“There’s a huge cricket match on the beach this afternoon. Locals versus out-of-towners.” Kitty sat across from Blade in the tea shop, looking through the picture window behind him and keeping an eye on Main Street—almost as though she were waiting for a particular person to walk by. “Everyone in Bellehaven will be there,” she continued. “I suppose we should go.”
“Fine with me,” he said. With any luck, he’d see Hazel. She hadn’t been in her office when he’d picked up Kitty earlier, and disappointment had hit him like a punch to the gut.
For the last two weeks, it had taken every ounce of restraint he possessed not to hop onto his curricle, drive to Bellehaven, and show up on her doorstep. But she’d asked for time and distance, and the least he could do was give her that.
Meanwhile, their time apart had given him clarity. He knew what he wanted. Knew what he could offer. What happened next was left to Hazel to decide.
“How do you like working with Mr. Sandford?” Blade asked, helping himself to a smoked salmon sandwich.
Kitty glanced around the mostly empty shop and leaned over the table. “He’s rather odd,” she said. “But sweet. He’s teaching me to use a scale and triangle, and he likes my drawings. He says I’m as talented as his grandson.”
“Impressive,” Blade said, pleased to hear the enthusiasm in Kitty’s voice. “And the swimming lessons?”
Kitty sipped her tea and shrugged. “I want to be able to dive into the waves like Poppy. For now, she wants me to stick to floating.”
“Sounds like a good start,” Blade said. “And you’ve managed to stay out of trouble for the last two weeks?”
Kitty shrugged. “More or less. I fear I’ve become a terrible bore.”
“That’s not a bad thing, you know,” he said.
“Perhaps not for you,” she griped. “Will you join in the cricket match?”
“Would you like me to?”
“The tourists’ team could use some help,” Kitty said. “I have a feeling you’d give them a fighting chance.”
Blade chuckled. “Will you cheer for me?”
Kitty set down her cup and smirked. “I’m a local now, and as such, my loyalty lies firmly with Team Bellehaven.”
“Betrayed by my own niece,” he said with mock dismay.
“Never fear, Uncle. I suspect you’ll have legions of admirers in the crowd. Especially of the female variety.”
Blade didn’t need legions of admirers. He only wanted one.
“You’ll be sorry you didn’t back the winning side,” he quipped, finishing the last bite of his scone. “Let’s go for a walk and you can show me Mr. Sandford’s shop.”
“A quick walk,” Kitty agreed. She adjusted her bonnet as she headed for the door of the tea shop. “I wouldn’t want the townspeople to think I’m consorting with the enemy.”
Blade scratched his head. “You locals certainly take this cricket match seriously.”
Kitty nodded solemnly. “You’ve no idea.”
A few hours later, Hazel, Jane, and the girls emerged from Bellehaven Academy and joined the steady stream of people strolling toward the dunes. Mrs. Paxton had packed picnic lunches for everyone in the boardinghouse, and the girls were determined to secure a spot on the sand with a prime view of the cricket match.
But when they arrived on the beach, they discovered that all of Bellehaven must have had the same idea—and the festive sight took Hazel’s breath away.
Enormous tents extended from the dune grasses halfway to the ocean’s edge. Beneath them, protected from the intense afternoon sun, exquisitely dressed ladies and gentlemen dined and mingled around tables laden with fruits, cheeses, meats, and sweets.
Around the tents, fashionable women twirled their parasols while children chased one another. Young and old, rich and working class, all had turned out for the event.
Hazel had never seen so many people gathered on the beach, and the excitement was contagious. But her own excitement had little to do with the cricket match and everything to do with one vexingly handsome earl.
In spite of the crowd, she spotted him almost immediately. He stood near the water in a circle of young, strapping men. But he was the only one she really saw.
He’d shed his jacket, and a tan waistcoat hugged his torso. The sleeves of his fine white shirt were rolled to his elbows, exposing sinewy forearms that made her mouth go dry. The slight sheen of his sun-browned skin turned her knees to butter.
“Miss Lively,” Kitty called, making her jump guiltily. “I see a spot by the rocks. If we climb on top, we’ll have the best view of anyone.”
“I suppose that would be all right,” Hazel said. “As long as you’re careful. Miss Jane and I can spread our blankets nearby.”
“You don’t mind if we run ahead?” Lucy bounced as though her excitement was too much to contain.
“Go on,” Hazel said. “Enjoy yourselves—but remember that you’re representing Bellehaven Academy,” she called after them.
The girls raced off in a blur of braids, ribbons, and laughter and were halfway to the rocks before she called after them, “Beware of the sun!”
She turned to Jane and shot her a wry smile. “Is there any chance their bonnets will stay on their heads?”
“Not the slightest,” Jane said, matter-of-factly.
“Well, I can’t say I blame them. I may shed mine before the end of the day, too.” Hazel lifted her face toward the brisk ocean breeze and stole another glance at Blade. He stood near the surf, talking to his teammates, alternately tossing a ball toward the sky and deftly catching it in his palm—completely at ease and in command. If he’d had a single sleepless night since his last visit to Bellehaven, it certainly wasn’t evident in his handsome face or god-like physique.
“Oh, Miss Lively!”
Blade looked up, and Hazel’s face heated as she spun in the direction of the voice, which came from beneath one of the tents.
“Do come and join me!” Lady Rufflebum sat in an upholstered chair and beckoned Hazel with an imperious wave.
“I’ll look after the girls,” Jane offered kindly. “If the countess invites you to watch the match with her, you should. You might even be able to recruit some more students,” she added in a conspiratorial whisper.
“I don’t know about that.” Hazel reached out and gave Jane’s arm a grateful squeeze. “But thank you. I’ll find you later.”
As she made her way toward Lady Rufflebum, Hazel endeavored not to stare at Blade, but she felt his presence with every breath she took. A frisson of awareness stretched between them, exhilarating as a chilly ocean spray on the back of her neck.
This would never do. She shook off her fanciful notions and resolved to keep her wits about her. To think more about their conflicting opinions and disparate long-term goals. To think less about broad shoulders and snug trousers.
“Good afternoon, Lady Rufflebum,” Hazel said. “I’m glad to see you looking so well. I trust you’re feeling improved from the last time I saw you.”
“I am, indeed. I’ve been remiss in sending a note to thank you for your assistance on the night of my dinner party.”
“Your good health is all the thanks I need,” Hazel replied sincerely.
“Dr. Gladwell says that I am fully recovered, however, one can never be too careful.” The countess patted her shawl like a talisman, then took a fortifying sip of claret. “Speaking of the good doctor, you should know that he has asked after you—more than once. I believe you made quite an impression that night.”
Hazel glanced around, hoping no one had overheard the countess’s comment. “I can’t imagine why. Where is Miss Whitford today?” she asked, in a shameless attempt to change the subject.
“Visiting her sister in London,” Lady Rufflebum said bravely, as if this outrageous state of affairs surely qualified her for martyrdom. “Please. You must pull up a seat and watch the match with me.”
Hazel dutifully fetched a tufted footstool, placed it next to the countess’s chair, and made a valiant attempt to engage in polite conversation while brawny men stretched and strategized on the beach in front of her.
“Will you be throwing your support behind the upstanding men of Bellehaven or the out-of-town folk?” Lady Rufflebum asked, leaving no doubt as to where her allegiances laid.
“I don’t know the rules of cricket,” Hazel said vaguely. “I’m just happy to watch the festivities.”
Lady Rufflebum snorted indelicately. “There’s no sport in remaining neutral.” She cast a sideways glance at Hazel, then looked out at the strapping young men taking up their positions in the sand. “Unless … you wish to keep your options open?”
Good heavens. “I assure you, I’ve not given the matter much thought.”
“Mmm,” the countess replied, clearly skeptical. “Oh, look. Dr. Gladwell is the bowler for Bellehaven. Intelligent, attractive, and athletic.”
Hazel hadn’t noticed. She’d been understandably distracted by Blade. The sure grip of his hands on the bat. The subtle flexing of his biceps. The tiny creases around his eyes as he squinted at the crowd of spectators … and then focused squarely on her.
She looked away first, reluctantly forcing her attention back to Lady Rufflebum, who seemed oblivious to the brief exchange, thank goodness. “Would you like me to refill your glass?” Hazel said to the countess. “I could bring you a plate, if you wish.”
“No, dash it all,” Lady Rufflebum replied. “I want you to watch the match. Lord Bladenton is up to bat. Let’s see how he fares against your doctor, shall we?”
“My doctor?” Hazel shook her head, emphatic. “He’s not—”
“Of course not, dear,” the countess said. She rubbed her palms together as though she were in a Roman amphitheater, preparing to watch the gladiator games.
The next thing Hazel knew, Dr. Gladwell hurled the ball toward Blade, who smacked it down the beach, sending men running in all directions.
The crowd erupted in cheers and groans, while Lady Rufflebum clucked her tongue, thoughtful. “The earl is a formidable opponent. He must play for Bellehaven next year.”
“But he’s not a local.”
The countess arched a mysterious brow and tapped a finger on the arm of her chair. “Not yet,” she said, with a glimmer in her eye that sent a shiver down Hazel’s spine.
They turned their attention back to the match and quickly became engrossed in the action. When Lady Rufflebum wasn’t busy critiquing the speed, agility, and strength of each player, she patiently explained the finer points of the game to Hazel.
The teams seemed evenly matched, and before long she found herself on the edge of her stool, clutching the closed parasol in her lap as she waited to see if Bellehaven would rally to recover from a five-run deficit.
“Excellent.” The countess steepled her fingertips as if she were a seasoned army general and all was going according to plan. “Nathan Gutridge is up to bat. No one on Bellehaven hits the ball harder. One swing, the match will be over, and we can finally pour the champagne.”
Hazel nodded in agreement. Nathan worked at the Salty Mermaid, where he broke up pub brawls and wrestled with intoxicated patrons nightly. Hitting a ball with a bat would be child’s play for the burly barkeep.
Then again, he faced a formidable opponent in his bowler—Blade.
The two men glared at each other across the length of the pitch.
At one end Blade stood like Adonis, his bronze skin glistening in the sun, his dark hair ruffling in the ocean breeze. The mere sight of him rubbing the ball between his palms did something odd to Hazel’s insides.
At the other end of the pitch, Nathan crouched over the wicket and growled like a bear who’d missed dinner.
Unperturbed, Blade wiped the sweat from his brow, wound up, and launched a rocket.
Nathan grunted as he swung the bat and smacked the ball with a resounding crack.
It shot through the air like a bullet, and, to the horror of all, headed toward the tents.
More precisely, straight for Lady Rufflebum’s head.
The countess let out a bloodcurdling scream.
Hazel’s heart pounded like twenty-foot waves on the rocks.
With no time to think, she lunged in front of the countess.
The ball hit her shoulder like a snowball made of lead and she fell backward, landing on the countess’s lap. For one interminable moment, the chair teetered on its two back legs.
Then it toppled over, sending Lady Rufflebum and Hazel sprawling in a tangle of arms, legs, gowns, and fichus.
“Help!” cried the countess, who had rolled off the chair and was lying on her back in the sand.
Hazel sat up, extended a hand to Lady Rufflebum, then winced. Her shoulder burned like she’d been prodded with a hot poker.
“Don’t move.”
Hazel blinked and looked up at Blade’s chiseled face. He dropped to his knees beside her, his forehead creased in concern. In fact, he looked a little green. “Are you all right?”
She opened her mouth to answer, but the words wouldn’t come. It had been so long since she’d felt as though someone cared. Genuinely, truly cared.
“Do I look like I’m all right?” Lady Rufflebum screamed behind him. She rocked futilely, like a turtle turned upside down on its shell.
“I’ll be right there,” Blade said to the countess, but his gaze didn’t waver. “Hazel,” he whispered, “where are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” she said, tenderly brushing off her palms. His nearness made her forget everything—her pain, her embarrassment, and her best-laid plans. “You should help the countess.”
Reluctantly, he turned and, with the help of another nearby gentleman, hoisted Lady Rufflebum off the sand. While they assisted her into her chair and tried to assess her injuries, Dr. Gladwell sprinted toward Hazel and crouched next to her.
“Don’t try to stand yet,” he ordered. “I want to make sure you haven’t broken anything.”
Hazel rubbed the front of her left shoulder. “I’m sure it’s nothing more than a bruise.”
The doctor frowned, skeptical. “Still, I’d like to have a look.”
“Dr. Gladwell!” Lady Rufflebum slumped in her chair while a worried young woman fanned her vigorously. “I require your attention. I don’t believe I can move my neck.”
Blade stood behind the doctor. “I’ll stay with Miss Lively,” he said firmly.
The doctor looked at Blade, hesitated, and turned back to Hazel. “I want you and the countess to return to her residence so I can determine the extent of your injuries.”
“Are you sure that’s necessary?” Hazel said.
“Yes,” Dr. Gladwell said, his tone brooking no argument. With that, he gave Blade a curt nod and strode toward the countess.
Blade scooped the footstool off the ground, placed it near her, and eased her onto it. “That was a courageous thing you did, Hazel,” he whispered, his voice so deep it vibrated in her belly. “Foolhardy, perhaps, but brave.”
Hazel’s cheeks flushed, and she tried to compose herself as curious people gathered around. The girls wove their way to the front of the onlookers, breathless with excitement.
“Miss Lively, you were amazing,” Lucy cried.
“Does it hurt very much?” Clara asked.
“That’s sure to leave a mark,” Kitty commented.
“I’m fine,” Hazel assured them. “I just took a little tumble.”
“Thank heaven.” Jane exhaled. “You gave us such a fright.”
“I hate to impose again,” Hazel said, “but would you mind staying with the girls for the rest of the afternoon? Dr. Gladwell wants me to return to the countess’s house so he can examine my shoulder.”
“It’s no imposition at all.” Jane pushed her spectacles up the slope of her nose and lifted her chin. “We’re very proud of you, Miss Lively.”
“Not only did you save Lady Rufflebum,” Lucy exclaimed, “but you helped Bellehaven win the match.”
“What?” Hazel shook her head. “How?”
Lucy clasped her hands. “Mr. Gutridge’s hit left the playing field—er, before it hit you. We scored six runs!”
“There will be ballads written about you before the night is over,” Blade teased.
“Come, Miss Lively,” Lady Rufflebum called, hobbling toward the dunes with the help of Dr. Gladwell. “Bladenton, would you be so kind as to escort her to my carriage?”
“It would be my pleasure,” Blade said smoothly. He offered Hazel his arm, and she felt every pair of eyes on the beach watching her as she placed her hand in the crook of his elbow.
“At last, we’ll have a moment to talk,” he murmured.
“There are too many people around,” she whispered back.
“I don’t mean now. Later, at Lady Rufflebum’s.”
“Has she extended an invitation to you?”
“Not yet.” He flashed a cocky smile. “But she will.”