Tempted By His Secret Cinderella (Allied At The Altar Book 3) Page 7

  She wasn’t the only one who’d been encouraged by a parent to use the game to her advantage. It seemed every girl present had been counselled to do the same. Never mind that the party had been divided up into four teams, each team designated with a colourful ribbon tied around one’s sleeve. Elidh was on the red team with Eliza Fenworth’s brother, Louie, Michael Peckworth, and the lovely but shy Ellen Hines, daughter of Lord Wharton. Elidh’s father was on the orange team and Lady Imogen had been relegated to the green team after having been awarded Sutton’s attention for the morning of archery. Sutton was on the blue team with Philomena Whitely and Virginia Peckworth, who had, as best as Elidh could tell, been rotated in for Sutton’s afternoon attentions. That didn’t seem to be giving either girl any advantage. Girls assigned to other teams had not taken no for an answer.

  Elidh blinked. Just a moment ago Lila Partridge had been standing by the tree at the edge of the course, quite alone in her exile where her ball had nearly gone out. Now, she stood to Sutton’s left, significantly further up course and closer to their host. From the corner of her eye, Elidh caught the subtle swing of a skirt as Isabelle Bradley’s hem discreetly covered Alexandra Darnley’s ball long enough to give it a kick out of the way when Alexandra wasn’t looking, only to have Alexandra slide her a venomous look. Retaliation wasn’t far behind. On her turn, Alexandra opted to take aim for Isabelle’s ball instead of making the wicket. With a solid whack, Alexandra sent Isabelle’s ball sailing back towards the start, away from Sutton. Isabelle was effectively out of the game.

  That seemed to give the other girls ideas. The area around Sutton suddenly became a veritable battlefield as the girls politely and with all the good breeding they possessed whacked away at their competition, sending ball after ball to other parts of the field. And poor Sutton! Elidh’s heart went out to him, it truly did. He had to stand there, waiting his turn, making small talk with Virginia Peckworth, and pretend he didn’t have a clue what was going on. All the while the girls made fools of themselves. It was an awkwardness only rivalled by Miss Peckworth’s rather overt ploy for attention.

  Virginia Peckworth frowned beside Sutton, asking him for advice with her brow wrinkled prettily as she contemplated her options for play. She begged Sutton to assist with her shot, knowing full well such assistance would require him to stand close behind her and place his hands over hers on the handle of the mallet. Elidh acknowledged it was a rather daring request on Miss Peckworth’s part, but perhaps the girl reasoned it was a risk worth taking if it gave guests a chance to comment on how well they looked together or to whisper about what lovely children they might make. Indeed, Sutton with his height and his honey hair and Miss Peckworth with her own willowy height and dark hair looked quite handsome together. It was also a striking reminder to the other girls what they were up against when it came to superior looks.

  Virginia said something over her shoulder to Sutton, something coy that came with a smile. She even gave a subtle wiggle of her hips as Sutton helped her line up the shot. It was a confident gesture, one that took full advantage of the situation. Elidh couldn’t blame her. Miss Peckworth wouldn’t be the first woman to make the most of croquet. That was one of its advantages, after all. Here was a sport men and women could play together out in the open and enjoy one another’s company.

  Who knew when Miss Peckworth would have Sutton’s attention again? All the girls were eager for their turn and despite Catherine Keynes’s best efforts to cycle the girls through, claim on Sutton’s attentions had become nothing less than a free-for-all. The girls, it seemed, weren’t willing to share or to wait for their turn. They were quickly taking matters into their own hands, or mallets in this case. It was further reason Elidh was glad she wasn’t in contention. She couldn’t compete in looks with Virginia Peckworth, nor was she mean enough to edge out another girl with deliberate sabotage. Surely her father would soon concede the best plan for the party was to simply engage a patron and leave. She could not compete with girls who’d been trained for the marriage mart since birth. Even if Rosie could turn her lovely with gowns and hairdos, she hadn’t the ‘skills’ of a Lila Partridge or the ‘tenacity’ of an Alexandra Darnley.

  Virginia made her shot, clapping wildly over her success and gushing over Sutton’s part in it. Sutton managed a humble smile, either agitated or uncomfortable with the effusive praise, Elidh couldn’t tell which. But she stared too long and Sutton’s gaze caught hers. His eyes sent her a pleading a look. He was positively miserable. She smiled back in quiet commiseration.

  It was her turn to play. Elidh picked up her mallet and considered the field. She’d been able to play well, probably because she’d concentrated on the game and not the man. As a result she was in the front of the field. She could either join the battlefield around Sutton and risk getting knocked out of the game or she could maintain her lead and take the final wicket. She smiled to herself. Maybe there was something she could do to liberate Sutton.

  Her decision was made. Elidh lined up her shot with a coy look towards Lord Wharton, whose ball lay on the other side of her intended wicket, the only one standing between her and an unhindered pathway to victory. ‘Lord Wharton, my apologies, but you are in my way.’

  She cleared the wicket, knocked Wharton’s ball and claimed a bonus shot. She cleared the next wicket and shot again through the double wickets baring the way to the finishing stake. She felt Sutton’s eyes on her as Freddie Darnley called out, ‘What will you do, Your Highness? Will you stake out or will you stay in play as a rover and help your team?’

  ‘I’ll play rover!’ she declared, throwing a challenge of a smile in Sutton’s direction. ‘Never let it be said I left my team in distress.’

  * * *

  She was coming for his balls—his team’s balls, that was. With a smile like that, it was the only conclusion a man could draw. The Principessa was on the warpath and charmingly so, flirting with each gentleman as she knocked them out of the way, blazing a path straight towards Sutton with a smile on her lips and laughter in her eyes. Was that smile for him or was it because he was the competitor who posed the greatest risk for her team? After last night, he couldn’t be sure. She’d been clear about her position on this mad house party and on him. Yet there’d been a spark between them even as they’d set boundaries for their association. That spark was still there even if the red dress was gone.

  Today, she’d worn white linen trimmed with olive-green ribbon, her sporting costume not unlike the other girls’. And yet he’d been aware of her. She had not blended into the background, proof that it hadn’t been the dress alone that had drawn his eye, that his attraction to Chiara Balare was more than skin deep. That she was different.

  ‘You wouldn’t dare!’ Sutton cried out good-naturedly as her ball approached, her intention to do damage clear.

  ‘Oh, I would, Mr Keynes. Your ball threatens my teammate’s.’ She nodded with a laugh to where Louie Fenworth’s ball lay on the lawn, just a strike away. ‘Our team needs Mr Fenworth to score and he can’t if you’re in the way, or if you strike him on your turn.’ She had a strong sense of strategy, of seeing the field as a whole. The idea that she would be magnificent at chess flashed through Sutton’s mind unexpectedly. Around him, a few girls tittered nervously at the Principessa’s bravado. While they had viciously dared to eliminate their competitors, none of them had dared to strike against him, even when it would have been in their team’s best interest. Sutton knew why, of course. They didn’t want to risk offending him or appearing unladylike. The Principessa needn’t consider such things. She was free to be herself.

  Prince Lorenzo strolled up, following his ball as it rolled to a stop beside Sutton’s. ‘Perhaps you’d like to rethink your play. If you knock him out now, Daughter, you will be in jeopardy from me.’

  The Principessa laughed gaily at the teasing threat. ‘I’ll take my chances, Father.’ Then she turned her attention to him one last time with
a look that said ‘beware’ and sent her ball resoundingly into his while her team looked on with applause. ‘Well done, Your Highness!’ Louie Fenworth crowed, his own victory assured.

  Well done indeed. Sutton grimaced. While Louie Fenworth was cleared to the final stake, his own ball rolled—no—sailed into the depths of the copse lining the edge of the lawn. That minx! ‘I believe you’ve taken me out of the game, Principessa.’ He gave her a small bow of good sportsmanship. ‘If you will all excuse me, I must fetch back my ball.’ And if I have my way, I may be gone until dinner, he added silently before it occurred to him that might have been what she’d intended all along.

  She’d liberated him. But why? Was it only for the sake of the game or was there a larger reason? Was he reading too much into her choice because he wanted there to be a larger reason? This was why he eschewed society’s games. They could drive a man to distraction with the need to always be guessing, always looking for the hidden nuance. The man who didn’t look for such things made himself vulnerable. Animals were much more straightforward. When a stallion mated, there was no nuance.

  Sutton had gone twenty-five paces into the woods, far enough back to be out of sight, when a cry of general laughter went up behind him from the game. Seconds later, a ball rolled past him, barely missing a clip to his ankles. A red ball. From the red team. Sutton smiled to himself. The Principessa was coming. Her father had made good on his threat. She’d be here any minute now. He trapped the runaway ball under his foot and leaned against a tree to wait.

  She came crashing through the trees, laughing and breathless, and looking entirely lovely, entirely without artifice. ‘Looking for something?’ Sutton grinned and nudged her ball forward.

  ‘Thank you.’ She picked the ball up and brushed it off. ‘It seems I’m out of the game, too.’

  ‘Is that so bad? I was just thinking I should be thanking you. You’ve bought me a respite.’

  She smiled her culpability. ‘I thought you could use it. The girls were getting ridiculous. I caught at least one of them kicking their balls forward under the cover of their skirts.’

  ‘Then they should be thanking you as well. You’ve saved them from making even larger fools of themselves.’ Sutton doubted the girls would appreciate it, though, when Chiara’s efforts resulted in taking him out of the public eye and putting him in her path alone. Any one of them would have given their right hand for a trip into the woods with him. How ironic it was that the one woman who claimed to not want such an advantage was the one who had it.

  Silence drew out between them as both realised that irony. ‘Well, thank you for finding my ball. I must return. Goodness knows what kind of trouble Mr Fenworth will get himself into if I’m not there to watch his back.’ Chiara managed a laugh.

  ‘Don’t go. Stay.’ The words slipped out before he could think better of it. ‘Fenworth can take care of himself for a while.’ Sutton pushed off the tree. ‘But I’m not sure I can. My ball is still lost in here somewhere, no thanks to you, and so is yours.’

  ‘What do you mean, mine is right—’ The word ‘here’ died in a shriek as Sutton grabbed the ball from her hand with a grin and threw it deep into the woods. ‘Sutton, what are you doing? It will take for ever to find it now!’ she cried.

  ‘That’s the point. I’m giving you a reason stay.’ He laughed. ‘If you want it?’ He felt young and carefree, like a boy in the woods with a girl for the first time. It had been ages since he’d felt that way. ‘Come on, let’s hunt some balls.’ He held out his hand and she took it with a game smile. ‘You called me Sutton just then. Might I hope that you’ve decided familiarity isn’t so dangerous after all?’ Being with her was intoxicating. He couldn’t imagine any of the other girls using his first name, or teasing him, or knocking his ball out of play. In short, being themselves and letting him be himself.

  So far, the caution in him warned. What have you really shown her about yourself? What will she say when you do?

  ‘You’re nothing like I thought you’d be.’ Sutton helped her over a log. ‘I thought an Italian principessa would be stuffy and arrogant. But here you are, tramping through the woods looking for croquet balls.’

  What do you know of her? his conscience warned. You know more about what she is not than what she is. It’s a place to start, nothing more.

  She halted and stared at him, something inscrutable in her gaze. ‘Are you disappointed?’

  ‘No, on the contrary,’ Sutton rushed to reassure her. ‘I find it very refreshing to be with someone who is simply themselves. So few people are and no one here certainly is. They’re too busy trying to be whatever it is they think I want them to be.’

  A shadow passed over her face and she broke her gaze, directing her attention instead to a squirrel in the tree. ‘Do you know me so well after only a day? There’s still time, perhaps I will disappoint you yet.’

  ‘I doubt that, Chiara. To disappoint, there would have to be expectations to begin with. We made it clear last night that between us there are none beyond the possibility of a fleeting friendship, if I am not too bold to suggest even that.’ He stood close to her, following her fascination with the squirrel running the tree limbs. He could smell the unique scent of her, so fresh and crisp, like clean linen and apples. The smell was appealing after a day spent among the heavy floral fragrances of roses and lilacs liberally applied by girls who thought more was better.

  ‘You are not too bold.’ Yet. The quietness of her response suggested he was near the limits of that boldness, that they were flirting with something that might carry them beyond the borders of friendship. What would happen then? It made his pulse rush to consider the possibility: of taking her in his arms and kissing her, pulling out the pins one by one that held her beautiful braids in place, letting her hair spill over his arm, her body pressed to his.

  He answered her in kind, his own voice matching the quietness of hers. The stillness of the woods created a sense of intimacy. They were alone in the world, the party momentarily forgotten. ‘And if I were too bold?’

  ‘Why would you be? There would be no purpose to it,’ she answered firmly, not naively. She did not play the coquette like Virginia Peckworth who was looking to coerce a confession of love from him. Chiara was directness itself, a princess used to giving orders and being obeyed. ‘We have already established there is no reason for “boldness” as you call it.’

  ‘Perhaps because there is no reason. Perhaps because we are beyond it, we need not expect anything to come of it.’ He paused. ‘I did not think Italians were known for their directness.’

  ‘Perhaps not in general, but I find it saves time.’ Chiara’s gaze slid his way. Despite her protestations that she was not here to play the marriage game, curiosity flickered in her eyes in answer to his unspoken question and he saw that she wondered, too. What would it be like to kiss him? To be in his arms? Proof that she felt it also, this pull between them. Was that pull the simple response to the pressures of the party and the belief those pressures didn’t exist between them? That she could be his escape and he could be hers? Or was there something more to the pull? Something unique to them? They owed it to themselves to explore it.

  His hands were at her shoulders, his mouth near her ear ready to make an overture. But she turned and pulled away. ‘No, Sutton. It would ruin our “fleeting friendship”.’

  He chuckled, in part to hide his embarrassment over the polite rejection she’d just handed him. ‘I think you might be the only woman at the party who doesn’t want to kiss me.’

  She laughed and reached for his hands. ‘It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s only that we don’t want to find out, not yet anyway.’ Not yet. There was hope, then.

  She was right. He enjoyed her company. If he kissed her and there was no flare of passion, it would be disappointing. If there was a spark, it created other difficulties since nothing could come of it. Her decision was ma
sterful. It created possibilities and prolonged the anticipation, while still rejecting him and giving him hope at the same time. A kiss would come. When? Tomorrow? Or the day after? Or the day after that? ‘By chance, do you play chess?’

  ‘No. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Because I think you would be splendid at it. You’re an excellent strategist.’ His foot kicked at something near a tree root. ‘Ah, we’ve found your ball.’ She bent for it, but he was too quick and snatched it up. ‘You must pay a forfeit if you want it back.’

  She eyed him warily. ‘We’ve already established I won’t kiss you for it.’

  ‘I’m not asking for a kiss. I’m asking for a question and I want your truthful answer. Did you orchestrate all of this to get me alone?’

  Chiara laughed. ‘You get one question and you waste it on one you already know the answer to.’ She shook her head. ‘I did it to rescue you.’ She reached out and took the ball from him.

  ‘And following me into the woods?’ He held her gaze, looking for any telltale sign of manipulation, that this Italian principessa who’d dropped out of nowhere into his house party was too good to be true. Was she truly not interested in him as the other girls were? Why did he find that both refreshing and disappointing?

  She held his gaze evenly, unbothered by his perusal. ‘Ask yourself that question. You are the one who asked me to stay.’

  She brushed past him then, her skirts flicking against his leg, the scent of linen and apples lingering behind as she left him.

  She was right. His suspicions did her a disservice. Her ball had been in harm’s way and she’d known the risk of her play. He couldn’t blame her for that, couldn’t see a conspiracy in it. And when pressed, when given the option to kiss him, a chance to advance her case if she was truly out to catch him, she had passed. Which both worried and reassured him. If she didn’t want him, what did she want? Had Anabeth Morely ruined him so thoroughly he couldn’t believe the truth when he heard it?