Bruce Barnes was in that minority. He’d been at the tennis lawn an hour and more, overseeing the efforts that ensured it was in perfect condition for the contest. As he watched the two girls come over the rise, accompanied by several other guests interested in watching the match, he thought that any man who preferred Miss Niven must not understand the essence of female beauty. The sight of the small, athletic, agile girl in the white trousers compelled him in a way he had seldom experienced.
Freddy, from his beech, was also drawn to Georgiana. He’d known her for years, but had never before seen her through any but a boy’s eyes.
She’s smashing
, he said to himself. And then, as an afterthought,
But that other one isn’t half-bad either
. He settled in to enjoy the match.
The lawn itself was probably one of the finest in England. It was perfectly flat, with close-cropped grass growing uniformly on firm soil. It was built in a natural hollow surrounded on three sides by hills, to minimize the wind, and the slopes had been carved into risers for spectators. The fourth side faced the path to the house, and was guarded by two topiary lions whose fierceness was undermined by their stubby little tails. Mature hedges had been carted in, at great expense, to form the bodies and heads of the lions, but there were still visible wires where Barnes was training the plants to grow to form full, brushy tails.
Barnes had seen to it that the lines were freshly chalked, and the net was new and taut.
As the girls put down their gear on the benches placed behind each of the lions for the purpose, Miss Niven surveyed the court. “Oh, Mr. Barnes,” she said, “it is indeed a wonderful lawn. I have been looking forward to playing on it ever since Paulette told me you were building it.”
“I hope it lives up to your expectations,” said Barnes, with a small bow. “And yours as well,” he added, nodding to Lady Georgiana.
“Oh, for my part, I have no expectations whatsoever,” said Georgiana with studied breeziness. “I always enjoy a pleasant afternoon’s tennis.”
This was nonsense. Lady Georgiana, like her opponent, had heard about the tennis lawn from Lady Loughlin, and she was eager to try it out. Furthermore, she took her tennis quite seriously, and was determined to trounce the lovely young woman who was just then taking her place across the net.
As they started to limber up by lobbing a ball back and forth, more of the Loughlins’ guests appeared on the path from the house. Word of the match had gotten out, and the consensus was that it was not to be missed. The Loughlins themselves were the last to arrive, and their guests shifted around to make room for them courtside.
“You two girls have completely emptied the house,” Lady Loughlin said to the contestants. “I’d have thought only a fire could do that.”
“I think fire is precisely what we’re hoping for,” said Gerard under his breath.
The game began, and it became clear that the women, whose styles were quite different, were nevertheless evenly matched. Lady Georgiana’s quickness and strategy had her placing balls all over the court, but Miss Niven’s raw athleticism and long reach enabled her to return almost every one.
The game commenced with genuine nonchalance on Miss Niven’s part, and the appearance of it on Lady Georgiana’s, but each young lady thought she would win. Miss Niven simply expected to, and Lady Georgiana was determined to. Each was surprised by the skill of the other.
After the first two games—one went to each—there was no more nonchalance. The women were focused, getting the most from their respective games. Georgiana was certainly running her opponent around the court, but Miss Niven was handling all she was dealt, and it was her unexpected returns that scored points. The rallies were long, the action was fierce, and the spectators were delighted.
After the first two sets, which they split, the two took a moment to catch their breath and get a drink of water. They were both in high color, and sweat soaked their underarms and backs. The stains were particularly apparent on Miss Niven’s dress, with its relatively snug bodice. Georgiana’s blouse was loose, and the circulating air had kept her cooler. Miss Niven looked enviously at her opponent’s clothing, and wished that she herself had the nerve to wear pants and a shirt.
She wasn’t the only person on the court with that wish. Some of the men there had never even seen their wives in so formfitting an outfit, and Lady Georgiana’s trim waist and gently rounded backside distracted many of them from the action of the game. When she ran and stretched and reached, she revealed a female form in all its details. It was a revelation that captivated the men, but some of the women present didn’t approve.
Mr. Sheffield knew his wife would think Georgiana’s dress scandalous, and he steeled himself for her comment. It came, but it wasn’t nearly as damning as he had expected.
“She’s not wearing much of anything, is she?” Mrs. Sheffield said. Even that lady was fascinated by the match.
Going into the third set, the two players began to flag. They had been running back and forth for over an hour, and neither was accustomed to that level of exertion. Lady Georgiana, though, was used to outdoor activity, and took exercise every day that weather permitted. Those habits now stood her in good stead. Each player made more mistakes than she had at the beginning of the match, but the drop-off in Miss Niven’s skills was the steeper.
Georgiana realized her advantage and pressed it. She concentrated on trying to minimize her own exertion and maximizing that of her opponent, and her strategy was successful. Miss Niven won two of the first five games, but Georgiana swept the last three to win the set and the match.
As the girls walked off the court, Lady Loughlin approached with two glasses of cold lemonade.
“Well played, my dears, well played,” she said as she handed a glass to each.
Some of the guests started back toward the house, but several remained to congratulate the two players. Miss Niven, however, didn’t want to linger.
“I must get back to the house to change,” she said, gesturing ruefully at her grass- and sweat-stained dress.
“You should be proud of it,” said Bruce Barnes. “It’s the evidence of skillful play and honest exercise.”
She didn’t look convinced.
“Well, I’d certainly be proud to walk you back to the house,” he said, and offered her his arm.
She laughed and took it. “If
you
don’t mind my sorry state, I don’t see how
I
should,” she said.
Lady Georgiana thought this a prime bit of sycophancy on Barnes’s part, and looked down at the ground so no one would see her roll her eyes. Exhausted from the match, watching him with Miss Niven, she thought the strength of her attraction to him was on the ebb, and she was glad.
The entire party made their way back to the house, and Georgiana went to her room to wash and change.
Not two minutes after she’d closed the door behind her, she heard a knock.
She opened the door, and there was Barnes.
“Are you here to tell me about my skillful play and honest exercise?” she asked with a sneer.
“No, I’m not,” he said calmly. “I’m here to tell you that if you took a little bit of topspin off your forehand you’d send fewer of them into the net.”
She looked at him blankly for a moment. She knew that she put too much topspin on her forehand, and had been trying to correct the problem. But that was about the last thing she expected him to say to her.
“You’re the better player,” he went on.
“Maybe,” she said. “Although if Alexandra worked at it, she’d be better than I am. She has a remarkable natural ability.”
“I’m not sure about that.” Barnes had one hand on either side of the doorway, and he leaned into the room. “You’re faster, and you’re smarter.”
“Maybe,” she said again.
He didn’t answer. He just looked at her. And his gaze held her almost against her will. It was only a half hour ago that she’d thought herself well on her way to being through with him, and now here he was, flooding her all over again.
She looked back at him, but she wasn’t seeing him. She was feeling him. His presence had a palpability for her. She felt as though he were touching her even though he was on one side of the threshold and she was on the other. It didn’t matter. He was somehow projecting his essence into the room, and she felt an incipient tightness in her chest.
Georgiana’s body was sending her many different messages, and the confusion froze her. She felt his attraction, even more powerful than before, but she couldn’t say for certain whether she liked this man. Her body practically ached for him, but her consciousness held her back.
She was on the verge of simply excusing herself on whatever flimsy pretext came to mind—a letter to write, a previous engagement—when Barnes, apparently sensing her conflict, somehow managed to scale back the intensity of his presence. Although he kept his hands on the doorframe, he straightened so he was no longer leaning into the room. He softened his expression and smiled. And he started talking about tennis again.
“You
are
faster,” he said, picking up the thread of their conversation, “and you
are
smarter. She plays by instinct, but with you, it’s skill.”
Georgiana was by no means immune to this kind of compliment, and hearing it settled her a little. It also gave her time to gather her wits and try to decide how she wanted to navigate the situation.
“I sense I’m being flattered,” she said, with an attempt at flippant lightness.
“I never flatter a woman,” Barnes said, looking more serious.
“Nonsense,” said Georgiana, “sometimes I think that’s all you do.”
“So you think that when I pay you a compliment it’s because I’m a flatterer and not because you’re extraordinary?”
Extraordinary. Although she didn’t have the hubris to apply the word to herself, even in thought, she did think herself, with some justification, a cut above other girls. By using the word, Barnes insinuated himself into the club of people with the discrimination to see her value. It was as though he had admired an obscure poet she loved, or praised an opaque work of philosophy in which she herself had found wisdom. With one word, he had widened her attraction to him so it was no longer limited to his physical being. She felt it almost like a puzzle piece snapping into place, a connection made.
Barnes stepped over the threshold, but didn’t come any farther into the room. “I’ve never met a girl like you,” he said, his tone low and husky, personal.
A snide remark about Alexandra Niven rose to Georgiana’s lips, but she swallowed it. She need not fear Miss Niven as a rival. That woman’s attractions were confined to a pretty face and figure, and fine, studied manners. A man like Barnes could wade in Miss Niven, but he could dive into Georgiana, and Georgiana knew it.
He reached out a hand and put it on her hip. He didn’t pull her to him, and she again had the sense that he was waiting for her to come to him. And she did. She stepped toward him and put her arms around his neck.
He backed her into the room, closed the door behind them, and they stood just inside. He could feel the points of her hip bones in the palms of his hands. He stroked her taut belly with his thumbs, just above the waistband of her pants, and found her navel through the fabric of her shirt. He pressed gently, and she felt as though he had tapped a nerve that ran from the back of her neck straight to the lips of her vulva. He encircled her waist with his hands, and when they didn’t quite meet, he squeezed her to fit. She gasped at the constriction.
And then he picked her up from the waist, as though she were a child. He raised her so high that her hair brushed the ceiling. The suddenness of the movement made her a little dizzy, and before she had regained her bearings he was lowering her, slowly. When her feet were still almost a foot off the floor, he widened his grip and she slipped down through his hands. She felt their pressure moving up the sides of her rib cage and then coming to rest on the outsides of her breasts as her feet touched the floor.
She felt his hands move to her back and finally, finally pull her to him. He tilted her head up with the touch of a finger under her chin, and leaned down to kiss her. She felt an overwhelming sensation of warmth. His body, his lips, his hands, all possessed a penetrating heat, as though he were made of pure animal energy. His tongue just barely met hers, and then retreated. He tasted of sweat, and she remembered his smell—earthen and green.
She remembered also the reddish hair showing where his shirt had been unbuttoned—was it only yesterday?—when they had stood together in the peacock pavilion. She reached up and unbuttoned one button, and there it was. She pressed her cheek against it, and felt his heartbeat, strong and insistent.
When she looked up at him, he surprised her by saying, “Come to the window. I want to see you in the light.”
Together they stood in the early evening sun that shone through the leaded panes of the bay window, and he undressed her. There was no haste, and no sense of abandon. He deliberately unbuttoned her blouse and pulled the muslin camisole she wore underneath over her head. Her pants fastened on the side, and he undid them and slid them down over her slender hips. She hadn’t had underthings appropriate to the pants, and so there was nothing else to take off.
She stood before him naked, and it felt right. He looked at her fully and frankly, and traced the lines on her body where the windowpane frames cast their shadow. She felt a combination of urgent arousal and absolute calm. She had, somehow, consigned herself to him, and was content to see what he would make of her.
“You’re lovely,” he said, but then checked himself. “No,” he corrected, “you’re flawless.”
He put his hands on her shoulders and pressed her gently down to the window seat, and then he took off his own clothes with a heedless-ness that contrasted with the care he had taken with hers. He stood before her with neither modesty nor pride. This was who he was, and this was what he had to offer.