Lord Avendon opened his mouth to reply when Percy beat him to it. “I’m needed in the stable.” He hadn’t yet met Isabel’s eye, and she couldn’t help feeling both relieved and slightly irritated.
Lord Avendon gave his uncle a quizzical glance. “Aren’t we to play a tie-break set?” His eyes brightened with an idea. “How would you ladies like to play doubles?”
Isabel swooped in to reply before Eva. “Thank you for your kind offer, but my sister and I don’t play.”
“Oh, Isabel, how you loved watching the tennis matches on the royal courts.” Eva’s eyes widened in mock innocence. “Don’t you remember?”
Percy’s head whipped around. She had his full attention now. The man’s curiosity never had its fill.
“An idea has occurred to me,” Eva continued. “You could give Isabel a lesson, Lord Avendon, and that would free you, Lord Percival, to return to the stable, which seems to be your natural habitat.”
Isabel cut in before either man could reply. “I’m not dressed for such sport.”
Lord Avendon offered a shallow bow. “I would be honored, my lady.”
Eva settled onto the damp ground, pulled a sampler from her reticule, and took up her needlework. “It’s decided, querida.”
Feet heavy as lead, Isabel made her way to the court, keenly conscious of Percy’s awareness of her, even though he hadn’t directly acknowledged her. They were well past that point. Their bodies simply knew their spatial relation to one another.
With the buoyancy of youth, Hugh bounced over to the net. “Uncle, do you mind if we use your racket?”
Percy handed the item over with a grunt that could only be described as surly.
As a very earnest Lord Avendon illustrated the technique of a proper forehand, Isabel could only half listen and go through the motions as the other half of her attention fixed on Percy. First, he retied the laces of one boot, then the other. Next, he knotted a tear in the net, after which he inspected its entire length. Then he picked up a small leather pouch and began walking the white lines of the court. When he came across a smudged edge, he would dip into the pouch and sprinkle chalk onto the offending section, smoothing out the line. It seemed Percy was doing everything but returning to the stable.
Intent on his self-appointed task of creating perfectly straight chalk lines, Percy crossed over to their side of the court. Every molecule in Isabel’s body sprang into a higher state of alertness.
Until now, Lord Avendon had been standing before her, modeling how she should hold and swing the racket. The lad had been patient, but apparently his patience had its limits as she’d mirrored his motions with only half a heart. He abandoned his stance and came to stand behind her. Percy’s head popped up.
“Here”—Lord Avendon reached around and covered her hand before pulling it back. Percy’s eyebrows drew together—“when you swing your racket forward, you must flick your wrist like . . . this.”
On the forward motion, Lord Avendon gave Isabel’s wrist a quick twist that pulled a startled, “Ow!” from her.
Percy was on them in an instant. “What are you about, Hugh?” he snarled. “Trying to break her wrist?”
Lord Avendon sprang back, brow knit in confusion. “Of course not.”
Instinctively, Isabel placed a staying hand on Percy’s forearm, corded steel below her fingers. “Percy,” she spoke low and steady, even through the riot of emotion that was galloping through her, “it was nothing.”
At last, his eye met hers. What she saw there was a Percy unmasked.
Bad temper and annoyance shone in his eyes, yes, but more. Protectiveness and concern, too. Each one of these emotions was unexpected, but none of them unwelcome.
In truth, they rattled and warmed her and made her wonder if she had made the wrong decision in rejecting his offer of help last night.
Then she noticed his forearm was bare, as was her hand.
Skin touched skin, humid and hot.
Like that, last night charged into today.
Chapter 17
Only with great strength of will and character, Percy pulled his arm back and broke contact with Isabel. Still, the imprint of her hand remained.
What was that reaction? He had been ready to tear Hugh limb from limb.
Gruff, he extended his hand. “Your racket.”
Hugh gave it over, a cautious glint in his eye. Percy tried to keep his churlishness intact as he took Hugh’s place behind Isabel, separated from her by six too few inches.
It was her scent that first assaulted his senses. His mouth watered. He couldn’t draw breath, or release it. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes meeting his and telling him to get on with this farce. Right.
“Give it a swing,” he said, unable to keep a rasp out of his voice.
“Like this?” She went through the motion.
“Not quite,” he said, helpless not to lean forward, his mouth close to her ear, so close his warm breath might be sending goose bumps down her spine, raising the fine hairs of her arms. His cock twitched, and he used every ounce of his legendary restraint to will it into submission. “As you move your arm forward, twist your wrist as the racket strikes the ball to give it enough lift to go over the net. Try it with a ball this time.”
Isabel went through the motion, resulting in a ball that bounced off the net.
Percy saw that he had no choice. He must touch her. “Let’s take it slowly.”
His hand covered hers. His eye snagged on the throb of her pulse at the curve of her neck. The length of his body pressed against her, her sweet arse giving his restrained cock ideas. Together, he and she swung through the motion. At last, she understood it, but Percy couldn’t care less.
The addiction that had been awakened demanded more than a single night. It demanded that he throw her over his shoulder and find the nearest bed. He reckoned upright against a tree would do in a pinch.
“Miss Radclyffe!” Hugh called out, breaking Percy free from thoughts that served no useful purpose.
Isabel pivoted to face Percy. Cheeks bright, she met his gaze. It wanted to skitter away, but Percy pinned it in place. He wanted her to see her effect on him. “That might be enough lessons for today,” she said, a touch breathless.