Chapter Eight
“Two more points and we win this game,” Delilah said quietly to Sam, smiling at their opponents on the other side of the net.
Strands of her dark hair had escaped her pert straw hat to dance around her flushed face. Her blue eyes sparkled and her skin glowed. Sam tried not to remember the last time he had seen her chest heaving with every breath and her skin flushed with exertion. He had never thought of tennis as being particularly erotic but then he had never played with a woman he had known intimately before.
“And the set.” He grinned down at her. “And the match.”
“I probably should have told you before we started.” A smug smile curved her lips. “I never accept defeat either.”
“I expected nothing less.” He handed her the ball. “Let’s win this game, shall we?”
She flashed him a grin and moved to her serving position. Delilah employed an overhand serve, which had struck him as odd at first. His sisters all served underhanded. But she had excellent control and was an accomplished player. She hit her ball to Lord Stillwell as often as she did to his wife. While Sam would never admit it to her, she was probably better than he was especially as she had a handicap he did not. She played with the hindrance of a long skirt, corset, and bustle while he played in shirtsleeves. Nonetheless, she was good, very good. Unfortunately, so were their opponents.
They were matched against Lord and Lady Stillwell, although it took Lady Stillwell most of the first set to hit her stride. Fortunately for Sam. Delilah played closer to the net than he, and the sight of her loose bustle, bouncing behind her, emphasizing her lush curves, was nearly his undoing. Her dress was a white and off-white striped concoction and coupled with her blue eyes gave her the look of an angel come to earth. If one discounted the fierce look of a trained assassin in her eyes. Perhaps avenging angel was a more accurate description. And that too was most disconcerting.
He had to give her credit for not only her excellent play but also for not biting his head off when he made an error, as he had done more than once in the beginning. Delilah was just so damned distracting. Given her constant irritation with him, he had expected her to be less than patient with any mistake on his part. But she’d been cool and calm. He’d had to make a conscious effort to push all thoughts of her from his head and focus on the game. It was easier if he kept reminding himself that she wanted nothing more to do with him. And he was not interested in a fortune hunter.
Sam and Delilah easily won the first set, just lost the second, and now the last and final was being hard fought on both sides.
Delilah served a fast ball, barely in bounds, forcing Lady Stillwell to lunge for the return. Her shot was uncontrolled, nearly out of bounds.
“I have it,” Sam yelled and made the shot.
The ball took an odd spin. Lord Stilwell swung at it, tipped the ball with the edge of his racket, and it shot out of bounds.
The ball was tossed back to Delilah. She caught Sam’s eye, he nodded slightly, and she prepared to serve. Interesting, how quickly they’d learned to communicate and play to each other’s strengths.
Between sets, he and Delilah had noted how a serve directed as close as possible to the centerline tended to be successful. It was apparent the newlyweds had not played together before. Delilah took careful aim, tossed the ball up, and hit it hard. It smacked the court just in Lady Stillwell’s service box, almost perfectly between their opponents.
“Mine!” Lord and Lady Stillwell called at the same time, then both made the fatal mistake of hesitating. By the time they realized their error it was too late to fully recover. The ball hit the court and spun out of reach. Lady Stillwell did manage to connect with the ball but drove it into the net. And the game was over.
“Good job!” Sam beamed at his partner and moved to the net.
“Yes, well . . .” Delilah pushed a strand of hair out of her face and grinned back at him. “I had a more than adequate partner.”
“Well done, Delilah.” Lady Stillwell stepped to the net. “We must do it again while you’re here at Millworth. I’d forgotten how much I enjoy tennis. I haven’t had such an exhilarating time in longer than I can remember.”
“It would have been much more fun if we had won.” Lord Stillwell’s smile belied his words. He shook Sam’s hand over the net then turned his attention to Delilah. “Now I remember playing with you when you were a girl.”
“And you didn’t learn your lesson?” She gave him a saucy smile.
Saucy? This was a side Sam hadn’t seen of her. It struck him that for the first time, even including their days in New York, she was completely unguarded.
“Excellent match.” Gray strode onto the court. “On both sides.”
Camille had chosen not to play in favor of her duties as hostess and Gray’s game on the second court was long over. It was later than Sam had thought and their observers had abandoned them to return to the house. In fact, the sky had clouded over and the pleasantly warm autumn day had grown much cooler. They had been too busy to notice.
“I was told to give you no more than half an hour to finish then I was supposed to end the match if it wasn’t over,” Gray said. “But it was a very good match.” He grinned. “It seemed wrong to end it.”
“You just wanted to see me lose,” Lord Stillwell grumbled.
“Yes, there was that.” Gray turned toward the house. “Come on then.” He and the others started off. “We should hurry, although I daresay it won’t make much difference at this point.”
Delilah shivered beside Sam. Now that they weren’t playing, he felt the chill as well. He resisted the urge to put his arm around her. Instead, he picked up his jacket from a chair beside the court, thought about wrapping it around her shoulders, then discarded the idea. The gesture would be entirely too intimate for her and they’d had such a good time together, he hated to spoil it.
“Here.” He thrust the jacket at her. “You’re cold, you should put this on.”
She hesitated then took the jacket. “Thank you.” She shrugged into the jacket and tucked her racket under her arm.
“You’re very attached to that, aren’t you?”
“I’ve had this racket for years. I love tennis. I play as often as I can.”
“Did your husband play?”
“No,” she said and offered no further information. He had the distinct impression she didn’t wish to speak of her late husband. “But aren’t you cold? You’re in your shirtsleeves after all.”
“Ah, but we Americans are a hardy bunch.” He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. The others were already out of sight. Good. He wanted to spend a few minutes alone with her. The day had gone so well after all. “We scoff at minor inconveniences.”
“Somehow, I didn’t think of you as the type of man who would put up with minor inconveniences.”
“I’m not.” He glanced down at her and smiled. “Now.”
“Now?”
“We’re not all born to wealth and privilege, you know.”
Her brow rose. “Yours is a rags to riches story, then?”
“I wouldn’t say rags exactly.” He paused. “My father owned a small foundry my grandfather had started. It was never overly successful but provided a decent enough living. He died shortly after my youngest sisters were born.” He glanced at her. “Twins.”
“But they’re the youngest?”
“They are.”
“They have each other then.” She nodded. “Go on.”
“I was studying law at the time but I took over the foundry, specialized, diversified, expanded, invested . . .” He shrugged. “I’m sure you’re no more interested in the whys and wherefores of business than your sister.”
“Yes, but I would never admit that to someone talking about his business,” she said in a lofty manner.
“Because it would be rude?”
“Exactly.” She bit back a smile. “And I am never rude. Please continue.”
“Suffice it to say, I made intelligent and sometimes risky decisions. Most of which turned out to be quite profitable. A few of them proved to be . . .” He thought for a moment. “Oh, more falsely seductive I would say than successful. Luring me in with a promise of potential that did not materialize.”
“And you think this motorwagon scheme will be more successful than seductive?”
“I think it’s both.” He paused. “Now that you’ve seen it, have you changed your mind about it?”
“Absolutely not.”
“And you really have no desire to ride in it?”
“I do not.” She paused. “Although I will admit it’s a handsome looking device. In the manner in which the internal mechanism of a finely crafted clock is handsome.”
“I’ll take that admission as a sign that your attitude toward my machine is weakening.”
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” she said in a firm manner. “I do not weaken.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Well you should. I never say anything I don’t mean.”
“Never?”
“Rarely then.” She studied him. “Why don’t you believe me? About the motorwagon, that is.”
“Because you’re an intelligent woman. Which is not merely a compliment but an observation,” he added quickly. “And a person of intelligence does not take an unyielding stand but is open to logic and reason.”
“Thank you, for part of that anyway. I’m not sure anyone has ever called me intelligent before.” She thought for a moment. “At least not to my face. Beauty is usually the quality most men desire in a woman.”
“And you have both intelligence and beauty.”
“That’s very kind of you to say but it scarcely matters.” She shrugged. “Intelligence is rarely deemed important.”
“And that is a very great shame.” He shook his head. “I much prefer women who are clever and knowledgeable and can converse about subjects beyond the latest gossip and newest fashion. A woman who thinks. Regardless of a woman’s appearance, I find women without a brain in their heads to be as boring as you find talk of business.”
“Still you must admit most men rarely see beyond how a woman will look by their side.”
“I am not most men.”
“Apparently not.”
“You should have no trouble finding a new husband,” he said without thinking.
She cast him a startled look. “Oh?”
“We’ve already established you’re both pretty and intelligent.”
“And probably penniless as well,” she said wryly. “That is always conducive to a good match.”
“Any man who would allow the state of your finances to sway his affection would be a fool.”
“Unless of course, the man in question wishes to avoid a woman who seeks nothing more in a new husband than wealth and a title.”
“Ouch.” He winced. “I did say that, didn’t I?”
“Indeed you did.” She thought for a moment. “I am a practical sort of woman, Samuel. If I do not marry, I don’t know what I will do with the rest of my life. I do not have the temperament to become a teacher or a governess.”
“You don’t like children?”
“Oh, I suspect I shall like my own and I do hope to have them one day, but other people’s children . . .” She shuddered. “No, I don’t think I would do that at all well.” She raised her chin slightly as if bracing herself against the winds of the future. There was a subtle strength about her and he suspected she was as unaware of that as she was the gesture. “I was trained to be the wife of a man with position and wealth. To be a perfect hostess, to run an efficient household, to look good on a man’s arm, to be an asset. I don’t really know how to do anything else.” She uttered an uncomfortable laugh. She had obviously said more than she had intended.
“Be that as it may, you have forgotten to list your greatest skill,” he said in an overly somber manner.
“Have I?”
“You play an excellent game of tennis.” He grinned.
She stared at him for a moment then laughed and the moment lightened. “As do you, Samuel.”
“Now, you’re just being kind.” He heaved a dramatic sigh. “A few minutes ago you said I was no more than adequate. And as you never say anything you don’t mean . . .”
“Ah well there is that.” She shook her head mournfully. “I’m sure with additional practice you can be more than adequate.”
“I shall keep that in mind.”
“I’m certain there are any number of other things you do quite well.”
“Indeed there are.” He cast her a wicked smile.
She stopped in midstep and glared at him. “Will you never let me forget that?”
He stared. “Forget what?”
“You know what,” she snapped and started off without him.
He hurried to catch up. He hadn’t intended to remind her of their night together. It was completely inadvertent on his part. Not that she’d believe that. Sam caught her arm and spun her around to face him. “There’s nothing to forget. Remember we’ve never met.”
“I actually thought we could accomplish this . . . this farce!”
“It was not my idea.”
She ignored him. “I’ve been doing my best to avoid you and then you request me as your partner!”
He drew his brows together. “We won, didn’t we?”
“Yes, we won.” She huffed. “That’s beside the point.”
“There is no other point. I certainly didn’t want to play against you. I chose you as a partner because I thought we would play well together. And I was right.”
“Well, we shall never play together again!”
“I’m talking about tennis.” He stepped closer and stared down at her. It might have been a mistake. He was close enough to pull her into his arms and kiss her thoroughly, the way she was meant to be kissed. “What are you talking about?”
Anger flashed in her eyes. “Nothing!” She turned, started off, then turned back. “In my entire life, I have always done exactly what was expected of me. I married the man I was supposed to marry. I lived the life I was expected to live. The one time, the only time, I have deviated from what was expected of me was when I met you.”
“Your adventure.”
“My mistake!” She shook her head. “You and I are not . . . you’re not . . .”
“I’m not what?”
“You’re not right. Not for me,” she said more to herself than to him and he had to lean closer to hear. She ran her hand over her forehead in a weary manner then met his gaze. “You’re not . . . right. You’re not what I want.” Her voice grew stronger with every word. “You’re not what I have planned. We would never suit. Marriage between us—”
“Marriage?” Shock coursed through him. “I never said anything about marriage.”
“Nonetheless . . .” Her eyes widened as if she had just now realized what she had said. “You were thinking it!”
“You have no idea what I was thinking but I never mentioned marriage. In fact, I haven’t mentioned anything. You’ve given me no opportunity. The moment you saw me again, you began behaving like a lunatic—”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “I did not!”
“And . . .” He paused to emphasize his words. “You were rude!”
She gasped.
“You may well be the maddest woman I have ever met!” He turned and stalked off. “Crazy, lunatic Englishwoman.”
“Insufferable American!” she called after him.
He couldn’t remember ever having been this infuriated by a female before. She was mad. Completely, utterly irrational. He stopped and turned back to her. “Do you want to know what I was thinking?”
“No!”
He ignored her. “Before I came to England, I was thinking a lot about a captivating, intriguing creature with whom I spent an interlude that was very nearly magical. An enchantress who disappeared from my life as surely as if she was never there. In fact, I couldn’t get her out of my mind. Or for that matter my dreams. But that was when she was Mrs. Hargate. Lady Hargate is not to my liking.”
“Good!” she snapped. “Because she would never marry you.”
“I would never ask!” His tone hardened. “I want more in a wife than a woman who wants me only for my money and my position.”
“I wish you well then because if you have anything else to offer it’s not readily apparent.”
“Interesting as Mrs. Hargate thought I had a great deal to offer.”
“Mrs. Hargate does not exist!”
“Obviously, that is my loss.” He scowled at her. “And hers!”
“Hmph.” She huffed and started off again, but he grabbed her and pulled her back. “Unhand me at once!”
“One more thing,” he said in a hard tone. In the back of his mind he noted there was only anger in her eyes, not fear. No matter what else passed between them, he would hate to scare her. “If I remember correctly, the terrace will be in sight just over this rise. If you want to continue this little charade you’ve embroiled me in, you’ll calm down.”
“I am calm!” She wrenched out of his grasp.
“Don’t forget, it’s not my reputation at stake. I’m not the one trying to find the perfect husband.”
“I am calm,” she said through clenched teeth, then pulled off his jacket and flung it at him.
He snorted and released her.
She stared at him for a long moment. She might not be afraid of him, but only a fool wouldn’t be uneasy at the look in her eye. A lesser man might well be terrified. He was grateful she was only armed with a tennis racket.
She cast him a last scathing look, drew a deep breath, then started toward the manor. He stepped up beside her. The moment the terrace was in sight, she adopted a polite smile.
“Do not be fooled by my pleasant demeanor, Mr. Russell.”
“I haven’t been thus far, Lady Hargate.”
“I think you’re a beast.”
“Then perhaps we are well suited after all.” His smile matched hers. “I think you’re a bitch.”
She sucked in a hard breath. “I should slap your face for that.” Her eyes narrowed but her smile remained.
As did his. “Try it.”
Neither said another word until they reached the terrace then each went their own way. Sam made it a point to avoid her for the rest of the evening. Much to Camille and Teddy’s disappointment, the day grew colder with the setting sun and most of the guests preferred to take their leave rather than wait for the musicians to move from the terrace to inside the house. Sam took the first available opportunity to slip away. He needed to talk to Jim about the motorwagon. That was what should be foremost in his mind, not an irrational little termagant with a bouncing bustle and endless blue eyes.
Why did he have to keep reminding himself he did not want this woman?
And why did it feel like a lie?