Page 43 of The Rake Desires the Diamond

Evan backed away and measured an inch with his thumb and forefinger—an absurd declaration since he had no knowledge of the marquess’s appendage particulars. But the insult garnered the desired reaction: unnerving his enemy.

Greyson’s chin jutted indignantly, and it was as if fire shot from his pupils. “I’ll smash the ball right down your throat,” he growled from between his clenched teeth.

“You will have to hit it first. In fact, I have a wager for you.” Preposterous since Evan planned to wager something he couldn’t afford to lose. But he’d racked his brain, and there was no other solution.

“Intrigued. Tell me,” Greyson said.

“If I win the game, you leave Katrina alone and drop this blackmail nonsense.”

“And if I win, she will spend time with me.”

“If she agrees to it,” Evan said.

“Deal.” Greyson held out his hand.

What a deluded arrogant arsehole. Did the fool not realize she’d never consent to be with him? The Dowager Countess Greyson had to have spoiled him to the point he’d lost touch with reality. As much as he did not want skin-to-skin contact with the marquess, Evan shook on the deal.

“By the way, Greyson, you won’t win.” Evan turned on his heel, waved over his shoulder, and sauntered to the pitch. He faced the marquess and playfully tossed the ball above his head several times.

Greyson kicked the grass.

How exceedingly fun to provoke his ill-tempered nemesis. He moved slowly, doing his absolute best to goad Greyson with his nonchalant attitude. First, he rolled his shoulders. Then he tilted his head from side to side.

“Pitch the bloody ball,” Greyson yelled.

The command earned the marquess a few more seconds of Evan’s taunts. Finally, at long last, Evan prepared, willing the ball to sail past Greyson and knock the bails from their stumps. Crouching low, he focused on the blade of Greyson’s bat, then aimed the ball just forward of the arses off-side.

Smack! Greyson’s bat made contact, and the ball hurled toward Evan.

The arrogant fool had just sacrificed the game. And for what? To give Evan a black eye? He instinctually shielded his face, easily catching the ball-turned-missile.

“Caught and bowled,” someone yelled.

“Caught and bowled,”the crowd echoed.

Greyson was out, and the match was over. The shite-sack grumbled under his breath as he shook out his wrist.

Evan chuckled. Not only had his venomous little stunt cost Greyson the game, but it also seemed he’d aggravated his injury.

Like chickens to feed, his teammates surrounded Evan, hugging him and singing his praises. Harrington and Wellspring hoisted him onto their shoulders as if he were king of the world. From atop his human throne, Evan waved to the cheering crowd, his team running their victory lap behind him.

Evan sought Katrina’s gaze, hoping to see approval. Surly, she’d admire him since he’d just won her aunt the golden chamberpot and a respite from Greyson’s blackmailing. Not only had he bowled skillfully, but he’d also scored fifty-four runs, breaking his own record—and all on very little sleep. However, he had to wait for her to look his way because she embraced her cousin as the pair bounced on their toes.

Once Elizabeth released Katrina, she met Evan’s gaze and smiled. It was as if an arrow of sunlight shot across the field, piercing his heart, and if the glowing shaft was tugged from him, he would bleed to death.

Huh! Lack of sleep had turned him into a sentimental fool. Still, he needed to confess his feelings to poor ol’ Springy, for he must have this challenging woman who was undoubtedly a bigger prize than Greyson’s demise or a cricket trophy.

“To The Purple Toad,” someone yelled.

“Purple Toad! Purple Toad! Purple Toad!” His teammates chanted.

A mug of ale at the local tavern was the perfect way to celebrate. Evan raised a fist in victory.

“The Purple Toad,” he whooped at the top of his lungs.

From around him, men celebrated—both the winners and the losers—for, the festive day ended with free ale for all participants. Well, almost everyone celebrated. Two sourpusses sat in the corner by themselves, horrific scowls consuming their visages. Greyson looked up from his tankard to snarl in Evan’s direction. Seeming to take offense to his drinking partner’s theatrics, Taylor winced.

Taylor’s words came back to Evan.“Please protect her until I can get rid of that son of a bitch.” From the first second he saw them together, he’d known they could not be friends. So why was Greyson visiting Taylor and turning the solicitor into a pariah?