She leapt as high as she could in an effort to catch the tennis ball he had just struck, but was not surprised when her fingers closed on empty air. What did surprise her was his cry of, ‘Oh, well caught, sir,’ and the smattering of spontaneous applause that rippled among the other players.
As Harry dutifully lowered the tennis racquet he was using to guard the upturned coal scuttle which was his wicket, Lady Hester turned to see which one of the fathers had taken the unprecedented step of visiting his offspring, rather than the stables, so early in the morning.
But it was Lord Lensborough who was striding towards them, tossing the ball and catching it nonchalantly in one hand as he came.
‘That means you are in bat now, sir, by our rules,’ Harry cheerfully explained while Hester’s jaw dropped.
Lord Lensborough in bat. Not if I can help it, thought Hester, snapping her mouth closed firmly.
‘Make your bow to his lordship, children,’ she commanded her charges, sinking into a dutiful curtsy herself. She felt a spurt of satisfaction when his brows drew down in an expression of displeasure. He was no fool, she had to give him that. He had picked up her unspoken message that he was unwelcome.
‘You appear to have lost your way, my lord,’she said, keeping her eyes fixed on the ball once he came to a halt only a few feet from her. ‘My cousins are waiting for you in the library.’ The long, strong fingers tightened perceptibly around the ball.
‘What you are doing looks far more interesting.’
Hester detected a hint of a threat in his tone. She took a step back. He took one forward.
‘I have observed,’ he said in a voice pitched so low that nobody but she could hear it, ‘that the most interesting things seem to occur wherever you are. Do not banish me to the library just yet. It is a sentence too harsh, even for you, to condemn me to the tedium of your cousins’ conversation.’
Hester gasped. Whatever could he mean? A scion of society would not really wish to spend time with a woman who dived into ditches, indulged in fisticuffs with his groom, spat insults at him at every available opportunity, never mind a pack of grubby children.
‘You will find no conversation at all here, my lord. We are simply playing a children’s game.’
‘I already know that it will give me more amusement than being closeted with your hen-witted aunt.’
‘My aunt is not…’ Hester’s head flew up as she launched into a defence of her aunt, only to falter at the twin hurdles of her aunt’s lack of intelligence, and the amused twinkle she encountered in those tiger-striped eyes. Still, to insult Aunt Susan while the children stood within hearing distance…
‘You have not seen my aunt at her best,’ Hester hissed between clenched teeth, taking a step nearer to prevent the children overhearing. ‘She is a little flustered at present, since we have a house full of guests.’
‘From what I have observed,’ his lordship cut in ruthlessly, ‘she does little more than sit on a sofa, issuing a plethora of contradictory orders while you run yourself ragged making sure the house runs smoothly in spite of her.’
Hester clenched her teeth on the riposte she would dearly love to have given him in defence of her aunt. Was that what he was about? Taunting her, baiting her till she could not help lashing out at him? So that she would feel, as she had done after blundering into the facts of his painful bereavement, that she deserved to have her tongue cut out? Better to change the subject altogether than end up looking like a heartless shrew yet again.
‘Please, sir, may we have our ball back? The children grow impatient to continue their game.’
‘But I am in bat,’ he countered.
‘Oh, no, you’re not.’ She glared up at him, promptly forgetting all her resolutions to keep an even temper in his presence. ‘You shouldn’t even be here. You are supposed to be in the library.’
‘I think not.’ His voice dropped to little more than a growl, so threatening it sent a shiver sliding the length of Hester’s spine. She couldn’t believe she had just more or less given him an order. Lord Lensborough took orders from nobody.
She clasped her hands together before her, an unconsciously defensive gesture, and glanced nervously over her shoulder at the children.
Lord Lensborough sighed, following the direction of her gaze. Any one of these children could report back to its parent that, instead of playing with them, Lady Hester had been flirting with him. On his account she had already had her riding privileges withdrawn, and been painfully reminded of her lowly station by being forced to take her meals out of sight of the other house guests.
This was not going at all the way he had planned. His attempt to keep things lighthearted had only succeeded in confusing her, and making her nervous. All he could now do was make the whole episode appear as innocent as possible.
‘Just stop arguing with me for once, madam, and explain the rules,’ he growled.
‘Th…the rules…’ she stuttered, backing away from him.
‘The rules are brilliant,’ Harry cheerfully asserted, stomping over to where they stood and handing the battered tennis racquet over to Lord Lensborough. ‘One man in bat, defending his wicket…’ he gestured towards the coal scuttle ‘…the rest fielding. To ensure fair play, Aunt Hetty has devised a system of handicaps. The bigger and stronger you are, the more handicaps you have.’
Lord Lensborough nodded, taking in the range of ages of the assembled children. The youngest involved in the game, the little blond moppet who had crawled on to Lady Hester’s lap during that first supper in the Great Hall, looked to be scarce more than a toddler. ‘That does seem fair,’ he agreed. Glancing at Lady Hester, he couldn’t resist asking, ‘What is the handicap imposed on Lady Hester?’
‘Oh, she’s a female,’ Harry blithely returned.
‘He means,’ Hester put in, seeing the mocking twist to Lord Lensborough’s lips, ‘that my movements are sufficiently hampered by wearing skirts to render me handicapped. I should point out, though, that any catch I make only counts as an “out” if I use my left hand, and the ball has not bounced off any other surface.’
Lord Lensborough’s lips twitched, remembering the determined leap she had been performing the very moment he had entered the gallery. ‘Dare I ask what my handicap might be?’
The children had abandoned their strategic fielding positions to gather around the tall, imposing stranger who had suddenly given their game a whole new dimension by deigning to join in.
‘You can only bat with your left hand,’ Harry decreed. ‘The other will have to be tied behind your back.’ There was a general murmur of agreement.
‘Not much of a handicap to a sportsman like his lordship, I shouldn’t have thought,’ Lady Hester objected. ‘There should be more than that.’
So…she knew him for a sportsman. Not so indifferent as she would like to have everyone believe.
‘How about blindfolding him?’ the freckle-faced boy suggested.
‘Capital idea, George,’ Harry agreed. Before he had time to react one way or the other, the children were urging him to the coal-scuttle wicket, holding up a variety of scarves and neckcloths with which to bind him.
‘Can I not just keep my right hand in my pocket?’ he laughingly protested.
But the children were insistent, and it was amidst much hilarity that Hester took hold of his wrist and pushed it behind his back.
His arm was heavy for her to manoeuvre into position, though he was making no attempt to resist. It was muscle, she knew, not fat, that made his upper arm so bulky beneath his coat sleeve. He was an all-round sportsman. Harry Moulton had told Henrietta that, besides