“Of course you are. You just show it differently.”

He thought she might elucidate, but of course she did not.

“You don’t want Andrew to win, do you?” she asked.

“I’m not certain how much I care.”

She drew back.

He laughed. He couldn’t help it. She looked so affronted. “No, of course I don’t want him to win,” he said. “He’s my brother. But at the same time, I’m not sure I feel the need to resort to espionage to ensure the outcome.”

She stared at him with heavy, disappointed eyes.

“Oh, fine,” he gave in. “Who’s on Andrew’s team, then?”

She brightened up immediately. “No one. That’s the beauty of it. He won’t know that we’ve formed an alliance.”

“There is no way this ends well,” he said, sending the words out to the world at large.

He was fairly certain the world was not listening.

Billie set the last wicket into place. “This one’s evil,” she told him. “Overshoot and you’re in the rosebushes.”

“I shall take that under advisement.”

“Do.” She smiled, and his breath caught. No one smiled like Billie. No one ever had. He’d known this for years and yet… it was only now…

He indulged in a mental curse. This had to be the most inconvenient attraction in the history of man. Billie Bridgerton, for God’s sake. She was everything he’d never wanted in a woman. She was headstrong, stupidly reckless, and if she’d ever had a mysterious, feminine moment in her life, he’d never seen it.

And yet…

He swallowed.

He wanted her. He wanted her like he’d never wanted anything in his life. He wanted her smile, and he wanted it exclusively. He wanted her in his arms, beneath his body… because somehow he knew that in his bed, she would be everything mysterious and feminine.

He also knew that every single one of these delightful activities required that he marry her, which was so patently ludicrous that — “Oh, for God’s sake,” Billie muttered.

George snapped back to attention.

“Andrew’s coming over,” she said. “Hold your horses!” she bellowed. “I swear,” she said to George, “he is so impatient.”

“Said the —”

“Don’t call me a kettle.” She started marching back to the beginning of the course. As best as she could; she really did look ridiculous with her two-part limp.

He waited for a moment, grinning at her back. “Are you sure you don’t want the black mallet?”

“I hate you!” she called.

He couldn’t help but smile. It was quite the merriest declaration of hate he’d ever heard.

“I hate you, too,” he murmured.

But he didn’t mean it, either.

Chapter 15

B
illie was humming quite happily by the time she reached the beginning of the Pall Mall course. She was in a remarkably cheerful mood, all things considered. Andrew was still being abominably impatient, and Lady Alexandra was still the most awful person in the history of the world, but none of that seemed to matter.

She peeked over her shoulder at George. He’d been following her the whole way, trading insults with a wolfish smile.

“What are you so happy about?” Andrew demanded.

She smiled enigmatically. Let him stew for a bit. Besides, she wasn’t sure why she was so happy. She just was.

“Who plays first?” Lady Alexandra asked.

Billie opened her mouth to reply, but Andrew beat her to it.

“We usually play youngest to oldest,” he said, “but it does seem somewhat rude to inquire…”

“I am certainly first, then,” Georgiana announced, plopping the green ball down near the starting stick. “No question about it.”

“I should think I am second,” Lady Alexandra said, sending a pitying glance over at Billie.

Billie ignored her. “Mr. Berbrooke, might we inquire as to your age?”

“What? Oh, I’m twenty-five.” He smiled broadly. He did that a lot. “Quarter of a century, you know.”

“Very well, then,” Billie said, “the order of play shall be Georgiana, Lady Alexandra… we assume, Andrew, me, Mr. Berbrooke, and George.”

“Don’t you mean Lord Kennard?” Lady Alexandra asked.

“No, I’m quite sure I mean George,” Billie snipped. Good God but that woman grated on her.

“I rather like playing with the black ball,” George said, smoothly changing the subject. But Billie had been watching him; she couldn’t be positive, but she thought she’d seen him hiding a smile.

Good.

“It’s a very manly color,” Lady Alexandra confirmed.

Billie nearly gagged.

“It’s the color of death,” Andrew said, rolling his eyes.

“The Mallet of Death,” George said thoughtfully. He swung it back and forth a few times, like a macabre pendulum. “It has quite a ring to it.”

Andrew snorted.

“You laugh,” George dared, “but you know you want it.”

Billie rang out with laughter that only grew in volume when Andrew leveled a peevish glare in her direction. “Oh, come now, Andrew, you know it’s the truth,” she said.