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“I hope you don’t. I rather like how much I win!” she said, as his laughter followed her.
They changed positions again and switched teams. This time, Violette and Lord Northrive were on the same team with Lord Catling, who was bowling toward Laurie. When Laurie struck the ball with the bat, it went flying.
Both Violette and Lord Northrive set off at the same time, trying to catch the ball.
“I’ll get it,” he cried at her.
“Will you? Or will you miss it?” she said teasingly, reaching out to catch the ball. She did, just as she tripped over something—his ankle. The two collided and ended up rolling on the ground.
Violette was very aware of the bundle they were in, with body parts touching that should probably not be touching in public. It made her heartbeat hasten and a shiver of excitement ran up her spine, just as Lord Northrive collected himself and looked up.
“Who caught it?” he asked.
“I did!” she said victoriously, holding it aloft. At which point, he tried to take it from her. “No,” she said, laughing and trying to roll away out of his grasp. She was sorry to lose the feeling of his body against hers until she stood to her feet and turned back to see his three brothers looking at them.
“Oops, good job we’re not playing with ladies, isn’t it?” Peter’s statement made her freeze, wondering if he had realised who she was. “Ha! Marcus, you shouldn’t roll around on the ground so with our guests. You’ll start all sorts of gossip.”
“Peter!” Lord Catling was the one this time to hit his brother around the arm, to which Peter just laughed and ran out of his range.
“Apologies, my brother’s sense of humour is rather different to the rest of ours,” Lord Northrive said, appearing at Violette’s side. She was about to say it didn’t matter when he managed to steal the cricket ball from her.
“Oi!” she exclaimed, running after him.
“Too slow!” he called back.
Yet something was niggling at Violette about what had just happened, and her eyes kept flitting to Peter. Could it be for all his confident jests that he was actually suspicious of her?
“I’m imagining things,” she whispered to herself in hope.
