What the Duke Desires by Jenna Petersen Page B

mine alone.”
    Her eyes widened and her nostrils flared with rage that was so powerful when it flashed through her eyes that it took Simon off guard. But then it was gone.
    “Yes. I suppose that is true,” she said through clenched teeth.
    He stepped away. “However, I do appreciate your concern. I shall certainly take your uneasiness into account.”
    “Thank you,” she ground out.
    He tilted his head. “Will that be all?”
    His mother jerked away from him toward the door. “Yes. Good day.”
    And then she was gone. Simon let out a sigh. His entire life he had been trying to please the woman, but he’d learned years ago that it was a losing battle. Certainly he wasn’t going to base his choice in bride or friend or lover on what she said was right or true.
    No, in matters of the heart, he was going to listen to his own instincts and no one else’s.

    Croquet had never been a strength of Lillian’s, no matter what kind of rules the game followed. She always whacked the ball far too strenuously. It was no surprise to her, then, that she was put out early in the second round of the tournament-style game arranged for entertainment that day and forced to watch the rest of the match from the sidelines.
    It wasn’t as if she minded. She didn’t want to play. She could learn much more when observing from outside to see how everyone interacted. So much personality was revealed by chance in a game.
    Gabby was excellent, of course. It seemed there was little she could not do, and Lillian couldn’t help but smile at her friend’s enthusiasm and laughter. She was equally pleased to note her friend had caught the gaze of a few gentlemen in attendance.
    The others who remained in the game had varying levels of play. She noticed that Lady Philippa, an earl’s daughter, pretended to lose her balance every time she shot because she was standing next to Simon and he would right her when she went off kilter.
    The daughter of a marquis, Lady Theresa, was hitting such poor shots that Lillian couldn’t believe they weren’t purposeful. It appeared the foolish chit didn’t wish to outperform Simon or any of the other eligible men; after all she had fared just fine in the first round that had matched her against the other ladies of their party.
    Lady Anne, the Duke of Waverly’s fiancée, played just the opposite. She was careful and steady in her play, but each time she hit a perfect shot, Lillian noticed her eyes lit up with pure triumph. She almost liked Lady Anne for that.
    And then there was Simon. He calculated his every move carefully, never executing a shot with anything less than the perfect pressure or exact placement. He was always in control, always calm.
    He moved in to make his next play and leaned over the ball to line up his mallet for the shot. But suddenly his eyes lifted and she found him looking at her. Staring, really, was the word for it. He gave her a half smile and then he cracked the ball.
    It spun out of bounds, smashing through low brush until it came to rest out of sight.
    “Lost ball,” he called out with feigned exasperation. “By our tournament rules, it appears I am out of the game.”
    Lillian’s jaw dropped open in shock, and it seemed she was not alone in her reaction. A few of the young women still playing looked genuinely distressed, the Duke of Waverly hardly acknowledged the statement, and Lady Anne rolled her eyes slightly.
    Simon handed off his mallet to another player and began across the lawn toward her with purpose in his expression. Lillian stiffened. Just as had occurred the day before when they entered the picnic together, his obvious attention drew every eye on the lawn toward her. And many of them were not approving.
    The blasted man was making her the center of attention and ruining everything!
    And yet her heart leapt as he stopped before her with a smile.
    “Do you mind if I join you, Miss Mayhew?” he asked, then stepped in beside her without awaiting her answer.
    She