Page 68 of A Game with the Rakish Duke
She nodded, barely able to breathe. And then he was gone.
Catherine lay back on the bed, gazing up at the ceiling, feeling stunned. None of it seemed real—not their passion last night, nor the intense conversation they had just had. She felt as if she had entered a dream world where the normal rules did not apply and anything was possible. She could fly to the moon. She could walk on water. She could learn to love a man.
Her heart clenched. She was still so scared, but shewaswilling to try at last. Was she making the biggest mistake of her life? Or was she about to step into the greatest joy that she had ever known?
Chapter Thirty-Two
“That was bad form.” Catherine laughed, twirling her bat in her hand and gazing at Thomas over the net. “You really will have to do better this time.”
Thomas grinned as he rubbed his chin, gazing at the shuttlecock lying on the ground next to him. He picked it up and held it against his bat before launching it over the net at a blistering pace.
Catherine backed up hastily, wildly flinging the bat at the shuttlecock, hoping it would connect with it. But the shuttlecock was traveling at such speed that it simply knocked the top of the bat, careering over it, intent on its trajectory. She whipped around. The shuttlecock was still flying through the air before it finally landed in the bushes beyond.
She sighed heavily, turning around again, putting her hands on her hips as she glared at her husband.
“That was not fair,” she cried, stomping her foot. “You deliberately made it too fast for me to hit.”
“Did I?” He was laughing. “You told me to do better. And so I did. It is not my fault that you missed the shot.”
Catherine pouted before sighing again. She turned away to walk to the bushes to find the shuttlecock. This game was not going quite how she had intended at all. Really, Thomas was beating her into the ground.
She rustled through the bushes, searching for it, grumbling under her breath. She was the one who had suggested the game, knowing that she was very good at it. At least, she had always beaten Beatrice when they had played before she got married. It was one of the few outdoor activities that the Dowager Countess of Afferton would allow her daughter to play, believing that sports were unfeminine, and so they had played it quite often.
But having her husband as an opponent was proving very different from playing with her best friend. Beatrice flailed and missed the shuttlecock quite often. Her serve was limp, to say the least. Thomas was a different kind of player. He was competitive, had a good eye, unfailing energy, and seemed as determined to beat his wife as she was to beat him.
I wish I had suggested Pall Mall. I would have beaten him into the ground if we had played that game instead.
She kept rustling in the bushes, cursing as a twig stabbed her hand, which she withdrew hastily.
“Ouch,” she cried, gazing at it. Was that a small splinter?
“You are taking your time.” Thomas was suddenly beside her. “Have you not found it yet?”
“No,” Catherine snapped, still gazing at her hand. “I believe I have a splinter.”
Thomas sighed, turning to her, an amused look on his face. He took her hand, gazing at it closely.
“Let us go and sit near the gazebo,” he said. “I can have a closer look there.”
Catherine pouted but let him lead her towards the gazebo, underneath a tall elm tree, trying to ignore the thudding of her heart at the feel of his hand on her own.
He took off his jacket and laid it on the grass beneath the tree. Then they both sat down. He picked up her hand again, staring at it.
“Well?” Catherine gazed at him. “Can you see it?”
He sighed, shaking his head. “I am afraid not,” he replied, grinning at her. “There is a slight scratch but no splinter.”
“I do not believe you,” she said, withdrawing her hand and staring at it critically. “I am certain I saw a small black mark beneath the skin…”
Thomas sighed, taking her hand again and examining at it. Catherine’s heart was thudding hard now as she watched him slowly lift her hand to his mouth and kiss the scratch. His lips lingered on her skin.
“Oh,” she sighed. “Oh…”
His eyes flicked to her face before he turned back to her hand. Now, he was kissing it all over, pressing his lips to the center of her palm, leaving long, lingering kisses that were turning her inside out.
“Better?” His voice was as soft as silk when he finally turned to her.
“Much,” she whispered. “But just in case, perhaps you better kiss it better once more.”
