his sapphire • anthony bridgerton

fourty-four • pall mall

"Well done, Simon!" Daphne cried out.

Colin turned and looked at his sister with disdain, "one never cheers one's opponent in Pall Mall." He said archly.

"He's never played before," she said. "He's not likely to win."

"Doesn't matter."

Daphne turned to Nola and explained, "bad sportsmanship is a requirement in Bridgerton Pall Mall, I am afraid."

"I'd gathered." Nola rolled her eyes jokingly, rocking the baby resting on her hip.

"My turn," Anthony barked. Giving the black ball a great whack. It sailed splendidly over the grass, only to slam into a tree and drop like stone to the ground.

"Brilliant!" Colin exclaimed, ready to take his turn.

Anthony muttered a few things under his breath, walking to join his wife and child. None were suitable for gentle ears.

It was soon enough Nola's turn, and without a word she drew back on her mallet with all her might and slammed into the ball. It sailed through the air in a rather impressive arc, then smacked into the same tree that had foiled Anthony and plopped right on the ground next to his ball.

Nola looked over at Anthony. He looked very, very pleased with the current state of affairs.

"What are you going to do to me?" She asked.

He leaned forward devilishly. "What am I not going to do to you might be a more appropriate question, love." Nola's mouth parted, trying to regain her breath, knowing Anthony caught on to the way he made her feel. A smirk grew on his lips. "Hastings!" Anthony yelled. "It's your turn."

While the Duke tapped his ball towards the next wicket, Anthony leaned against the tree with crossed arms, his ridiculous smirk still visible as he waited for his wife.

"Oh, Missus Bridgerton," he finally called out. "Play of the game dictates that one follows one's ball."

He watched her tromp over to his side. "Sorry, I was making sure your daughter was staying still," she grumbled. "Now what?"

"You really ought to treat me with more respect." He said, offering her a slow, sly smile.

"Touché." She laughed, "what I ought to do is have you drawn and quartered."

"Such a bloodthirsty wench," he mused. "You'll do better at Pall Mall... eventually."

Nola merely smacked his arm as he pulled her into him, pressing their lips together. "For the love of god, Anthony," Colin yelled. "Take your bloody turn."

Anthony looked down to where the wooden balls sat kissing on the grass, his black, hers bright blue. "Right," He murmured. "Wouldn't want to keep dear, sweet Colin waiting." And with that, he put his foot atop his ball, drew back his mallet-

"What are you doing!" Nola shrieked.

- and let fly. His ball remained firmly in place under his boot. Hers went sailing down the hill for what seems like miles.