The Bridgertons Happily Ever After - By Julia Quinn Page 0,17
a grin on his face, he jogged over. Should he call out? It would irritate her more if he called out.
But that would be cruel. And on the other hand—
CRACK!
Anthony looked up from his ponderings just in time to see the green ball hurtling in his direction.
What the devil?
Kate let out a triumphant cackle, picked up her skirts, and began running over.
“What in God’s name are you doing?” Anthony demanded. “The fourth wicket is that way.” He jabbed his finger in the appropriate direction even though he knew she knew where it was.
“I’m only on the third wicket,” she said archly, “and anyway, I’ve given up on winning. It’s hopeless at this point, don’t you think?”
Anthony looked at her, then he looked at his ball, resting peacefully near the last wicket.
Then he looked at her again.
“Oh no you don’t,” he growled.
She smiled slowly.
Deviously.
Like a witch.
“Watch me,” she said.
Just then Colin came dashing over the rise. “Your turn, Anthony!”
“How is that possible?” he demanded. “Kate just went, so there is Daphne, Edwina, and Simon between.”
“We went very quickly,” Simon said, striding forward. “We certainly don’t want to miss this.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” he muttered, watching as the rest of them hurried near. He stalked over to his ball, narrowing his eyes as he prepared his aim.
“Be careful of the tree root!” Penelope called out.
Anthony grit his teeth.
“It wasn’t cheering,” she said, her face magnificently bland. “Surely a warning doesn’t qualify as cheer—”
“Shut up,” Anthony ground out.
“We all have our place in this game,” she said, lips twitching.
Anthony turned around. “Colin!” he barked. “If you don’t wish to find yourself a widower, kindly muzzle your wife.”
Colin walked over to Penelope. “I love you,” he said, kissing her on the cheek.
“And I—”
“Stop it!” Anthony exploded. When all eyes turned to him, he added, rather in a grunt, “I’m trying to concentrate.”
Kate danced in a little closer.
“Get away from me, woman.”
“I just want to see,” she said. “I’ve hardly had the chance to see anything this game, being so far behind the entire time.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I might be responsible for the mud, and please note my emphasis on the word might, which does not imply any sort of confirmation on my part.”
He paused, quite pointedly ignoring the rest of the gathering, all of whom were gaping at him.
“However,” he continued, “I fail to see how your position in last place is my responsibility.”
“The mud made my hands slippery,” she ground out. “I could not properly grip the mallet.”
Off to the side, Colin winced. “Weak, I’m afraid, Kate. I’ll have to grant this point to Anthony, much as it pains me.”
“Fine,” she said, after tossing Colin a withering glare. “It’s no one’s fault but my own. However.”
And then she said nothing.
“Er, however what?” Edwina finally inquired.
Kate could have been a queen with her scepter as she stood there, all covered with mud. “However,” she continued regally, “I don’t have to like it. And this being Pall Mall, and we being Bridgertons, I don’t have to play fair.”
Anthony shook his head and bent back down to make his aim.
“She has a point this time,” Colin said, irritating sod that he was. “Good sportsmanship has never been valued highly in this game.”
“Be quiet,” Anthony grunted.
“In fact,” Colin continued, “one could make the argument that—”
“I said be quiet.”
“—the opposite is true, and that bad sportsmanship—”
“Shut up, Colin.”
“—is in fact to be lauded, and—”
Anthony decided to give up and take a swing. At this rate they’d be standing there until Michaelmas. Colin was never to going stop talking, not when he thought he had a chance of irritating his brother.
Anthony forced himself to hear nothing but the wind. Or at least he tried.
He aimed.
He drew back.
Crack!
Not too hard, not too hard.
The ball rolled forward, unfortunately not quite far enough. He was not going to make it through the last wicket on his next try. At least not without intervention divine enough to send his ball around a fist-sized stone.
“Colin, you’re next,” Daphne said, but he was already dashing back to his ball. He gave it a haphazard tap, then yelled out, “Kate!”
She stepped forward, blinking as she assessed the lay of the land. Her ball was about a foot away from his. The stone, however, was on the other side, meaning that if she attempted to sabotage him, she couldn’t send him very far—surely the stone would stop the ball.
“An interesting dilemma,” Anthony murmured.
Kate circled around the balls. “It would be a romantic gesture,” she mused, “if