The Earl's Secret by Kathryn Jensen Page B

“After that, there’s the South American trip…unbelievably exciting…drifting down the Amazon. And the Alaskan cruise! We’re looking into an Asian adventure, too, and—”
    â€œStop it, Jenny.”
    She gazed innocently up at him. “Stop what?”
    â€œYou’re babbling. You know that I don’t care where you’re taking your next batch of customers. I suspect that isn’t uppermost in your mind, either.”
    She lowered her eyes for a moment, then brought them quickly back to his. “My business is important to me,” she murmured.
    â€œI wouldn’t suggest otherwise. I just think you’re avoiding the issue at hand.”
    â€œWhich is?”
    â€œUs.”
    â€œI thought you said this morning that there was no us. ” Her green eyes snapped with challenge.
    â€œThere isn’t. But I don’t think you believe it.”
    â€œOh?” She looked adorably smug. “Now you can read my mind?”
    He sighed. Nothing he could say here and at this moment would make her see how impossible it would be. What she needed was a demonstration.
    â€œCome with me this afternoon,” he said impulsively. “There is a polo match, with a cocktail party afterward. I think you’ll enjoy yourself.”
    He was lying, of course. She’d have a terrible time. Even he found this particular clique of moneyed snobs detestable. But he had reasons for remaining within their social circle, and now they might prove useful to him in another way. If he and Jennifer couldn’t part as friends, there was one other way he could make her feel better.
    â€œAre you playing in the match?” she asked hesitantly.
    â€œYes. And in the shape I’m in today, I’ll probably end up bleeding all over the field.”
    Her eyes flashed. “Good, then I will enjoy myself.”
    Â 
    Jennifer’s breezy declaration that she would delight in his injuries might have made him laugh at anothertime. But he sensed that she actually meant it. In a way that was good. Hate was a far easier emotion on the soul than love. After a disastrous love affair, it could even be healing.
    But knowing that she was cheering for the other team and hoping for his demise worked miracles on Christopher’s aggressiveness on the field. He rode the Number 3, field captain’s position on his four-man team that day, and he had never played better. Time and again he tore after the ball, his horse’s sharp hooves digging up chunks of turf, his mallet swinging wildly as he leaned precariously out from his saddle. He scored five goals that afternoon, against some of his toughest opponents.
    After the match he handed over Prince’s Pride to the stable lad who had driven three of his horses from Donan earlier that day. Christopher strode across the field to where Jennifer was standing alone. He was muddy, muscle sore and exhausted—but triumphant and basically uninjured.
    He had cleaned up today, making nearly ten thousand pounds. But every one of the checks would be made out to St. James or one of his other charities. And every penny of the cash would find its way into the school’s building fund—along with his matching contribution.
    â€œYou didn’t give the other side much of a chance,” she complained. “Seven to two.”
    â€œWe were handicapped by three goals, so we had to win by a good margin.” He smiled wearily at her. Despite her determination to dislike him, and his determination to help in the effort, there was a flash of admiration in her eyes before she turned away.
    â€œWe’ll drive to the house for the party. It’s abouta mile away. The players will wash up there. I have a change of clothes in the car.”
    She nodded. “Tell me about your daughter.”
    The question was unexpected and put him instantly on guard. “What do you want to know?” he asked stiffly.
    â€œWhere is she? Does