Chapter 9 #2
“That looks like a winning ball,” someone grumbled.
“Will His Grace accept defeat at the hands of his wife?” someone whispered.
Laurence felt his eye twitch.
“It’s all right if you do not think you can best that shot,” Edith teased. “After all, it’s much better to handle defeat with grace.”
A few chuckles rose from behind Laurence, who gripped his mallet harder. “Do not underestimate me, Duchess,” he murmured.
He took to the spot and lined up his shot. Looking down the path, he could see a bush at the end, close to the target ball. If he could hit the ball just right, it would all be over.
Clack.
He struck the ball with such momentum that it raced down the track, skipping over pebbles. Near the end, it hit a large one, which sent it into the air.
Crunch.
It landed in the twigs and branches of the bush, slowly descending until it was deposited at the base.
Laurence grinned. His ball was closer than the others. He had surely won, and now Edith would—
“Well, that can’t possibly count, can it?” she drawled.
What?
“Hm, I’m not sure,” Lady Eliza muttered, looking at where Laurence’s ball lay.
“It is still on the path; I see no reason that it shouldn’t count,” Laurence declared.
“It’s in a bush!” Edith argued, pointing harshly. “If one of my balls had landed there, you would be arguing that it is a part of the foliage.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, let us go look,” Laurence sighed.
He began to march down toward the ball, and Edith followed him.
By now, the ball had rolled into the tangle of bushes and trees, resting against some roots.
“See?” Edith huffed. “Out of bounds.”
“I beg to differ,” Laurence said, folding his arms.
“It’s on the roots. The shot should be retaken,” she insisted, turning to face him.
“I think it should stand,” he countered, his voice calm but firm.
“Why are you making such a fuss? Surely it would be more advantageous to retake the shot.”
“You’re only saying that because I’m winning,” he said, a grin tugging at his lips.
“You are not. It shouldn’t count.” She stepped closer in defiance.
His heart gave a sharp kick. She was much too near. He hadn’t been this close to her since their kiss. The maddening scent of her floral perfume coiled around him like a spell, making him dizzy with need.
“I did not realize I had such a competitive wife,” he croaked.
“I am not competitive. I am only being fair,” she replied, her eyes flickering—just once—to his lips.
Laurence noticed. He always noticed.
“You keep saying that,” he murmured, leaning closer. “But I think you only argue with me because you want to see how far I’ll let you go.”
Her breath caught. “That is not true.”
“Oh, I think it is.”
She tried to hold her ground, but he was already in her space, his gaze fixed on hers. When she didn’t move away, he lifted a hand, his fingers brushing her cheek. Her skin was soft, dewy, and enticingly supple.
“Your Grace…” she whispered, her voice trembling.
“Look at me,” he said quietly.
She did.
For a heartbeat, the world around them fell silent. His hand slid to her waist, drawing her closer.
“That sharp tongue of yours… I could spend all day taming it,” he said, his voice rough. “And I know exactly how.”
Her lips parted, and his blood pumped harder in his veins, every muscle pulling him closer to her—
“Have you two found it yet?” Lady Eliza called, walking up behind them. “Oh! Pardon me, Your Graces.”
Laurence released Edith quickly, swallowing.
“I didn’t mean to—” Lady Eliza began.
“It was nothing, Lady Eliza,” Edith dismissed, straightening.
Lady Eliza glanced between them, then cleared her throat. “Well then, about the game…”
“We have located the ball, Lady Eliza, but it seems we cannot agree,” Laurence gritted out.
Lady Eliza looked at the ball and tilted her head, oblivious to the nature of the discussion she had interrupted.
“It looks clear to me; the shot should be retaken,” she declared, before walking away.
Out of the corner of his eye, Laurence could see Edith’s lips curling into a smug half-smile. Her cheeks were still flushed, and her breath hitched as he looked at her.
Oh, he knew how to wipe the triumph off her pretty face.
Control yourself, Alderbourne.
This was not the place to imagine the ways he could tame his wife.
“Not a word,” he sighed, picking up the ball.
Edith nodded, and the pair went to rejoin the other players.
His wife had won… this time.
A couple of hours later, they drove back to the townhouse.
Laurence was looking out the window, trying to distract himself. Edith was resting, her head leaning against the cushion.
She always looks much more tranquil when she’s like this. Has she fallen asleep?
He leaned over, reached out his hand, and let it hover over her own, suddenly overcome by an unshakable desire to close the gap between them. He looked down at her lips. They were soft and still slightly damp from her last glass of champagne.
Without warning, a bump in the carriage jolted her awake, and her head struck the back of the seat.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yes, yes… I’m all right,” she said, sitting up.
Laurence sank back into his seat with his fists clenched. He’d nearly kissed her again.
Not that the thought repelled him; far from it. His mind drifted to her often enough that closing the gap between them felt inevitable.
His chest ached with need, but he would not let himself lose control again.