Lady Rosabella's Ruse - By Ann Lethbridge Page 0,35
hit the stump.
‘You’re out,’ Fitzwilliam yelled from the top of a dune.
Stanford winked at Rosa. ‘See. You should have kissed me,’ he whispered, dark eyes dancing.
And she wished she had. Not because she cared about winning, but because there was a yearning in her heart to have him hold her close and work his magic with his mouth.
Mrs De Lacy strolled out to take Mrs Phillips’s place. She proved to be an excellent player.
By the time the ladies were all out, they had racked up a nice fifteen runs and Lady Keswick had refreshments waiting, small beer for the men and fruit punch for the ladies.
‘You seem to know what you are doing,’ Mrs De Lacy said to Rosa. ‘Will you bowl for our team?’
‘If you wish.’
Mrs Phillips fanned her face. ‘It is so hot.’ She raised her eyes to the clear blue sky. ‘Perhaps we should just declare in their favour.’
‘I should think not,’ Mrs Mallow said. ‘You be wicketkeeper, then you don’t have to run. I’ll field on the water side, the grooms can cover the dunes, and Mrs De Lacy can fill in any gap.’
The men huddled off in a group. ‘Planning their strategy, no doubt,’ Lady Keswick said. ‘Ladies, my money is on you.’
‘Money?’ Rosa gasped.
‘I made a bet with Stanford.’
Rosa narrowed her eyes. Was that what they were doing over there, gambling on the outcome?
She marched over to Stanford and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned and smiled when he saw her. Lord, the man was tall up close. Every time she got this close she suddenly felt tiny and dainty. Which was ridiculous for a woman of her height.
‘A guinea, if you please, on the ladies.’
His eyes gleamed wickedly. ‘A guinea it is, but I warn you, I do not intend to let you win.’
‘Let us? Sir, are you intimating that our score is not honestly achieved?’
His eyes flickered a fraction as he realised she’d caught him left footed. He inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘Indeed not, Mrs Travenor. I am happy to take your money.’
Fitzwilliam slapped him on the back.
Rosa marched back to her team-mates. ‘We are going to win this game.’
‘That’s the spirit,’ Lady Keswick said and covered her face with her handkerchief. ‘I am sure you won’t mind if I take a nap.’
The ladies took their positions in the field. Rosa cursed her skirts and petticoats, grasping them in one hand, and the ball in the other. She surged forwards and set her ball pelting down the pitch at Mr Phillips.
The ball hit the wicket.
‘Out,’ Lady Smythe called with a little more glee than was seemly.
‘I wasn’t ready,’ Mr Phillips said, his pale face turning the shade of a newly peeled beet.
‘The umpire called out,’ Stanford said, lounging on a blanket. ‘You should stop dreaming about your next play and focus on reality.’ Phillips stomped off and sprawled on the sand.
Hapton walked to the crease to take his place. She wasn’t going to catch him unawares, she could see that by the determined expression on his face. She settled into her stride.
The men’s team made heavy inroads on the ladies’ score; they were up to twelve, when by some lucky fluke a ball went straight up in the air. Mrs De Lacy put up her hands and closed her eyes and…unbelievably…she caught it. She opened her eyes and stared in surprise. ‘You are out,’ she said.
Both teams clapped.
Well, it really had been the most amazing piece of luck.
Rosa bowled out Fitzwilliam. One of her best efforts. And then she was facing Stanford.
He readied his bat. He handled it like a man who played professional cricket. She’d seen such a game once, when the school lent the local team their field because of flooding in the village. The men had been rough and ready and wore expressions just like Stanford’s.
A smile curved her lips. She’d saved him a surprise.
He tapped his bat in the crease and wriggled his hips. A breath caught in her throat. He flashed her a grin and heat rose up to her hairline in a scalding rush. Wretched man. She really must stop reacting to his flirting.
Three long strides, one small hop to make sure her feet remained behind the crease and her weight was balanced, then she let the ball go, with a twist of her wrist. Too much. She realised it as soon as the ball left her hand. It careened off to the left.