Page 8 of Make Mine a Marquess

“Shall we make it more exciting and place a small wager on the winning team?” said Lady Milton, a tall, thin woman with mousy brown hair and a sharp nose.

“What do you have in mind?” the Marquess of Landon asked.

“Twenty pounds for the winner,” Lord Milton offered. In contrast to his wife, he was heavyset and of average height.

“Twenty pounds!” Phoebe was appalled. The sum seemed more than a “small” wager.

Landon looked down at her and winked. “I accept. I have faith in my partner.”

Other than last night’s brief encounter, he didn’t even know her.

Phoebe smoothed her palms on her skirts. The amount of money bothered her for reasons none of these privileged aristocrats would understand. It could help numerous people. A charity close to Phoebe’s heart, the Society for Unwed Mothers in London, could use the hefty sum to purchase clothes, shoes, and other necessities for the women and their children. Necessities the guests at the house party took for granted.

Suddenly, Phoebe wanted to win.

The two men tossed a coin to determine which team would roll the jack, the small white ball, to establish a target. The Miltons won the coin toss. If the marquess was upset, he didn’t show it. Rather, he appeared maddeningly confident as he held one of the bowls in his large palm.

In order to score points, they must roll their bowls closest to the jack without touching it. Landon handed Phoebe a black bowl. Its painted red triangle marking distinguished it from their opponent’s bowls which were marked with a painted yellow circle.

“Ladies first,” Landon said.

Cradling the lawn bowl, she leaned over and rolled the bowl on the green. It did not land anywhere near the jack. Her stomach knotted.

Landon took the next turn, and his bowl stopped inches from the jack.

Fortunately, the Miltons weren’t very good at lawn bowling. Phoebe wondered why Lady Milton had raised the idea of a bet. Was she as reckless as her mother had suggested?

When it was Phoebe’s turn once more, her attempts were not much better. Landon, on the other hand, had good luck.

“You spoke falsely,” Phoebe said. “You are very good at this.”

“Some things are hard to forget.” He stepped closer. “Let me show you my technique.”

He stepped behind her and his large hand cradled hers as she held the bowl. Every nerve ending in her body tingled with awareness.

“If you aim directly at the jack the bowl will curve out to the side. The best way to allow for the curve is to toss your bowl so that it aims for the jack from either the left or the right.” He drew her hand back and her bodice stretched tight. Her breasts tingled against her chemise.

Good God.

What is wrong with me?

“Take one step forward like this.” He took a step, and she moved in unison with him. His leg slipped between her skirts and brushed her thigh. His breath was warm on her cheek.

“Which way?” Her voice sounded breathless to her ears.

“Let’s aim for the left of the jack. Like this.” His hand cupped hers as she let the ball go to roll on the green. Phoebe watched the bowl arc as Landon had predicted, then come to a slow stop within inches of the left side of the white jack. Landon didn’t step away until the last moment—until her body was traitorously alive and humming.

“We did it!” A thrill of victory sizzled in her veins.

“No, you did it. I merely demonstrated a technique.”

Phoebe’s gaze met his. Unexpected admiration darkened his eyes.

“Well, then. I do believe you have bested us,” Lord Milton said. “I shall have the twenty pounds delivered to your room.”

“As this is my home and you are my guests, I would not hear of it. Consider this in good fun. If we shall wager, then it will be later, during a game of faro or whist,” the marquess said.

“Yes, yes,” Lord Milton was fast to agree. He took his wife’s arm, and they were on their way to the refreshment table, clearly delighted not to have to pay the debt.