Page 42 of The Rake Desires the Diamond

“Lord Greyson, two of our men did not show,” Felix said.

Greysontsked. “Probably out drinking last night and still in their cups today.”

“Nay. They are good workers,” Felix said. “They visit the local pub and have a few rounds on their nights off, but they’d never miss something this important. Why, we’ve been preparing for weeks.”

“That’s what happens when the classes mix, and why they should not. Absurd to have peers of the realm partnered with lowly groundskeepers.” Greyson sniffed at Harrington. “In sport, life,marriage…”

Yet, Greyson had no qualms about tupping shopgirls and maids—as long as he could mistreat and browbeat them. IfHarrington reached out and throttled Greyson, Evan wouldn’t stop him. Probably not a man there would. At least Anna was not present to hear the barb.

“You don’t have to cancel your game, do you? For that would be quite a shame.” Greyson’s feigned concern was wasted since everyone present knew he was a selfish piss. “We shall fill in.” Palm up, he presented himself and his solicitor.

Like hell!

“No disrespect, my lord, but if you don’t like to see the classes mix, why would you want to play on my team?” Felix asked.

Not only that, but how did he know the missing men were groundskeepers?

“Since we are already here and ready for the match, why not? Just this once. What does it matter since you have two men of our class on your team?” Greyson flicked his uninjured wrist toward Frederick Montague, then the quite influential Lord Rudolph. “Besides, Taylor here was one of the best batters at Oxford. Once scored one hundred eighty runs in a match.”

Taylor cringed. “’Tis true. I did.”

“Aye, Taylor is an ace player.” Frederick gazed toward the beautiful cousins seated in the tent and sighed. “Considering the unfortunate circumstance, could the chaps play with us so we don’t have to forfeit? They are here, after all. Unless you want two of your men to sit out and play nine on nine?”

Most likely, Frederick wanted to show off for Elizabeth. Not that Evan was passing judgment since he wished for Katrina to be in awe of his athletic prowess.

“Since those four are not staying at The Crown Jewel”—Greyson glared at Evan—“I would hardly think it a problem if we join the team and help out.”

“Fine,” Harrington said, his face a mass of tight lines. “But I’ve been playing for my aunt’s team since I left behind my leading strings.”

If no one else would stand up to the blackguard, Evan would do it. He stomped into Greyson’s space and thumped him in the shoulder. “Sneck up.”

As he turned to walk away, Greyson called, “You might want to rethink your treatment of me, Evan Eaton.”

“I will see you in hell,” Evan growled.

Unable to contain his fury, he marched from the group. Footsteps followed him. Probably Wellspring telling him to calm down and behave like a gentleman.

Evan wheeled to face him. However, it was Taylor who stood before him.

“Thank you for getting Caroline out of the house. Please protect her until I can get rid of that son of a bitch.”

Before Evan could respond, Taylor walked away.

In the distance, something shiny flew into the air. Once the shilling landed, Harrington bent to peer at it. “The Crown Jewel bats first. Eaton, you’re up.”

Evan moaned. He could not stomp off like a petulant child if he meant to keep the marquess in line. Someone had to do it, and it suited his present mood. Heading toward the pitch, he grabbed his bat as eleven fielders fanned out around him.

The score was one-hundred sixty to one-hundred fifty-eight, and dusk had begun to settle when the tenth batter left the pitch, and Greyson, the final batter, took his place in front of the wicket. No way in hell would Evan let Greyson score. Thematch was so close that all Greyson needed was one hit to the boundary to win.

Smirking, Greyson motioned for Evan to come close. He’d tell the shite-sack to bugger off, but he didn’t trust him not to say something hideous about Katrina—or the unfortunate Caroline—in front of an attentive audience. Therefore, pounding his hatred into the ground with every step, he approached Greyson.

“What in the bloody hell do you want?” he growled in the marquess’s face.

The devil chuckled as he leaned close to whisper. “I will win this game and the girl.”

What the…? He’d called Evan to him to make an absurd boast?

“Perhaps the game,” Evan hissed. “But never the girl. She sees you for the pile of vermin feces that you are. We all see you for what you are. An entitled son of a bitch who must force women into his bed since his prick is pox-covered, minuscule, and limp.”