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mine miiiiiiiiiine ,” she continued, moving into the hoppy little section that followed the familiar refrain.
    She could barely contain herself as she tossed a blanket aside. The Pall Mall set would be resting in the corner, as it always was, and in just a moment—
    “Looking for this?”
    Kate whirled around. There was Anthony, standing in the doorway, smiling diabolically as he spun the black Pall Mall mallet in his hands.
    His shirt was blindingly white.
    “You . . . You . . .”
    One of his brows lifted dangerously. “You never were terribly skilled at vocabulary retrieval when crossed.”
    “How did you . . . How did you . . .”
    He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “I paid him five pounds.”
    “You gave Milton five pounds?” Good Lord, that was practically his annual salary.
    “It’s a deuced sight cheaper than replacing all of my shirts,” he said with a scowl. “Raspberry jam. Really. Have you no thought toward economies?”
    Kate stared longingly at the mallet.
    “Game’s in three days,” Anthony said with a pleased sigh, “and I have already won.”
    Kate didn’t contradict him. The other Bridgertons might think the annual Pall Mall rematch began and ended in a day, but she and Anthony knew better.
    She’d beaten him to the mallet for three years running. She was damned if he was going to get the better of her this time.
    “Give up now, dear wife,” Anthony taunted. “Admit defeat, and we shall all be happier.”
    Kate sighed softly, almost as if she acquiesced.
    Anthony’s eyes narrowed.
    Kate idly touched her fingers to the neckline of her frock.
    Anthony’s eyes widened.
    “It’s hot in here, don’t you think?” she asked, her voice soft, and sweet, and terribly breathless.
    “You little minx,” he murmured.
    She slid the fabric from her shoulders. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath.
    “No buttons?” he whispered.
    She shook her head. She wasn’t stupid. Even the best laid plans could find their way awry. One always had to dress for the occasion. There was still a slight chill in the air, and she felt her nipples tighten into insulted little buds.
    Kate shivered, then tried to hide it with a breathy pant, as if she were desperately aroused.
    Which she might have been, had she not been single-mindedly focused on trying not to focus on the mallet in her husband’s hand.
    Not to mention the chill.
    “Lovely,” Anthony murmured, reaching out and stroking the side of her breast.
    Kate made a mewling sound. He could never resist that.
    Anthony smiled slowly, then moved his hand forward, until he could roll her nipple between his fingers.
    Kate let out a gasp, and her eyes flew to his. He looked—not calculating exactly, but still, very much in control. And it occurred to her—he knew precisely what she could never resist.
    “Ah, wife,” he murmured, cupping her breast from the bottom, and lifting it higher until it sat plump in his hand.
    He smiled.
    Kate stopped breathing.
    He bent forward and took the bud in his mouth.
    “ Oh! ” She wasn’t faking anything now.
    He repeated his torture on the other side.
    Then he stepped back.
    Back.
    Kate stood still, panting.
    “Ah, to have a painting of this,” he said. “I would hang it in my office.”
    Kate’s mouth fell open.
    He held up the mallet in triumph. “Goodbye, dear wife.” He exited the shed, then poked his head back ’round the corner. “Try not to catch a chill. You’d hate to miss the rematch, wouldn’t you?”
    He was lucky, Kate later reflected, that she hadn’t thought to grab one of the Pall Mall balls when she’d been rummaging for the set. Although on second thought, his head was probably far too hard for her to have made a dent.
    One day prior
    There were few moments, Anthony decided, quite so delicious as the utter and complete besting of one’s wife. It depended upon the wife, of course, but as he had chosen to wed a woman of superb intellect and wit, his moments, he was sure,