Clarissa returned the smile even though her stomach felt sick. What she wanted to do was wallop the ball as hard as she could and take this man in the least number of shots possible. To make him sweat when he realized he couldn’t win against her, a lady. Take him down a peg or two and then accept the congratulations of the women in attendance while the men had to pay their wagers out because they hadn’t believed she could win.
“Deference to one’s parents,” she murmured under her breath.
Kirkwood tilted his head. “What was that?”
She ignored him and hit the ball. She hit it harder this time, but purposefully drove it off the best line, resulting in an “awwww” from the gathered crowd.
“Oh no,” she said, trying to put as much genuine disappointment in her tone when she was actually impressed with herself that she could purposefully put the ball exactly where she wished to.
“Indeed.” Kirkwood’s tone was dry and he stepped up, met her gaze, and without looking, hit the ball. It rolled forward and also to the side, nearly hitting hers.
She glared at him. Was he doing that on purpose? Matching her shot for shot? Why would he do that?
She gave him a sickly-sweet smile. “We seem to be well matched, my lord.”
He arched a brow. “Don’t we just? I wonder at it, for we both seemed to perform better in the previous rounds.”
She huffed out a breath. And now he was drawing attention to their mutual bad play? The man had no sense of decorum at all. A gentleman would have ignored it, played his round and then been chivalrous about her loss. Why could he not follow even those most basic rules of courtship?
No, not courtship. She shook her head at that thought. Interaction. That was what she’d meant. She was just all turned around in her head thanks to the potential suitors all around.
“Are you going to play, Miss Lockhart?”
She blinked. “I-I was just thinking about my strategy to get out of this awful angle.”
“Ah.” He didn’t look like he believed her and made no attempt to cover that expression. “Yes. We’ve both gotten ourselves into quite the predicament.”
She forced her countenance to remain calm and aligned her mallet before she swung and sent the ball rolling. Oh, she had hit it too hard in her frustration and this time it rolled into the middle of the alley and within a shot’s length of the ring. Drat and damn. If he continued to play poorly, whether by design or accident, she would be hard pressed to win.
He flashed her a smile as he aligned and took his shot. Like her, he hit better and his ball rolled close to hers. He was definitely doing this on purpose.
“Hmmm,” she murmured as they walked up together. “It seems our fortunes are bound. I wonder why that is?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “A question for the ages. It seems you’ll win here, Miss Lockhart, as you are within a shot of the ring.”
She pursed her lips. She was determined to do as her father had asked. Or at least, that was what she tried to tell herself. In truth, now she wanted Kirkwood to win because somehowthathad become how she would beat him. But she had to be careful. She couldn’t be too obvious. The crowd, when she actually noticed it was there in her focus on the earl, was already murmuring and putting their heads together to discuss this odd round.
She worried her lip a little and looked over to find him watching her. He tilted his head almost as if to say,Well?
She scowled and hit the ball. It rolled forward, slid a little off-line and stopped within a tap’s distance of the ring.
His smile fell and he stared at her. “I see,” he said softly.
“Yes. It’s bad luck, isn’t it?” She made her voice as sweet as she could. “Ugh, so frustrating. It looks to be your game, my lord.”
“It does.” He hit the ball and it rolled forward, passing hers slightly, but not making it into the ring. “Ah, curses.”
“Curses?” she repeated under her breath as she shot him a look.
He smiled. She almost wanted to stomp her foot in frustration, all reminders that all things must be in moderation for ladies, especially emotions, forgotten because of the irritating person at her side.
But she drew a few breaths and looked at her options. There was almost no way not to win here. Her shot was too close to pretend she had gone off unless she faked an injury and that was going too far. Unless…
She smiled as the solution formed in her head. It would take a little talent, but she’d always been good at pall-mall. She drew in a long breath, exhaled and hit her ball. It rolled toward the ring, then slightly to the side, struck Kirkwood’s ball and slid it into the ring instead of her own.
“Oh!” George called out, startling her as she had forgotten, once again, about the crowd watching in suspense. “Kirkwood wins due to Clarissa’s pushing him into the ring!”
There was applause from the crowd and Clarissa found herself grinning as Kirkwood stared at his ball on the other side of the ring. When he looked at her, though, the grin faded. He tilted his head. “Good show, Miss Lockhart.”
