Page 2 of Real Earls Break the Rules

He was watching her as intently as she had him moments earlier. As their eyes met and held across the lawn, the corner of his lips pulled into a grin, and he nodded his head in greeting.

Her pulse doubled.

Chloe tugged Amelia by the hand. “Come. We must greet him.”

Lord Vale bowed as they approached. “Good day, ladies. I was passing by on the way home and decided to say hello. I’m glad I did. The scenery is lovely,” he said, his eyes twinkling as he looked from Chloe to Amelia.

Chloe blushed and curtsied. Amelia was slower to follow, then straightened and met his gaze. His face was bronzed by the sun and faint lines now appeared at the corners of his eyes. She’d been right. He did appear older, but it only added to his masculine appeal. She had a sudden insane urge to paint him—to put brush to canvas and capture the chiseled features, the perfection of his face.

She quickly lowered her eyes. Ladies did not go around painting titled gentlemen. More importantly, she was not a portrait painter. She’d been limited to creating landscapes and still-life oils of flowers in vases and bowls of fruit that would sell at the Peacock Print Shop, their former establishment.

But now, for the first time, watching Lord Vale’s captivating face inspired her to paint him.

“We were about to play lawn bowls. Will you join us?” Eliza asked.

Vale’s sensuous lips eased into a lazy smile. “I’d be delighted.”

“Wonderful,” Eliza said. “Huntingdon and I will be a team, and Sara and Chloe can pair off together. That leaves you and Amelia.”

Amelia’s heart jumped in her chest. She was to partner with Lord Vale? Alarmed, she looked up and caught his gaze. His eyes were not entirely green, the flecks of gold surrounding the irises reminded her of a painting she’d seen of an exotic tiger.

“Ours will be the red bowls. Let’s practice before we begin the actual game,” Vale said.

The teams paired off with their colored bowls on separate sections of the lawn. Amelia followed Vale to a far corner and halted beside him. He was even taller and more powerfully built than she’d remembered.

“You’re looking well. I’ve often thought of you since we met a year ago,” he said.

Her mind fluttered away in anxiety, and she regarded him curiously. Why should he think of her? And how often?

Before she could think of a response, Vale stepped closer and handed her a red bowl. “Ladies first.”

She felt the weight of the bowl in her hand. It was solid, but not too heavy. She’d never played lawn bowls before. There was never time for such frivolities when they owned the print shop. She’d worked for a living.

Her fingers tightened on her bowl. She rolled it, but misjudged badly and the bowl flew past the white jack.

She frowned. “It’s not as simple as I had thought.”

“Don’t be discouraged. You must roll the bowl with force, but not too much, just the right amount to get close to the jack without hitting it. Let me show you.” He stepped behind her and put his arms around her.

Heat from his body enveloped hers like a cloak. The masculine scent of his shaving soap and something else…something primitive and unique to him, curled around her. Her pulse leaped.

It couldn’t be proper. She glanced to the others. Eliza was preoccupied with Huntingdon, and Chloe and Sara were off fetching their own bowls. No one was paying the two of them any attention.

Vale’s hand cupped hers as she held the bowl. Warmth seeped from his hand to hers, and her skin prickled pleasurably. For the first time, she regretted not wearing her gloves. She constantly forgot them. She never wore them when she painted, and she often left them on the dining room table after finishing a meal. She hadn’t worn them in the shop, and now that she was expected to, she disliked the tightness of the leather.

He wasn’t wearing gloves, either. Had he taken them off to play? His breath brushed her ear, and a shiver traveled down her spine.

Lord.

“Throw just like this.” He gently pulled her arm back, causing the bodice of her gown to stretch taut across her breasts. Her nipples tightened beneath the fine linen of her chemise.

“Keep your eyes on the target,” he instructed, as though she could concentrate on something other than him. “Now step forward with your right foot, bend your legs, and roll the bowl smoothly onto the green.”

She moved with him in one fluid motion. His muscular thigh pressed against her hip as she released the bowl. It rolled across the lawn and stopped within inches of the white jack.

“I see now. I’d like to try on my own,” she said, her voice sounding a bit breathless to her own ears.

Vale dropped his arms from around her and took a step back. She immediately felt the loss of his heat and the strength of his arms.