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choking sounds began to emanate from his throat.
    Kate smiled. “Didn’t I pledge honesty at some point?”
    “That was obedience ,” he growled.
    “Obedience? Surely not.”
    “Where is it?”
    She shrugged. “Not telling.”
    “Kate!”
    She slid into a singsong. “Not tellllllllling .”
    “Woman . . .” He moved forward. Dangerously.
    Kate swallowed. There was a small, rather tiny actually but nonetheless very real chance that she might have gone just a wee bit too far.
    “I will tie you to the bed,” he warned.
    “Yeeeessss,” she said, acknowledging his point as she gauged the distance to the door. “But I might not mind it precisely.”
    His eyes flared, not quite with desire—he was still too focused on the Pall Mall mallet for that—but she rather thought she saw a flash of . . . interest there.
    “Tie you up, you say,” he murmured, moving forward, “and you’d like it, eh?”
    Kate caught his meaning and gasped. “You wouldn’t!”
    “Oh, I would.”
    He was aiming for a repeat performance. He was going to tie her up and leave her there while he searched for the mallet.
    Not if she had anything to say about it.
    Kate scrambled over the arm of her chair and then scooted behind it. Always good to have a physical barrier in situations like these.
    “Oh, Kaaaaate,” he taunted, moving toward her.
    “It’s mine,” she declared. “It was mine fifteen years ago, and it’s still mine.”
    “It was mine before it was yours.”
    “But you married me!”
    “And this makes it yours?”
    She said nothing, just locked her eyes with his. She was breathless, panting, caught up in the rush of the moment.
    And then, fast as lightning, he jumped forward, reaching over the chair, catching hold of her shoulder for a brief moment before she squirmed away.
    “You will never find it,” she practically shrieked, scooting behind the sofa.
    “Don’t think you’ll escape now,” he warned, doing a sideways sort of maneuver that put him between her and the door.
    She eyed the window.
    “The fall would kill you,” he said.
    “Oh, for the love of God,” came a voice from the doorway.
    Kate and Anthony turned. Anthony’s brother Colin was standing there, regarding them both with an air of disgust.
    “Colin,” Anthony said tightly. “How nice to see you.”
    Colin merely quirked a brow. “I suppose you’re looking for this .”
    Kate gasped. He was holding the black mallet. “How did you—”
    Colin stroked the blunt, cylindrical end almost lovingly. “I can only speak for myself, of course,” he said with a happy sigh, “but as far as I’m concerned, I’ve already won.”
    Game day
    “I fail to comprehend,” Anthony’s sister Daphne remarked, “why you get to set up the course.”
    “Because I bloody well own the lawn,” he bit off. He held his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun as he inspected his work. He’d done a brilliant job this time, if he did say so himself. It was diabolical.
    Pure genius.
    “Any chance you might be capable of refraining from profanity in the company of ladies?” This, from Daphne’s husband, Simon, the Duke of Hastings.
    “She’s no lady,” Anthony grumbled. “She’s my sister.”
    “She’s my wife.”
    Anthony smirked. “She was my sister first.”
    Simon turned to Kate, who was tapping her mallet—green, which she’d declared herself happy with, but Anthony knew better—against the grass.
    “How,” he asked, “do you tolerate him?”
    She shrugged. “It’s a talent few possess.”
    Colin stepped up, clutching the black mallet like the Holy Grail. “Shall we begin?” he asked grandly.
    Simon’s lips parted with surprise. “The mallet of death?”
    “I’m very clever,” Colin confirmed.
    “He bribed the housemaid,” Kate grumbled.
    “You bribed my valet,” Anthony pointed out.
    “So did you!”
    “I bribed no one,” Simon said, to no one in particular.
    Daphne patted his arm condescendingly. “You were not born to