Page 19 of Duke of Destruction
It had been a perfectly lovely morning. She’d managed to get some sleep the night prior, so she wasn’t feeling as though she was about to keel over at any moment. The Duke of Seaton had cordially taken to ignoring her, which helped her convince herself that she, in turn, was successfully ignoring him. The sun was even shining for a second day in a row.
It was this last bit that turned out to be Catherine’s downfall.
They were just finishing up breakfast, which included some particularly delicious lingonberry jam, when the Duke of Wilds stood and, smiling, addressed his assembled guests.
“Since the weather is so fine this morning,” he said, gesturing grandly at where the sunshine was pouring into through the windows of the morning room, “I thought we might go down to the lake and enjoy a game of pall mall.”
The jam had turned to ash in Catherine’s mouth as, all around her, everyone else murmured approvingly of this plan. Ariadne had looked at her with wide eyes and alarm.
This was a problem.
But not because Catherine hated Pall Mall. Oh no.
Catherineloved Pall Mall.
But unfortunately, Catherine loved pall mall in a way that made her a little bit…
Insane.
Catherine tried not to play games with her siblings too frequently, mostly because she wanted her siblings to continue to love her. But every winter arrived, long, dreary, and wet, and somewhere along the dark months, they would all decide that maybe this time it would be a good idea to engage in some sort of friendly competition, just to while away the hours.
It wasnevera good idea.
Catherine usually had a relatively cool head, but when the spirit of competition seized her—as it always did, for some inexplicable reason, when it came to matters of sport—she became rather rabid about it. Her brother Xander found this hilarious. He used to claim that she was being possessed by Grandfather Cornelius’ ghost until the time that young Jason had taken this literally and had broken down into hysterical tears over his sister being haunted.
Catherine, however, almost wished she could blame an apparition since, without such an excuse, she merely had to admit that her fervent desire to win lawn games—no matter the cost—was merely an unsavory part of her personality.
She might have even begged off, no matter the blow to her pride. She could have begged one of those vague concerns that everyone read to be a code for female ailments—and that, therefore, terrified men. A megrim. A general malaise. It didn’t even really matter.
Except no sooner had the duke finished speaking than the Earl of Crompton appeared at Ariadne’s side, almost as if out of thin air, that ingratiating smile on his face.
“Splendid day for pall mall. I’m sure you’ll have a marvelous time of it, Lady Ariadne.”
Catherine fought off a grimace. There he was again, telling Ariadne how she felt, not asking.
Ariadne, to her credit, handled him well.
“Indeed, my lord,” she said politely, but with a distinctly distant air about her. “I look forward to playing with my sister.”
She looped her arm through Catherine’s.
This was all well and good—Catherine was more than happy to be a shield for her sister against men who simply could not take a hint—but it did oblige her to actually play.
All of which brought her to her current predicament: strategizing escape routes if she succumbed to that eager, itchy feeling that had started to overtake her the moment she got the mallet in her hands.
“You shall just have to not…you know,” Ariadne said helplessly as Catherine searched for a distraction. She watched as the Duke of Wilds flirted outrageously with Miss Plumeria Flittersby, the unfortunately-named cardsharp who had relieved so manyguests of their pin money the day prior. Miss Plumeria was giving as good as she got, her chaperone once more asleep under a nearby tree.
Catherine had no choice but to look away when the Duke of Seaton meandered over to join his friend, his own mallet perched jauntily over his shoulder. His tall, athletic frame made him look as though he’d been born to play Pall Mall, and the assessing way he looked out over the course, which had been assembled near the lake on the Duke of Wilds’ rambling estate, suggested that he, too, possessed a competitive spirit.
Well, Catherine would show him. She would pound him into the dust, her victory so profound that?—
No. No, she would do none of that.
She fixed her gaze on her sister.
“I’ll be good,” she promised.
Neither of them seemed to believe it.
