Free Her Sudden Groom by Rose Gordon Page B

suddenly his mother’s airy voice floated through the air. “Oh, Alex, remember your manners and let Caroline choose her color first. And if she wants the pink one, be a gentleman and let her borrow it.”
     

 
     
    Chapter 7
     
     
    Alex hated pall mall. As far as he was concerned it was the worst game ever invented. Tapping a wooden ball through a series of iron hoops in the least amount of strokes was nothing short of misery for someone who liked logic.
    In an effort to stem such vile thoughts, he glanced over to Caroline. She was beautiful with her mahogany hair, light skin, and dainty features perched there on his arm. She’d make the perfect wife for him. He only needed to charm her into thinking the same. Earlier, when Andrew had been over to see his horses, Alex had asked with all the subtlety of an elephant how he’d gained a wife in such a short time. Andrew’s response had been as helpful as a horseshoe for a dog. He’d said, “Take her to the orangery and let instinct take over.”
    Alex scoffed. That was immensely helpful. Perhaps for a natural born rake it would have been excellent advice. But a natural born rake wouldn’t need to ask for advice. Nor would a natural born rake find himself only weeks away from being forced to marry a dragon. And if had, he’d have found a suitable bride an hour after being told the consequences of making it to his thirtieth year unwed. He scowled and pushed the thought from his mind. There was no need to even think of such things, he was going to marry Caroline.
    “ Here we are,” Alex said to Caroline as they came upon a wooden rack next to the house.
    On the rack there were six mallets, all different colors. Below the mallets, in a trough-like tray, sat six balls, each the color of its corresponding mallet.
    “ What was it your mother said about the pink one?” she asked, reaching out and wrapping her fingers around the handle of the pink mallet.
    Instinctively, his hand flew to hers and covered it. The feel of her warm hand under his sent a jolt of desire from his fingers and palm straight to his groin. With a silent curse, he forced himself to let go of her hand. “Go ahead,” he said irritably. Nearly everyone else he knew had heard the story. Why not her, too?
    She snatched the pink mallet from the rack and turned it over in her hands. She blinked up at him, her lips twitching. “Why is your name carved into the handle?” The way she was staring at him made his insides uneasy.
    He ran his hand through his hair. “It’s a long story.”
    She fingered the four letters permanently engraved into the handle of the pink mallet. “I’ve got all day.”
    Sighing, he met her gaze straight on. “As you can guess by my mother’s laughter and my earlier groans, this is not a game I enjoy. To say I loathe this game would not be an untrue statement. The reason I do not enjoy this game is partially due to the lack of thinking that goes into playing it. The other reason is, uh, to be honest, I don’t stand a chance at winning.”
    “ You mean you only like to play games you’re sure you can win?” she interrupted. Her lips stretched into the biggest smile he’d ever seen.
    “ Doesn’t everyone?” he countered, returning her grin.
    “ I suppose so,” she agreed. “But that does not tell me how your name found a permanent home on the handle of the pink mallet.”
    His face grew warm—hot even. “The rules of the game say you have to hit the ball with the mallet and send it through all the hoops in the least amount of strokes. While the rest of my family can pass through all ten of the iron hoops with scores between forty and fifty strokes each, I usually average about a hundred.” Heedless to his face burning in a way that might suggest it was being licked by flames, he stared at Caroline. She clapped a petite hand over her mouth, failing miserably to keep her laughter silent. He shrugged. In for a penny, in for a pound. “As it is, due to my lack of