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“Anthony,” Colin said, sounding so deucedly innocent and earnest that it was all Anthony could do not to kill him on the spot, “you’re not engaged for this dance, are you?” Anthony said nothing, just glared at him.
“Not,” he said with a laugh, “when you’re playing with the Bridgertons.”
Colin sets out the wickets over tree roots—” “And you aimed yours toward the lake,” Colin interrupted.
never did find the red ball after Daphne sank it.”
“Of course!” Colin said. “I suspect you’ll fit right in with the rest of us schemers and cheaters.”
“Home of the prodigal red ball, I presume?”
“I blame everything on Daphne. It makes my life much easier.” “I heard that!”
“We have to make absolutely certain that Anthony loses his ball in the water,”
We have no sense of sportsmanship when it comes to Pall Mall. When a Bridgerton picks up a mallet, we become the worst sorts of cheaters and liars. Truly, the game is less about winning than making sure the other players lose.”
“The mallet of death,” Colin said approvingly. “I knew she’d make a fine player.” “Leave the pink one for Anthony,” Daphne said, reaching for the green mallet.
The foursome stared down at the two mallets left: pink and purple. “He’s not going to like either one,” Daphne said. Colin nodded. “But he’ll like pink even less.” And with that, he picked up the purple mallet and tossed it into the shed, then reached down and sent the purple ball in after it.
Kate pondered the mallet in her hand and tried to figure out how she might bring it down upon the viscount’s head and make it look like an accident. The mallet of death, indeed.
“I’m pink and she”—he jabbed a finger toward Kate—“gets to have the mallet of death?”
“Bad sportsmanship is a requirement in Bridgerton Pall Mall, I’m afraid.”
“Might I have a practice swing?” she inquired. “No.” It was a rather loud no, coming, as it did, from three mouths.
“Stand back, all of you. I won’t be held responsible if I injure anyone on the first try.”
“All’s fair in love and war,” he quipped. “I am going to kill you.”
Kate pondered the mallet of death, then pondered his foot.
And then she marched down the hill, letting out a loud and extremely unladylike curse when she realized her ball was lodged under a hedge.
Anthony looked as if he might disembowel his brother on the spot.
And then, with quite the most evil grin her lips had ever formed, she drew back her mallet and smacked her ball with every ounce of every single emotion within her. It knocked into his with stunning force, sending it hurtling even farther down the hill. Farther . . . Farther . . . Right into the lake. Openmouthed with delight, Kate just stared for a moment as the pink ball sank into the lake.
she was jumping about like a crazy woman, yelling, “Yes! Yes! I win!” “You don’t win,” Anthony snapped. “Oh, it feels like I’ve won,” she reveled.
“Are you certain you’re not a Bridgerton in disguise? You have truly lived up to the spirit of the game.”
“I had been hoping you would pick up the reins of his destruction,” Colin said.
“any true aficionado of Bridgerton Pall Mall understands that sending Anthony into the lake is far more important than actually sending one’s ball through all the wickets.
Anthony, you are our loser.” A strange, muffled sound burst from Kate’s mouth, half laugh and half choke.
although she had been looking at the various Bridgertons as if they’d recently escaped from an asylum),
“What the hell happened to the purple mallet, anyway?” Colin shrugged. “I’m sure I have no idea.” “And I’m sure,” Anthony muttered, “that it will miraculously reappear in the Pall Mall set tomorrow evening.” “You might very well be right,” Colin said brightly, moving a bit past Anthony, keeping his eyes on the water the whole way. “Perhaps even this afternoon, if we’re lucky.” “One of these days,” Anthony said matter-of-factly, “I’m going to kill you.”
