Annabelle received the suggestion with relish. “I’d prefer to aim for a protuberance somewhat lower than that,” she said, and swung as Daisy fed her the ball again. This time, the flat side of the bat met the ball with a solid thwack. Letting out a whoop of delight, Daisy went scampering after the ball, while Lillian, who had been screeching with laughter, cried out, “Run, Annabelle!”

She did so with a triumphant chortle, skirting the baskets as she rounded toward Castle Rock.

Daisy scooped up the ball and threw it to Lillian, who snatched it from the air.

“Stay at the third post, Annabelle,” Lillian called. “We’ll see if Evie can bring you back to Castle Rock.”

Looking nervous but determined, Evie took the bat and assumed a stance at the striker’s place.

“Pretend the ball is your aunt Florence,” Annabelle advised, and a grin erupted on Evie’s face.

Daisy pitched a slow, easy ball, while Evie flailed with the bat. She missed, and the ball landed with a neat smack in Lillian’s palms. Throwing the ball back to Daisy, Lillian repositioned Evie. “Widen your stance and bend your knees a bit,” she murmured. “That’s a girl. Now watch the ball as it comes, and you won’t miss.”

Unfortunately Evie did miss, time and again, until her face was pink with frustration. “It’s t-too hard,” she said, her forehead puckered with worry. “Perhaps I should stop now and give someone else a turn.”

“Just a few more tries,” Annabelle said anxiously, determined that Evie should hit the ball at least once. “We’re in no hurry.”

“Don’t give up!” Daisy chimed in. “It’s just that you’re trying too hard, Evie. Relax—and stop closing your eyes when you swing.”

“You can do it,” Lillian said, pushing a lock of silky dark hair away from her forehead and flexing her slim, well-toned arms. “You almost connected with the last one. Just keep…watching…the ball.”

Sighing in resignation, Evie dragged the bat back to Castle Rock and lifted it once more. Her blue eyes narrowed as she stared at Daisy, and she tensed in preparation for the next feed. “I’m ready.”

Daisy tossed the ball gamely, and Evie swung with grim determination. A thrill of satisfaction shot through Annabelle as she saw the bat strike the ball solidly. It soared into the air, far into the oak grove. They all whooped in jubilation at the splendid strike. Shocked at what she had done, Evie began to jump in the air, squealing, “I did it! I did it!”

“Run around the baskets!” Annabelle cried, and scampered back to Castle Rock. Gleefully Evie circled the makeshift Rounders field, her garments a blur of white. When she reached Castle Rock, the girls continued to jump and scream for no reason at all, other than the fact that they were young and healthy and quite pleased with themselves.

Suddenly, Annabelle became aware of a dark figure rapidly ascending the hill. She fell abruptly silent as she ascertained that there was one—no, two—riders advancing to the dry meadow. “Someone’s coming!” she said. “A pair of riders. Hurry, fetch your clothes!” Her low-voiced alarm cut through the girls’ jubilation. They stared at each other with wide eyes and burst into panicked action. Shrieking, Daisy and Evie broke into a dead run toward the remains of the picnic, where they had left their dresses.

Annabelle began to follow, then stopped and turned abruptly as the riders thundered to a halt just behind her. She faced them warily, trying to assess what danger they might present. Looking up at their faces, she felt a bolt of chilling dismay as she recognized them.

Lord Westcliff…and even worse…Simon Hunt.

CHAPTER 10

Once Annabelle met Hunt’s stunned gaze, she could not seem to look away. It was like one of those nightmares that one always awoke from with a sense of relief, knowing that something so dreadful could never really happen. Were the situation not so completely to her disadvantage, she might have enjoyed the prospect of Simon Hunt rendered absolutely speechless. At first his face was blank, as if he was having tremendous difficulty absorbing the fact that she was standing before him dressed only in a chemise, corset, and drawers. His gaze slid over her, slowly coming to rest on her flushed face.

Another moment or two of suffocated silence, and Hunt swallowed hard before speaking in a rusty-sounding voice. “I probably shouldn’t ask. But what the hell are you doing?”

The words unlocked Annabelle from her paralysis. She certainly could not stand there and converse with him while she was clad in her undergarments. But her dignity—or the threads that remained of it—demanded that she not screech idiotically and dash for her clothes the way Evie and Daisy were doing. Settling for a compromise, she strode briskly to her discarded gown and clasped it to her front as she turned to face Simon Hunt once more. “We’re playing Rounders,” she said, her voice far higher-pitched than usual.

Hunt glanced around the scene before settling on her again. “Why did you—”

“One can’t run properly in skirts,” Annabelle interrupted. “I should think that would be obvious.”

Absorbing that, Hunt averted his face swiftly, but not before she saw the sudden flash of his grin. “Never having tried it, I’ll have to take your word on that.”

Behind her, Annabelle heard Daisy say to Lillian accusingly, “I thought you said that no one ever comes to this meadow!”

“That’s what I was told,” Lillian replied, her voice muffled as she stepped into the circle of her gown and bent to jerk it upward.