Chapter Seven
LEAVING BEHIND HER COACHMAN and barouche, Sera trudgedacross the heath. This was beyond the pale. Her half-boots werebecoming water-logged, and Delphine grumbled as she followed behindher, curses in her native French that Sera shouldn’t understand.She agreed with her maid’s sentiments precisely. This was not whatshe expected when she set out this morning.
Ahead, men racedaround the heath chasing after a ball. One man kicked it throughwhite posts, causing raucous cheer from those on the field and thesmattering of spectators surrounding the play.
She could not,however, see Lord Stephen.
His valet hadinformed her Lord Stephen took exercise on the heath at this timeon Tuesday afternoons, but all she could see were men and boysrunning around after a ball. She knew not how old the boys were,but they were all arms and legs, as if their bodies had gainedheight but their limbs had not quite worked out the knack of it.There were no gentlemanly pursuits, such as boxing or fencing or,at a stretch, shooting. Where on earth was Lord Stephen?
The players onthe heath did something with the ball to rouse another cheer fromthe spectators. She studied them. She had no idea what was goingon. They were…passing the ball to each other by kicking it. Why didnot one of them pick up the ball and run with it?
Across thefield, a player charged at the one moving the ball along the groundat high speed. Using his shoulder and hip, he bumped the player onhis side, causing the other player to stumble but he did notrelinquish the ball. The one who had charged bumped him again, andthen again, and this time when the other player stumbled, he stolepossession of the ball. With a sharp, straight kick, he passed itto another player, and then every man and boy switched direction,running towards the white poles on the opposite side of the field.Not more than thirty feet from the goal, the player with possessionof the ball struck it with a sharp strike. The ball sailed past theplayer who desperately defended the space, barely clearing the leftpost. The players went wild, celebrating. Perhaps that was ascore?
His back to her,the player who had stolen the ball had slowed to a steady jog.Others in his team gathered him in their exuberance, jumping in anembrace of four or more. Ruefully shaking his head, the playerextracted himself and turned, his face split by a widegrin.
She blinked.Good heavens. It was Lord Stephen. Never had she seen him expresssuch joy. She’d seen a half-smile, a smirk, the faint curving ofhis lips, but never so broad a smile.
Her gazetravelled over him. He wore no waistcoat or coat, his necktie hadlong been abandoned, and his shirt was open at his throat,displaying a strong column of smooth, golden flesh. Though tall andbroad shouldered, in the ballroom he appeared angular and gangly,the garb of a gentleman disguising the lean muscle of his chest andarms. His thighs were strong and powerful, thick muscle flexing ashe turned on the field, racing at speed to pursue the player withthe ball. His shirt outlined the long muscles in his back, and hisbehind was round, hard with muscle and—
She cleared herthroat. Why onearthwas she staring at Lord Stephen’sbehind?
A whistlesounded, and the players came to a standstill, some clapping eachother on the back, some jostling and ribbing each other. LordStephen did not engage in the celebrations. One man motioned forhim to do so, but Lord Stephen only smiled and did not join thegroup, instead making his way toward the sidelines. As heapproached, his gaze lit upon her. Raising a hand in greeting, thecorner of his mouth lifted and he picked up his pace, jogging toher. Sweat darkened his hair at the temples, the strands standingevery which way.
He executed asharp bow. “Lady Seraphina.”
Dipping acurtsey, she greeted him in kind. “Lord Stephen.”
“Iam surprised to see you. It is not often a lady wanders on to theheath.”
She lifted herchin. “You did not attend me.”
Surprise lit hisface briefly. “When did I not attend you?”
“Isent a note yesterday morning outlining our next meet and askingfor an immediate response. You did not respond.”
He ran his handthrough his damp hair, the muscles in his forearm flexing. Hermouth went dry. “I did not receive it. My apologies.”
Wetting herlips, she admonished herself for such an appalling reaction. He wasungarbed, dishevelled, and less like a gentleman she could notimagine. She should be disgusted. “What do you do here?”
Deadpan, hesaid, “Play football.”
“Yes, I can see you play that…game. But why areyouhere?”
He crossed hisarms over his chest. “Because I enjoy it.”
A dark-hairedlad ran up, all arms and legs and gangly besides. “Lord Stephen, weare setting up another match. You will play, yes?” A faint accentcoloured his words, the cadence slightly off.
Lord Stephengrunted, tipping his chin up in affirmation. “Tell the other ladsI’ll be there shortly.”
The boy beamed.“Yes, sir,” he said, and then ran back to the field. As he did so,he passed another player who was making his way toward them. Theman said something to the boy to make him grin and then continuedtoward them.
Sera glanced atLord Stephen as the man approached. The slightest of frowns touchedhis brow, but he said nothing as the man joined them. He washandsome, with a lean, rangy build, and sweat had made damp curlsof his dark hair, wrecked by his fingers into sticking and standingfrom his skull in turn. His skin was tanned golden by the sun, andhis features boasted a strong, aquiline nose while an easy grinpulled at his full lips.
“Greetings, my lady. It is a delight to have you at ourtraining.” His words were coloured with the same accent as the boy.“It would be a delight also to have your acquaintance, if thissurly chap will introduce us.”
Sera hid a smileas the man grinned at Lord Stephen.
“Franco, this is Lady Seraphina Waller-Mitchell. LadySeraphina, Senor Christopher Franco,” Lord Stephen saidflatly.
