“Is that so?” Percy hardly recognized his voice, so gravelly it had gone with desire. “But I have so much more to teach you.”
Her pupils flared. Desire. It was all he could do not to take her right here on the tennis court. Society thought it had been scandalized by his exploits of yore? They hadn’t seen anything.
Here it was, nearly a tangible thing and exactly what he’d expected: his wickedness unleashed. This morning, he’d awakened, craving her with every cell in his body—the scent of her, the feel of her, hot and humid and alive.
So, he’d sought out Hugh for a punishing match of tennis, hoping physical exhaustion would clear his mind. For a while, he’d convinced himself his remedy had worked, then she’d appeared and he knew the opposite to be true. He’d indulged once, and once was all it took to feed his addiction into full life. Knowing she wanted him, too, only emboldened it.
“Is Lulu with you?” Hugh asked Miss Radclyffe. His daughter’s name pulled Percy’s mind from its haze of iniquity.
Miss Radclyffe, who had appeared content to continue on her way, now pointed her feet in the direction of the tennis court. “Lucy was still abed when I left the house just before dawn.” She smiled wryly. “’Tis my lot to be both a night and morning person.”
Hugh’s brow furrowed. “You were walking the grounds in the dark? Any number of calamities could befall a lone young lady.”
Miss Radclyffe shrugged a shoulder, indifferent to Hugh’s concern. “I recorded the sunrise from the widow’s walk on the manor house roof, then decided to take a bracing stroll before breaking my fast. Now I’ve encountered all of you.” She gestured toward their rather disjointed gathering. Mrs. Gardiner waved from her place on the other side of the court. “That is the totality of my morning activities, Lord Avendon. Would you like to see my log?” She held out a small notebook.
A sheepish look crossed Hugh’s features. Anyone with eyes could see the lad was head-over-heels infatuated with the chit, a condition Percy understood well, having once been similarly afflicted. Hugh’s saving grace might be that Miss Radclyffe didn’t seem the least bit aware of the lad’s interest or inclined to return it. Left without the sunlight of her encouragement, the feeling would likely wither on the vine.
“Would you care to join us in a doubles match?” Hugh asked. “All we need is a fourth.”
“I don’t think I’m properly attired for such activity,” Miss Radclyffe demurred.
“You look dressed for the occasion to me,” Hugh persisted. Percy almost felt badly for the lad. “And your movement shouldn’t be inhibited as you don’t wear a corset.”
The unflappable Miss Radclyffe’s eyes went wide, and her mouth gaped ever so slightly open. “How very observant of you, Lord Avendon,” she said evenly, recovering her composure.
Hugh’s skin went a pale shade of green.
“You have certainly made your case,” Miss Radclyffe continued. “I shall be most pleased to make up the fourth.”
Hugh brightened. “I shall just retrieve two more rackets from the shed.” The lad was off like a shot and returned in fewer than thirty seconds, but enough time for Isabel to flash Percy a bewildered glance. How has it come to this? it seemed to say. He shrugged, unsure himself.
“Shall it be the ladies versus the lads?” Mrs. Gardiner called from her seat on the grass. Percy hadn’t spent enough time with Isabel’s sister to gain much of an understanding of the woman, but she seemed intelligent and . . . mischievous.
“I’m afraid I shall let my partner down,” Miss Radclyffe said. “I’ve only hit back and forth with Lucy on a few occasions.”
“That might be a disaster, considering how these two play.” Isabel pointed from Percy to Hugh.
“Then it’s settled,” Hugh said. “Youth versus age. I shall provide cover for you, Miss Radclyffe,” he finished with a gallantry that had begun to grate on Percy’s nerves. Young men and their heroics.
The matter settled, play commenced. It started off friendly enough with laughter and smiles all around as they engaged in a bit of light volleying. Percy was careful to direct all his strokes toward Hugh, for Miss Radclyffe hadn’t been exaggerating her lack of experience, and Hugh did the same. But Percy also kept half an eye out for what he knew was coming, as Isabel began to find her footing and test the limits of her forehand, which was gaining precision with every shot.
Then it happened: Isabel stopped laughing, and her smile tightened before falling altogether. She focused on Miss Radclyffe’s weaker play and began directing her increasingly precise forehands toward the girl’s side of the court to take easy points.
Isabel’s competitive spirit had been awakened. She wanted to win, and blast it all if Percy didn’t find it damned attractive.
For her part, Miss Radclyffe laughed it off, which only irritated Hugh, who tried coaching her on technique. “Lord Avendon,” the girl said, “I’m afraid you’ll find me frustratingly impervious to all instruction regarding sport.”
Although Percy couldn’t have predicted what would happen next, he couldn’t help thinking he should have.
Isabel in the forecourt, Percy served the ball. Hugh zipped a deep groundstroke to Percy, who rallied it back. Isabel, clearly not to content to be a bystander while the men played, shifted cross-court into Hugh’s return, racket extended wide, and drilled the ball hard into Miss Radclyffe’s side. Not her side of the court, but into her body.
“Ouch,” the girl yipped in shock.
“Lady Percival!” Hugh exclaimed. “That simply isn’t done!”
Cheeks bright and chest heaving with competitive energy, Isabel shot back, “What isn’t done? Strategy?”
“Not that sort,” Hugh sputtered. “Not in a civilized society!”
Isabel stood her ground. “What sort of fool thinks there’s anything civilized about a competition?”
“Lady Percival!” Hugh seemed to have run out of arguments.
“That’s my Isabel!” exclaimed Mrs. Gardiner.
Percy held his tongue, but not the smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth.
Hugh drew himself up with indignation. He would make a formidable duke someday. “We do not batter one another. It’s best we end the match here.”