She smiled her reply, not trusting her voice.
“I hope it will not take me months of pleading to get you to come to another game, Anne,” Lettice said to her. “Especially as you can see how much Philip enjoys it.” She added for James’s benefit, “He’s at the stables now. Probably looking at your horses.”
“I hope he likes them.”
“He probably will,” Anne muttered.
“I wonder if it’s a faux pas to play all out against royalty to win,” Lettice speculated aloud.
“I’m sure Prince Charles wouldn’t have it any other way, Grandmother,” Anne said, grateful for the idle conversation. That fire was still licking through her, and she needed to regain her composure.
“Our friend from England is a real fighter.” James chuckled. “He enjoyed himself out there.”
“It was very gracious of him to play while he’s here on an official visit.”
Anne choked back her laughter, knowing Lettice had arranged the match to entice the royal visitor and thereby gain prestige and needed money for one of her charities. “I don’t think he stood a chance.”
“I know he didn’t,” James said, grinning at Lettice. He turned back to Anne. “Annie, I need to talk to you—”
He was interrupted by several women suddenly flocking around him. He gave all of them a charming smile, and an odd pain knifed through Anne. She judged the other women were in their early thirties. She didn’t recognize any of them, but she’d bet her trust fund there was a Muffy, Buffy, or Babs in the group. There always was. Worse, the women were beautiful, very feminine in their flowered silk dresses and floppy hats. Her own dress now seemed too tailored and out of place. And the way they fluttered around James made her think of hot-house flowers desperate for a little pollenation. They probably were.
The interruption was for the best, she decided. She didn’t know which was worse. James needing to talk to her … or him calling her by her childhood nickname.
James’s horse, startled by the sudden influx of strange humans, whinnied his dismay and pulled free of his master’s loose grip. A scared horse was a potentially dangerous one, Anne knew. Sure enough, before anyone could grab his reins, the horse wreaked his own brand of havoc.
He walked over to Anne, butted his nose against her chest, and blew gustily down the front of her dress in a horsey sign of affection.
Anne pushed the horse’s head away in one deft movement, then gazed at her now ruined dress. She sighed in resignation.
James got the women. She got the horse. Dudley Do-right would have been proud of her.
“The last animal who did this to me, bub,” she said to the horse, “got curried with a brush that had five-inch steel bristles.”
The horse butted her chest again.
“Masochist,” she muttered, giving in and scratching the animal on its long black muzzle.
Under her hand, the animal’s hide was soaked in sweat. She set her jaw in anger as she felt the rest of the horse’s head and neck. While James was drinking champagne and flirting with his “flowers,” his horse had been left to sweat in exhaustion. A good horseman took care of his animal before himself. At least the horse wasn’t lathered, but it still needed to be cooled down and taken to the stables. She was ashamed that she had been so preoccupied with James, she hadn’t noticed the animal’s plight before this.
“I’m sorry, Anne,” James said, breaking away from his groupies. He patted the horse on the neck. “Monroe does that when he likes someone.”
“So I discovered.”
James grinned. “He has excellent taste. But your dress.… Get a new one and send me the bill.”
“That’s very nice of you,” she said while privately deciding she’d be damned before she did. She handed over the reins. “He needs attention, James.”
“I know.” He looked around the field. “The groom should have come for him by now. But I figured this might happen. That’s why I can spare only a minute. You’ll be at the dance tonight, right?”
“I don’t think so,” she said, ruthlessly forcing away a flush of embarrassment. She knew she shouldn’t feel embarrassed that she’d pointed out his horse needed attention.
“Yes, she is going,” Lettice corrected her.
Anne glared at her grandmother. She had forgotten about the damn dance tonight. She couldn’t go now. “I know I agreed to come to the match, Grandmother, but I shouldn’t be away from the farm at this time of year—”
“Nonsense.” Lettice glared right back. “You have very competent people working for you. They know you are only a phone call away. Besides, you wouldn’t want to disappoint me, would you? Or James.”
Anne gritted her teeth, knowing she was caught in a social trap. “Of course not.”
“Good,” James said. “I’ll see you there. It’s important.” He stared at her for a moment longer, then gulped back the last of his champagne and shoved the glass into her hands. He turned to Lettice. “I’ll take Monroe to the stables, then come back for the trophy presentation. They’ll want you at that too, Lettice. After all, you arranged this match.”
“I’ll go with you to the stables,” one of the other women volunteered.
“Thanks, Buffy,” James said, “but it’s hectic back there. And very dirty. I wouldn’t want you to ruin that beautiful dress.”
Buffy looked both shocked and grateful, and Anne hid a smile. She had made a sure bet with her trust fund. Buffy did look … enchanting. Anne forced away the urge to shred the Gibson Girl hat the woman was wearing. It was a silly thought. Anyway, Lettice would kill her if she did.
It was then she realized all of the women were scowling at her as if she had deliberately forced the horse to ruin her dress and draw James’s attention from them. She arched her eyebrows and gazed at them in cool defiance.
James took the horse to the stables, Buffy and crew electing to forgo that pleasure.
“So much for your ideas about James, Grandmother,” Anne said in a low voice as the other women departed.
“Nonsense. A little competition is good for the soul,” Lettice said. “James is an attractive boy. You certainly wouldn’t want someone who scratches himself every ten seconds, now, would you?”
Anne eyed the other women sourly as they teetered away, their ridiculously high heels sinking into the ground. She also admitted her grandmother might have a point.
“No comment,” she finally said.
“Naturally, you wouldn’t,” Lettice said. “I better get over to the presentation. Then we’ll go home and change for the dance.”
As her grandmother headed for the knot of officials on the playing field, Anne shook her head and began to pack up the remains of their picnic.
“There is no way I will be at that damn dance tonight,” she muttered to herself. After her gaping schoolgirl reaction to James, she’d be stupid to expose herself again to his charm.
Incredibly stupid.
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