The game gathered pace.Genny, fueled by chaos and lemonade, darted everywhere, occasionally hitting the shuttlecock, but more often interfering.Miss Eaton, gaining confidence, began to call out to Carstairs—"Left!Yours!Oh, well done!"—and he, in turn, remembered that his arms existed.
Esme moved in concert with them, her body learning the rhythms of the game the way it learned the figures of a dance.Sweat prickled at her neck, and her pulse quickened.
So intent was she on returning a shot that she did not realize the spectators had drifted closer until Alexandra's whistle shrieked.
"Stop!Stop!I have been informed," Alexandra announced, "that the frog demands a sacrifice.Two champions must face two champions.We shall have a final match."
"That is not in the rules," someone protested.
"It is now.I am terribly susceptible to whim."
Louisa stepped forward."Very well.My lord husband proposes that the winners of this round face his chosen pair.To make things interesting, we shall permit the frog to choose."
"The frog?"Esme murmured.
Niall held up the gilt monstrosity and waggled it toward the crowd."The frog has spoken.He desires chaos."
"The frog," Louisa clarified, "would like to see Lady Esme and Lord Redford on opposite sides."
Esme's heart skipped a beat.
Redford, who had abandoned Lady Honoria, bowed."I am at the frog's disposal."
"Of course you are," Lady Honoria muttered."You both share a taste for mud."
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
Esme tried not to look at Harrison."I am sure there are more deserving players," she began.
"Oh, undoubtedly," Alexandra said, stepping close enough for only Esme to hear, "But the frog finds you interesting.And Lady Esme, this is Foxmere House.We prefer choices made for ourselves, not for us."
The words slid under Esme's defenses.
For once, there was no dance card, no carefully ordered list of suitors, only a frog, a game, and the fact that she wished to see what happened when she and Redford stood opposed.
She lifted her chin."Very well.I would not wish to disappoint a piece of statuary."
Within moments, Esme found herself teamed with Miss Eaton and Mr.Carstairs, and Redford with Genny and Lord Bertram.
"Try not to maim anyone," Harrison said as Esme took her place on the grass, "Particularly yourself."
"I shall endeavor not to be hurled into any lakes," she said."Take comfort that there are none nearby."
"That has never stopped you," he muttered.
James had expected amusement, he had not expected to be aroused by a woman's competence with a battledore.
Esme moved as though the lawn belonged to her, with a fearless enthusiasm that made his chest ache.She threw herself after missed shots, laughed at her failures, and glowed with exertion.
"Redford," Genny hissed, jabbing him with her racket."Stop staring.Hit it."
The shuttlecock was already descending.He recovered enough to send it arcing high toward Esme's side.
She lunged, stretching to reach it, and misjudged her step.Her slipper slid on the grass, and for a moment, she wobbled, arms windmilling.
James moved without thinking.
He vaulted the line between teams, catching her elbow just as she pitched sideways.The world narrowed to the feel of her weight against him, the brush of her hip, the soft swoosh of breath she let out as she collided with his chest.
