She frowned at him over her shoulder. “I suppose, why?”
“I was surprised Lockwood went out with Kit instead of having a late-night rendezvous with you. Stealing kisses out in the gazebo or something.”
“Do not be crass, Harrison. Lockwood is a duke, for God’s sake.”
“Dukes don’t steal kisses?” He knew from observing years of debauchery in Paris that they dashed well did. “Have you checked that he’s actually a duke?”
She grabbed his elbow and positioned them so their backs were to Lockwood and Kit. “Why don’t you like him?”
He feigned ignorance. “What are you talking about?”
“You have been purposely rude to him since the moment he arrived. Do you have a problem with him?”
Yes. He wants you.
“Of course not. Why would I have a problem?”
“I haven’t a clue.” She poked him with the edge of her racket. “Be nice to him. I would like for the two of you to get along for the remainder of the house party.”
God, no. He didn’t want to like Lockwood—or even pretend to like Lockwood. “Why?”
Her mouth fell open, as if the question took her aback. “Because it looks odd for you to be fighting with him when you should be finding a wife. What will the other guests think? There is no reason for you to be rude to such an important man.”
An important man?
Harrison almost threw his racket down at that comment. Just because Lockwood had been born a duke did not make him top-drawer. Plenty of dukes were reprobates and spendthrifts, riddled with disease, with bastard children tucked away with mistresses. What was so illustrious about an aristocrat? “You’re worried I’ll appear jealous.”
“Jealousy implies there is something romantic between you and me, and we both know that has never been the case.”
His throat dried up, rending speech impossible, so he dropped a tennis ball into her hand and strode away. Maddie was wrong about the lack of romance between them. There had been heat in her gaze on the terrace, a new awareness that hadn’t been there three years ago. She felt something for him . . . he just didn’t know how deep it ran.
One thing for certain, he’d been playing it safe, moving slowly, but there was no more time for that. Not with Lockwood here, and not with the party ending in two days’ time.
He had to make his intentions known.
The four of them began to warm up with gentle forehands and backhands. Lockwood obviously hadn’t played much, evident when most of his shots landed in the net. For his part, Harrison was not as rusty as he’d feared. Years of wine and absinthe hadn’t stolen his athletic ability, apparently.
The game started with Maddie serving first. Kit returned the serve to her and she smashed the ball just inside the sideline for a point. “Good shot, Miss Webster!” Lockwood called, and Harrison gripped his racket so tightly he thought the wood might snap.
The next return came his way, so he lined up and sent a blistering backhand straight toward the duke’s crotch. Lockwood jumped out of the way, unable to get a racket on the ball.
“Ho!” Kit pointed his racket at Harrison. “Ease up, man. No one is looking to get hurt.”
“Apologies.” Harrison had to smother a grin. Perhaps this morning wouldn’t be so terrible, after all.
And on it went. Harrison refused to go easy on Lockwood. There was a perverse pleasure in making the duke run all over the court, if only to watch the haughty aristocrat sweat.
Maddie encouraged Lockwood and cast dark looks at Harrison every time he won a point. Kit wasn’t fooled, shaking his head at Harrison’s antics, but said nothing.
“That’s enough,” Maddie announced when Lockwood’s ball went wide to cost his team the game. “We should break for a bit.”
“Not yet.” Harrison retrieved the ball. “It’s my serve.”
Without waiting for anyone else to agree, Maddie walked off the court and went to the beverages. The duke followed, which left Harrison standing at the net. Kit ambled over. “Rather obvious, ain’t you?”
Harrison bounced the ball and wouldn’t meet Kit’s knowing gaze. “No idea what you’re talking about.”
“Right. Bear in mind that making the duke look foolish won’t endear you to her.” Resting the racket over his shoulder, Kit strolled off toward the others, and Harrison had no choice but to follow.
Maddie avoided his eye over the rim of her lemonade glass. Finally, she put her glass down with a snap. “Come, Kit. Let’s play one quick set before I break my racket over someone’s head.”
No need to ask whose head she contemplated bashing.
Harrison poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down. The duke did the same before dropping into the chair beside Harrison. Neither of them spoke as they watched Maddie and Kit play.
Though he should probably apologize for his behavior, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Liking Lockwood was out of the question. Harrison and Maddie had been close for almost a decade . . . and now Lockwood thought he would saunter over to Newport and snap her up? Absolutely fucking not.
In the end, Maddie would marry him, not the duke. Harrison alone knew how to make her happy. They’d always brought out the best in each other, and their marriage would be no different.
“She’s quite good,” Lockwood said, his eyes never leaving Maddie as she ran around the court.
“She’s exceptional,” Harrison corrected. The Devil suddenly lurked on his shoulder, whispering with the impulse to derail any matrimonial plans. “Has she told you she intends on competing for a few more years?”
“No, she didn’t, but I am not surprised.” The duke leaned back and folded his hands behind his head. “As long as it makes her happy, why not?”
“You’re not appalled? Women sweating and competing in front of a crowd like that?”
“No, of course not. Are you?”
“Are you positive you’re a real duke?” Harrison snapped.
Lockwood’s expression eased, as if he’d finally solved a challenging puzzle. “Oh, I see. You assumed because of my title that I was some insufferable aristocrat, looking to lock her away in an ivory tower.”
“I’ve met plenty of dukes. They are generally not known for their open-mindedness.”
“True, but it’s hard for me to care about any of that, not when my estates are in shambles. Nobility won’t save me or those depending on my family.”
“And for that you need money.”
“I do, but look at her.” Lockwood tilted his chin toward the court. “She’s the most spectacular woman I’ve ever met. I would pursue her even if the money didn’t matter.”
This insight was hardly reassuring. Stomach churning, Harrison carefully set his porcelain cup down in the saucer. “You know, there are other unmarried ladies from wealthy families here this weekend. You could take your pick. Find one who has no interest in anything other than becoming a duchess.”
Lockwood cocked a brow in Harrison’s direction. “She said the two of you are merely friends, but I am detecting a definite tone in this conversation. Are you trying to warn me away from her?”
It nearly killed him, but Harrison forced a lie. “Of course not, but I don’t think she’ll be happy living on a remote estate somewhere in Boring-shire, England.”