“Shall we continue, poppet?” His glare in response could have shattered marble. After a few minutes’ practice, Emma’s agility had improved. She could hold her side of a respectable volley. “What about ‘precious’?” she suggested. “No.” “‘Angel’?” “God, no.” “‘Muffin’?” In response to that, he hit the shuttlecock so hard, it sailed all the way to the back wall and thwacked one of his ancestors right in the powdered wig. She cheered. “Well done, my precious angel muffin.” “This stops,” he said. “Now.”
