Eva flashed Isabel a curious look. “I certainly wasn’t expectingthis.”
“Indeed,” fell from Isabel’s mouth.
Across the distance labored Percy and Lord Avendon, sweaty, grunting, swinging rackets, striking balls, deep in the throes of the most intense tennis match Isabel had ever laid eyes upon. She’d seen many a match played on the royal courts in Spain, but those were mostly royal ladies and courtiers engaged in little more than light volleying. Nothing serious. Nothing like the paces Percy and Lord Avendon were putting each other through.
Hair stuck to their faces, cheeks bright with exertion, they sprinted up and down, side to side, in dogged pursuit of the ball, while wearing lightweight wool trousers and white lawn shirts, sleeves rolled up to their elbows. Each man’s features were set in the determination particular to any competitive endeavor to annihilate the other, stroke by stroke, neither giving up on a point, the resolve to win too strong to ever let up.
Still, even as the match stoked her competitive fire, Isabel found herself focusing not on the play, but rather on one player. Percy’s long, lean body in motion possessed both a strength and grace that commanded the court. Sinewy and muscular, it was a body built for endurance.
She’d experienced every inch of that body last night.
She heated up by several degrees.
And it had naught to do with summer.
Now that she’d had him once, experienced what that magnificent body could do, she wanted it again. She was shaky with the feeling. He wasn’t the only one who was addicted.
“Careful,querida,” Eva said.
Isabel found Eva’s devilish eyes studying her. “Of what?”
“To keep your drool in your mouth.”
Cheeks hot, Isabel swung her gaze back to the court, focusing her attention on the match. Her fists clenched at her sides . . . Her jaw went tight . . . Her heart raced, as she was hopelessly drawn into the competition of these two well-matched adversaries, no question of which man she wanted to emerge the victor.
After a particularly long point of them trading stroke after punishing stroke from the baseline, Lord Avendon rushed to the net and took the point with a light volley. Eva clapped and shouted an unrefined, “That’s the stuff!” If anyone was more competitive than Isabel, it was Eva.
Both men’s heads whipped around. Lord Avendon gave them a small, surprised wave. “Mrs. Gardiner, my thanks.”
Percy’s attention immediately returned to the ball he was bouncing in tight sets of three. Even from the distance of fifty feet, Isabel sensed his annoyance.
“First set point,” he called out, and Lord Avendon crouched into a ready position. Percy tossed the ball high into the air and slammed his racket into it so hard Isabel wouldn’t have been shocked if it disintegrated upon impact. Anticlimactically, it dug deep into the net.
Again, Percy performed the ritual of bouncing the ball until he was ready to serve. “Second serve. Second set point.”
His body stretched and arced on the toss, and his racket struck the ball harder this time, an unusual strategy for a second serve which was usually played at a safer pace. The ball whizzed across the net and struck the center line at such a high velocity that Lord Avendon hadn’t the faintest chance of reaching it in time to return it.
Once again, Eva cheered her appreciation, but this time Lord Avendon’s shoulders slumped in defeat. The next instant, he seemed to remember who he was—a future duke—and that ladies were present. “Well played, old man,” he called out with the jolly vacuity particular to the upper-class English gentleman.
“Indeed,” shouted Eva, “play another!”
Lord Avendon opened his mouth to reply when Percy beat him to it. “I’m needed in the stable.” He hadn’t yet met Isabel’s eye, and she couldn’t help feeling both relieved and slightly irritated.
Lord Avendon gave his uncle a quizzical glance. “Aren’t we to play a tie-break set?” His eyes brightened with an idea. “How would you ladies like to play doubles?”
Isabel swooped in to reply before Eva. “Thank you for your kind offer, but my sister and I don’t play.”
“Oh, Isabel, how you loved watching the tennis matches on the royal courts.” Eva’s eyes widened in mock innocence. “Don’t you remember?”
Percy’s head whipped around. She had his full attention now. The man’s curiosity never had its fill.
“An idea has occurred to me,” Eva continued. “You could give Isabel a lesson, Lord Avendon, and that would free you, Lord Percival, to return to the stable, which seems to be your natural habitat.”
Isabel cut in before either man could reply. “I’m not dressed for such sport.”
Lord Avendon offered a shallow bow. “I would be honored, my lady.”
Eva settled onto the damp ground, pulled a sampler from her reticule, and took up her needlework. “It’s decided,querida.”
