wary look before rearranging herself behind her twice-displaced ball.
Gavin sighed, stepped behind her, and placed his hands over her wrists. “Not like that. Like this.” He kicked at her feet until her stance improved. Somewhat. “Now swing.”
“I made it through the wicket,” she cried, turning to flash him a brief grin before chasing off after her ball.
There. He’d spent at least thirty seconds not being an ass. That should count for something.
He spun to track down his own ball and found himself face-to-face with Miss Pemberton. The expression she wore indicated she’d just caught him very much being an ass, not the other way around.
“Nice of you to help Susan,” she said evenly. Something in her eyes suggested she planned to aim her ball toward his crotch, not toward the wicket.
“She’s a featherbrain,” he said quickly. “I hated every moment of it. May I help you?”
“No.”
He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I ordered you around again after just apologizing for ordering you around.”
She gazed at him for a moment, then nodded. “Accepted.”
He leaned for her mallet. “May I—?”
“No.” She jerked it out of his reach. “I don’t need you.”
“Fine.”
He glared at her. She glared right back.
Then: “Why did you shave?”
He faltered. “Why did I what?”
“You’ve appeared every other morning as though you couldn’t be bothered with your toilette unless the mood struck you otherwise. So why now? Today? To look like Quality? To show off the scar along your jaw? To impress Susan? To—”
He grabbed her by the shoulders and hauled her to his chest. Their mallets tumbled to the grass, ignored. “To impressyou,if you must know. If I seemed careless with my appearance before, it was because I had no reason to be careful.” He tilted his face forward, gentled his tone. “I treated you badly this morning. I wished to make amends, and I thought—foolishly, it now seems—if I looked better on the outside, perhaps you’d think I was better on the inside.”
“I already liked you on the inside,” she whispered, brushing the tips of her fingers against his recently-smoothed cheeks. “I liked your outside, too. But now if you kiss me, it won’t feel the way I remember it.”
“IfI kiss you?” he echoed disbelievingly. “Woman, it takes every ounce of my willpower not to bend—”
“Um, Uncle Lioncroft?”
“Jane. Yes.” Gavin cleared his throat, set down Miss Pemberton, and turned to his niece with a forced smile. “I’m sorry. Was I in the way again?”
“No, I wondered if you could help me like you helped Miss Stanton. I can’t make my ball go through the wicket unless it’s up close, and look at it—the pink ball is really far. It’s impossible. For me. Can you help?”
