“I suppose that’s true, but you needn’t worry. I’ve spoken to Kitty. She is perfectly aware of the jealous woman spreading rumors about her viscount. She knows the truth.”
Hm. Tristan debated informing her that his information came from some of his male friends’ firsthand experiences, but it seemed a fruitless conversation. He had no great stake in Miss Fielding, only that of her friend.
Caroline hit her ball but missed the iron ring. She made a frustrated sound that amused him.
Tristan, of course, hit his ball directly behind hers.
“I still do not understand how this will ignite any sort of jealousy,” she said.
“Because I am playing pall mall with you, Caro, and it will make him wish he was the one playing instead. Besides, anything you can do to show the man you enjoy spending time outside makes you look more honest.”
“I suppose I ought not to pull out the novel tucked in my reticule then?” she asked.
Tristan swallowed a laugh. “Are you in earnest?”
“I’m nearly finished with it. You could not honestly expect me to have left it at home.”
“What is the title?”
Caroline tucked her chin. “I’ll not tell you. I have a feeling you would mock me for it.”
“One of the romantic novels written by A Lady, I presume?”
Caroline raised her chin. “No. I’ve yet to read those.”
Tristan’s eyebrows shot up. “I’ve heard they’re all the rage.”
“Which is probably why I never find them in the lending library.”
He looked at her. “You do not purchase books? I would have thought someone who liked to read as you do would have an entire library in your home.”
“My father has a library, but it hasn’t been updated since he left England.” She lifted one shoulder slightly. “Books are expensive.”
Tristan felt the same, but he’d been forced to economize. Until recently, he had believed the Whitby family had done exceedingly well for themselves. When James mentioned that the last few seasons had been hard on them, had he been understating the matter?
Caroline lined up beside her ball, swung her mallet, and hit it off to the side, behind the ring and toward the onlookers—two of which happened to be Tristan’s friends.
So he did what any man would do and hit the ball past the ring toward Caroline’s.
Chapter Eight
He did it again. Each time Caroline had hit her ball, Tristan followed it closely. She had bumped the ball well out of the bounds of the game in order to test her theory that he was allowing her to win, and he had followed her so perfectly, it was highly improbable the move had been anything but intentional.
Odious, insufferable man. She stared at the ball, mouth agape. “Youareallowing me to win.”
Tristan leaned on his mallet again like a cane, unbothered. One infuriatingly perfect eyebrow arched. “How do you know I am not merely enjoying my time with you and anxious for it to continue?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Tristan straightened. “I amneveranything but serious when it comes to pall mall.”
“You are never serious, you mean,” she returned, marching toward her ball. As she positioned her mallet to strike his ball out of the way, two dark shadows fell over her, blocking the sun. She straightened to find a pair ofgentlemen watching her expectantly, a tall, slender one and a shorter man with wavy hair. Both of them were handsome with intelligent countenances.
“You’ve been keeping this a secret,” the taller man said, looking at Tristan, who approached them slowly. His hair was dark blond and his eyes green. “I didn’t expect to see you here, Tristan.”
“You’ve likely had your nose buried in your logistics reports,” Tristan returned with an easy smile. He turned his attention to Caroline. “Do you have the pleasure of knowing my friends, or should I introduce them?”
“I do not yet have that pleasure.”
