Page 127 of Courting the Wrong Duke

Rosalind narrowed her eyes. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You are smiling.”

“I frequently smile.”

“Not like that.”

His smile only widened as he held the battledore closer. “Take it, Rosalind.”

She snatched it from his hand.

“Very graceful,” William murmured.

From across the lawn, the dowager laughed. “I am beginning to understand why my son likes you.”

Rosalind’s fingers tightened around the handle.

William, apparently deciding not to acknowledge his mother’s choice of words, sighed. “This is becoming a remarkably hostile environment.”

That drew a laugh from Rosalind, and once the game began, she found it surprisingly difficult to stop.

Lady Whitcombe proved alarmingly competitive, while the dowager disputed every questionable point with the solemnity of a magistrate. William, meanwhile, appeared considerably more interested in making Rosalind miss than in winning.

When he sent the shuttlecock sailing just beyond her reach for the second time, Rosalind turned on him. “You did that deliberately.”

“I did nothing of the sort,” William replied, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“You smiled before you struck it.”

“I was enjoying myself.”

“At my expense.”

William lifted one shoulder. “Those two things are not mutually exclusive.”

Rosalind retaliated by sending the next shot directly toward the far edge of his reach.

He caught it easily.

“Vindictive,” William observed.

“Competitive,” she corrected.

His grin flashed as he sent it back toward her. “Dangerously so.”

They changed positions, partners, and battledores as the game continued, until Rosalind lost track of who was supposed to be defeating whom.

At some point William ended up beside her rather than opposite her, and their attempts at cooperation proved considerably less successful than their efforts to torment one another.

Rosalind did not care.

For weeks, every day had been measured by what she had failed to discover. Every conversation carried the possibility of another rumor, another disappointment, another reminder that her father was somewhere beyond her reach.

Here, beneath the afternoon sun, none of it disappeared.

But for a little while, it loosened its hold upon her.