Page 35 of A Rogue's Rules for Seduction
“That doesn’t count as drinking a glass,” Gilbert protested in the middle of singing.
“Another for Mr. Kilburn,” Mr. Longbridge instructed his servant.
The footman poured more wine for Dom, and he shot her a wary glance before bringing the glass to his lips.
“I promise not to talk about shuttlecocks, dil douls, or filthy books,” Willa vowed, crossing her heart.
“Comforting,” he said before drinking.
Kieran and Celeste were just reaching their fiftieth volley, so there was no time to spare. This was also not the moment to daintily sip at her wine—as if she ever did such a thing—and so Willa followed Dom’s lead, doing her best to down her first glass in a single swallow.
He made it look much easier than it was, and she was forced to take several gulps before draining the last of the wine. It might have been an excellent vintage, it might have been ditch water. She barely noticed the flavor as she hastily moved on to her second full goblet.
As she speedily drank down the beverage, she kept an eye on her brother and his wife. Kieran and Celeste were starting on their first glasses of wine.
Surely Miss Beckford would have been horrifiedto see one of her former pupils gulping wine so quickly that it trickled from the corners of Willa’s mouth. She had to angle her body to keep anything from dripping on her gown, and if there was a moment when she’d ever looked less elegant, she couldn’t recall it now. But it didn’t matter. Victory was all that signified.
Even so, Dom watched her with what appeared to be admiration. He had already downed his second glass, but if the alcohol affected him at all, he didn’t show it.
A pleasant warmth had settled over her somewhere between the first and second goblets of wine. Yet as she set her now empty glass on the tray, the ground beneath her feet tilted slightly.
“Easy.” Dom took hold of her elbow, his fingers on her bare flesh, and the warmth of the wine turned into a raging heat that poured through her. It had to be the alcohol, surely, that made her skin so sensitive. It had nothing to do with the fact that Dom’s flesh was searingly hot, or that the pads of his fingers were slightly rough and callused.
“I’m fine,” Willa insisted. She would simply ignore the faint slurring of her words. “Less’ keep going to seventy-five.” She eyed Kieran, who was beginning his second glass. “Got to beat ’im.”
“You said you could handle your wine,” Dom noted sternly, “but you’re already foxed.”
“Not a bit,” she insisted. “Surely the wine can’t have affected me so quickly. Although,” she addedwith a frown, “I didn’t eat much breakfast, and maybe I had juss a few bites of dinner.”
She patted her stomach. “Not a lot in here to sponge up m’ wine. And what are you doing, walking around with sush hot hands? Big hands, too,” she mused, looking down at where his broad palm covered her elbow and his fingers wrapped around the crook of her arm. “Makes me wonder how much of me you could cover with ’em.”
Someone tittered, but Willa ignored them, instead looking up at Dom through a pleasant haze.
“We should stop,” he said, his brow creased with worry. “Get you out of the sun, too.”
“And letthemwin?” She smirked at the other players. “Not a fucking chance.”
Chapter 11
Dom held Willa, torn between wanting to tend to her in her fuddled state, and letting her loose so they could win this damn game.
“Have a care, Kieran and Celeste are pulling ahead of you,” Finn announced from the spectators.
Willa tugged herself from Dom’s grip. “Not for long.”
He could give her what she wanted, but he’d keep a close watch on her. If she seemed in danger of getting hurt, to hell with the game, he’d take care of her. After making certain that she was able to stand on her own, he took his position opposite her, and served.
Despite the fact that she was in her cups, she was determined to persevere, returning all of his volleys. She’d shown focus before quickly guzzling two glasses of wine, and somehow,afterguzzling two glasses of wine, her focus had narrowed further. Nothing existed but hitting the shuttlecock arcing back and forth between them.
He’d never played games like this in Ratcliff. No one had the budget for useless things like rackets and fussy little projectiles made of feathers and cork. Instead, they used to take bundles of rags and kick them like footballs. The boys and girls in the lanes were rough in their play so it wasn’t unusual to come home spattered with blood—either his or his opponents’.
The chance that he’deverlearn genteel games would have been nil, had it not been for Kieran’s kindness to him at Oxford, teaching him in the ways of sport when his class and ignorance of such activities kept him from joining any leagues.
As if aware of his thoughts, Kieran shouted over to him, “Isthishow you repay your teacher?”
“Always a risk that the pupil bests the master,” Dom answered, keeping his attention on the volleys between him and Willa.
“We’ll ruddy see about that,” Kieran called back. “Seventy-three, seventy-four. Seventy-five!”
