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Authors: Stephanie Laurens
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Torrington, bat still in his hand, elected himself director of play. He welcomed the older boys and waved them to fielding positions, leaving Matthew as bowler.
What followed was an education in how boys played, or could play if led by a competent hand. When Jenkins came up, the discarded kite in his hands, she waved him to take over her position. He might be more than twice her age, but he was better at catching.
The kite in her arms, she retreated to lean against a tree. Given the focus of the game, she naturally found herself gazing at Torrington.
Not a calming sight.
He literally made her pulse skitter and race. She was far enough away to appreciate his perfect male proportions, the wide shoulders and tapering chest, slim hips and long, lean legs. She’d yet to see him make an ungraceful move; she wasn’t sure he’d know how. His reflexes were excellent.
She saw the laughing humor in his face as he skied a ball to Harry, who with a rowdy whoop caught it. Torrington’s black locks, thick and lightly wavy, hugged his head; one fell forward across his broad brow as he good-naturedly surrendered the bat to Harry. He took the ball and bowled for a while, then tossed it to David.
And came strolling over the lawn to take up a fielding position near her. He grinned at her. “Coward.”
She tipped up her nose. “As you’ve been informed, I’m hopeless at catching.”
The look he gave her was enigmatic, but a ball hit his way recalled him to his duty.
She tried to watch the play and call encouragement as a good sister should, but having Torrington so close, watching him move and stretch and stand, hands on hips, then wave, directing her brothers, was distracting.
His occasional glances did nothing to slow her pulse.
What really worried her was why he was there.
As soon as David and Matthew had had a turn at batting, she called a halt. “Come along—we have to get back for tea.”
Her brothers, flushed and glowing with happiness, ran up.
“I say.” David tugged her hand. “Can Tony come home with us for tea?”
Alicia looked down into David’s bright eyes. Tony— Torrington was Tony to them. That seemed dangerous. But David, even more than the other two, was lonely here in London, and what, after all, could Torrington do? She smiled. “If he wishes.”
“Will you come? Will you come?” The chorus was instantaneous.
Joining them, Tony—Torrington—glanced at her. “If your sister doesn’t mind.”
She wasn’t at all sure it was a good idea, and he knew it; she met his gaze, but kept her expression easy. “If you have no objection to sitting down to a nursery tea, then by all means do join us.”
He smiled, not just with his lips but with those coal black eyes; if she’d had a fan, she would have deployed it. He bowed. “Thank you. I’d be delighted.”
Thrilled, thoroughly pleased with their new acquaintance, the boys took his hands; surrounding him, they danced by his side all the way back to Waverton Street, peppering him with questions.
At first, following behind with Jenkins, she merely listened, learning that Tony was an only child and had grown up mostly in Devon, but also in part in London. He knew all the childhood haunts. But when Harry, military mad, asked if he’d served overseas, and he replied he had, her protective instincts flared.
Quickly lengthening her stride, she came up beside Matthew, tripping along, Tony’s hand in his, gazing adoringly up at his new friend.
“So which were you in—the navy or the army?”
“The army—the Guards.”
“And you were at Waterloo?”
“Yes.”
“Did you lead a charge?”
She jumped in. “Boys, I really don’t think we need to hear about charges and fighting over tea.”
Torrington glanced at her briefly, a swift, penetrating look, then he turned back to her brothers. “Your sister’s right—war is not fun. It’s horrible, and frightening, and dreadful to be involved in.”
David’s eyes grew round. Harry’s
What followed was an education in how boys played, or could play if led by a competent hand. When Jenkins came up, the discarded kite in his hands, she waved him to take over her position. He might be more than twice her age, but he was better at catching.
The kite in her arms, she retreated to lean against a tree. Given the focus of the game, she naturally found herself gazing at Torrington.
Not a calming sight.
He literally made her pulse skitter and race. She was far enough away to appreciate his perfect male proportions, the wide shoulders and tapering chest, slim hips and long, lean legs. She’d yet to see him make an ungraceful move; she wasn’t sure he’d know how. His reflexes were excellent.
She saw the laughing humor in his face as he skied a ball to Harry, who with a rowdy whoop caught it. Torrington’s black locks, thick and lightly wavy, hugged his head; one fell forward across his broad brow as he good-naturedly surrendered the bat to Harry. He took the ball and bowled for a while, then tossed it to David.
And came strolling over the lawn to take up a fielding position near her. He grinned at her. “Coward.”
She tipped up her nose. “As you’ve been informed, I’m hopeless at catching.”
The look he gave her was enigmatic, but a ball hit his way recalled him to his duty.
She tried to watch the play and call encouragement as a good sister should, but having Torrington so close, watching him move and stretch and stand, hands on hips, then wave, directing her brothers, was distracting.
His occasional glances did nothing to slow her pulse.
What really worried her was why he was there.
As soon as David and Matthew had had a turn at batting, she called a halt. “Come along—we have to get back for tea.”
Her brothers, flushed and glowing with happiness, ran up.
“I say.” David tugged her hand. “Can Tony come home with us for tea?”
Alicia looked down into David’s bright eyes. Tony— Torrington was Tony to them. That seemed dangerous. But David, even more than the other two, was lonely here in London, and what, after all, could Torrington do? She smiled. “If he wishes.”
“Will you come? Will you come?” The chorus was instantaneous.
Joining them, Tony—Torrington—glanced at her. “If your sister doesn’t mind.”
She wasn’t at all sure it was a good idea, and he knew it; she met his gaze, but kept her expression easy. “If you have no objection to sitting down to a nursery tea, then by all means do join us.”
He smiled, not just with his lips but with those coal black eyes; if she’d had a fan, she would have deployed it. He bowed. “Thank you. I’d be delighted.”
Thrilled, thoroughly pleased with their new acquaintance, the boys took his hands; surrounding him, they danced by his side all the way back to Waverton Street, peppering him with questions.
At first, following behind with Jenkins, she merely listened, learning that Tony was an only child and had grown up mostly in Devon, but also in part in London. He knew all the childhood haunts. But when Harry, military mad, asked if he’d served overseas, and he replied he had, her protective instincts flared.
Quickly lengthening her stride, she came up beside Matthew, tripping along, Tony’s hand in his, gazing adoringly up at his new friend.
“So which were you in—the navy or the army?”
“The army—the Guards.”
“And you were at Waterloo?”
“Yes.”
“Did you lead a charge?”
She jumped in. “Boys, I really don’t think we need to hear about charges and fighting over tea.”
Torrington glanced at her briefly, a swift, penetrating look, then he turned back to her brothers. “Your sister’s right—war is not fun. It’s horrible, and frightening, and dreadful to be involved in.”
David’s eyes grew round. Harry’s
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