“Are you going to win?”
He nodded and gave her a half-smile. “Of course.”
She grinned, and he felt a warmth spread in his chest that had nothing to do with his desire for her body. Dammit, he wanted to win, so she would smile at him like that again.
Her shoulders tensed. “I owe you a conversation, but I’m not terribly bold.”
“Says the woman who asked me to ruin her.”
“I asked your brother. You butted in.”
He smirked. “Touché.”
“I want to apologize—and thank you—” She stopped, turned to face him. “Last night I realized I haven’t been clear about my intentions. I asked you to ruin me but said it could only be pretend.Then I kissed you, and I liked it, and then last night, I liked that very much—”
“Ye did?” He felt like a lad on Christmas morning. “Verra much?”
He was certain if he touched her cheeks, his hands would be singed.
“I did,” she whispered. “But I truly believed we’d be discovered, and we wouldn’t have another chance.”
He started walking, unable to hold still. “So ye wouldnae do it again.”
“I would.”
Callum spun on his heel to see her standing in the same place, a streak of sunlight in the muted green field. “Ye would?”
Her lips pursed for a long moment as she averted her gaze. “Aunt Margaret and I will watch from a safe distance, but I expect you to take no prisoners.” She dropped her voice. “And will you please put the Lordlings and Pennington in their place?”
Last he’d seen them, Valebrook’s wastrel nephews had been relieving themselves behind a copse of forsythia while Pennington made bets with several other gentlemen on the outcome of the match. Callum released a resigned sigh. “I’ll do my best.”
He turned his back with Violet’s bemused expression dancing in his mind. The twist of her berry lips, the flush coloring her cheeks, the dance of her eyes… Was she asking him to pleasure her again? Christ, this intoxicating woman had him spinning in circles, tripping over himself to earn her affection, her trust.
And hell if he didn’t love every moment.
Had he been in a worse mood—the young men were lucky it was not literally any other hour of any other day—he would have left the Lordlings in tears as he barked at them to vacate the bushes, but as it was, he sent them over to Valebrook to start the first round.
Three of the fifteen men were eliminated immediately; two of the Lordlings had started imbibing early, and the Duke of Suffolk had forgotten his spectacles and didn’t bother taking a shot. Violet sidled up to Callum as the party advanced to the next target.
“Are you impressed?” he asked, embarrassed by how eager he was to hear her response.
She scoffed. “You beat two drunks barely out of Cambridge and a man with one foot in the grave. You’ll have to do better to impress me.”
He hummed. “Is that a challenge?”
“I think it is.” She was trying to be serious, but her voice bubbled like champagne.
“What shall we wager?”
She made a show of pressing her gloved fingertip to her chin, deep in thought. “How about, if you win, I’ll give you a kiss?”
His pulse lept in his throat, but he pressed his lips into a smirk. “I have a feeling ye’ll want to kiss me either way, lass. If I win, I’ll teach you how to swim.”
She blinked. “How did you know I can’t swim?”
“I pay attention. Do you agree?”
Hesitance danced on her expression before she extended her open palm. “Agreed.”
