Shortly after luncheon, a very restless Grif wandered outdoors and saw that the ladies and the few gentlemen who had remained at the estate were gathering for various lawn games. There was lawn bowling, battledore and shuttlecock, archery, and even target shooting. A smattering of tables and chairs had been set up under awnings so that the ladies who were not inclined to exertion could watch the games around them.
That was where he saw Anna for the first time today, looking invigorated by the fresh air, with a rosy flush in her cheeks. Apparently, she had slept rather well. He intended to avoid her completely, to join the gentlemen who preferred to target shoot, but Lady Featherstone stepped out from beneath the awning and waved to him. “Lord Ardencaple!” she cried happily. “We were just to begin a game of battledore and shuttlecock and need a fourth. Would you be so kind as to join them?”
He was on the verge of declining, but Anna turned around, and in her hand was a battledore, a racket. And her eyes were shimmering with that devilish glint.
“I’d be delighted,” he said, abruptly changing his mind, and marched forward to receive one of four battledores and the shuttlecock.
Anna walked out from beneath the awning, tapping her battledore against her palm as she glanced up at the sun. “Splendid day for games, don’t you think?”
“Splendid,” he said coldly.
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “Are you adept at these games, sir? Or do you find these games not to your liking, either?”
“Predictably, ye misunderstand me, Miss Addison. I’m always eager to indulge in fair sport.”
She rolled her eyes heavenward.
“You must be quite careful of Anna, my lord!” he heard Lucy call from somewhere beneath the awning. “She’s ruthless in sport.” As if he needed to be told as much.
Anna merely shrugged. “She’s far too frail. I enjoy physical activity.”
“Aye, it’s quite apparent that ye do.”
“Apparently, I’m not the only one,” she murmured, and squinted at the sun again as Lady Featherstone hurried forward with two more players.
She introduced Grif to Lady Killingham, who was to be his partner. And then he turned to the other woman who had joined them, a tall, older woman, with a bonnet so outlandish and large as to require its own lawn, not to mention her collar made of a starkly familiar tartan and a day dress adorned with the oddest assortment of bric-a-brac he’d ever seen.
When Lady Featherstone introduced them, Grif felt the earth shift beneath his very feet. He was so startled that he had to ask the hostess to repeat the woman’s name.
He could honestly attest that Lady Battenkirk did not appear at all how he’d pictured her.
Anna wanted to laugh—Grif looked as if had Lady Battenkirk so much as breathed, she’d have toppled him right onto his bum. But somehow he managed to remain standing, to smile and nod as Lady Battenkirk spoke breathlessly.
“I’ve only just arrived, you know,” she announced, as if Grif could possibly care. “It’s quite far to travel, all the way from Wales, my Lord Ardencaple. Ardencaple. Is that Welsh, perchance?” she asked, her eyes lighting up at the prospect.
“He’s Scottish,” Anna replied helpfully.
“Scottish! How fortunate for you sir, for Welsh is a frightfully harsh language with a lot of achs and grrrs. Nevertheless, the Welsh are a very clever people, what with their pottery. I found the most delightful figurine of a lion spirit. You call them beasties, I believe. I’ve seen them.”
“Shall we play?” Anna asked gaily, her spirits immeasurably improved with the arrival of Lady Battenkirk, who provided a welcome relief after last night’s crushing blow to her heart. Oh yes, it had been crushed, all right. It was small wonder it hadn’t left a horrid stain beneath the arbor, he had trampled it so badly.
“Oh yes, please, let’s,” Lady Battenkirk exclaimed. “I’m quite good, you know. I was rather spry in my youth,” she avowed as she marched forward to the small lawn where the net had been set.
Lady Killingham dutifully followed, as did Grif, but not before casting a murderous look at Anna, who lifted her chin and marched on, too.
At the net, Grif shrugged out of his coat, tossing it onto a shrub, and followed that with his waistcoat.
“I’ve had the pleasure of playing battledore and shuttlecock with the duke of Langford,” Lady Battenkirk was saying. “I twisted my ankle rather violently!”
Anna nodded, surreptitiously watching Grif roll up the sleeves of his lawn shirt—but he caught her watching him and turned his back to her.
Dear God, she was angry with him, exceedingly angry… yet she had spent the entire night feeling his body next to hers, hearing his whispers in her ear. Boidheach… She longed to touch his back now, to place her hands side by side across the breadth of his shoulders and rest her cheek against him. It was a desire so resoundingly loud within her that she lost track of Lady Battenkirk’s story of her violent ankle twist until the poor woman tapped her on the crown of her head with her battledore to gain her attention.