"You little minx," he murmured.

She slid the fabric from her shoulders. She wasn't wearing anything underneath.

"No buttons?" he whispered.

She shook her head. She wasn't stupid. Even the best laid plans could find their way awry. One always had to dress for the occasion. There was still a slight chill in the air, and she felt her nipples tighten into insulted little buds.

Kate shivered, then tried to hide it with a breathy pant, as if she were desperately aroused.

Which she might have been, had she not been single-mindedly focused on trying not to focus on the mallet in her husband's hand.

Not to mention the chill.

"Lovely," Anthony murmured, reaching out and stroking the side of her breast.

Kate made a mewling sound. He could never resist that.

Anthony smiled slowly, then moved his hand forward, until he could roll her nipple between his fingers.

Kate let out a gasp, and her eyes flew to his. He looked-not calculating exactly, but still, very much in control. And it occurred to her-he knew precisely what she could never resist.

"Ah, wife," he murmured, cupping her breast from the bottom, and lifting it higher until it sat plump in his hand.

He smiled.

Kate stopped breathing.

He bent forward and took the bud in his mouth.

"Oh!" She wasn't faking anything now.

He repeated his torture on the other side.

Then he stepped back.

Back.

Kate stood still, panting.

"Ah, to have a painting of this," he said. "I would hang it in my office."

Kate's mouth fell open.

He held up the mallet in triumph. "Goodbye, dear wife." He exited the shed, then poked his head back 'round the corner. "Try not to catch a chill. You'd hate to miss the rematch, wouldn't you?"

He was lucky, Kate later reflected, that she hadn't thought to grab one of the Pall Mall balls when she'd been rummaging for the set. Although on second thought, his head was probably far too hard for her to have made a dent.

One day prior There were few moments, Anthony decided, quite so delicious as the utter and complete besting of one's wife. It depended upon the wife, of course, but as he had chosen to wed a woman of superb intellect and wit, his moments, he was sure, were more delicious than most.

He savored this over tea in his office, sighing with pleasure as he gazed upon the black mallet, which lay across his desk like a prized trophy. It looked gorgeous, gleaming in the morning light-or at least gleaming where it wasn't scuffed and battered from decades of rough play.

No matter. Anthony loved every last dent and scratch. Perhaps it was childish, infantile even, but he adored it.

Mostly he adored that he had it in his possession, but he was still rather fond of it. When he was able to forget that he had brilliantly snatched it from under Kate's nose, he actually recalled that it marked something else- The day he'd fallen in love.

Not that he'd realized it at the time. Nor had Kate, he imagined, but he was certain that that was the day they had been fated to be together-the day of the infamous Pall Mall match.

She left him with the pink mallet. She had sent his ball into the lake.

God, what a woman.

It had been a most excellent fifteen years.

He smiled contentedly, then let his gaze drop to the black mallet again. Every year they replayed the match. All of the original players-Anthony, Kate, his brother Colin, his sister Daphne and her husband Simon, and Kate's sister Edwina-they all trooped dutifully to Aubrey Hall each spring and took up their places on the ever-shifting course. Some agreed to attend with zeal and some with mere amusement, but they were all there, every year.

And this year- Anthony chortled with glee. He had the mallet and Kate did not.

Life was good. Life was very very good.

"Kaaaaaaaaaaate!"

Kate looked up from her book.

"Kaaaaaaaaaaate!"

She tried to gauge his distance. After fifteen years of hearing her name bellowed in much the same fashion, she'd become quite proficient at calculating the time between the first roar and her husband's appearance.

It was not as straightforward a calculation as it might seem. There was her location to consider-was she upstairs or down, visible from the doorway, et cetera, et cetera.

Then one had to add in the children. Were they at home? Possibly in his way? They would slow him down, certainly, perhaps even by a full minute, and- "You!"

Kate blinked with surprise. Anthony was in the doorway, panting with exertion and glaring at her with a surprising degree of venom.

"Where is it?" he demanded.

Well, perhaps not so surprising.

She blinked impassively. "Would you like to sit down?" she inquired. "You look somewhat overexerted."

"Kate . . ."

"You're not as young as you used to be," she said with a sigh.

"Kate . . ." The volume was rising.

"I can ring for tea," she said sweetly.

"It was locked," he growled. "My office was locked."

"Was it?" she murmured.

"I have the only key."

"Do you?"

His eyes widened. "What have you done?"

She flipped a page, even though she wasn't looking at the print. "When?"

"What do you mean, when?"

"I mean . . ." She paused, because this was not a moment to let pass without proper internal celebration. "When. This morning? Or last month?"

It took him a moment. No more than a second or two, but it was just long enough for Kate to watch his expression slide from confusion to suspicion to outrage.

It was glorious. Enchanting. Delicious. She'd have cackled with it, but that would only encourage another month of double-double-toil-and-trouble jokes, and she'd only just got him to cease.

"You made a key to my office?"

"I am your wife," she said, glancing at her fingernails. "There should be no secrets between us, don't you think?"

"You made a key?"

"You wouldn't wish for me to keep secrets, would you?"

His fingers gripped the door frame until his knuckles turned white. "Stop looking like you're enjoying this," he ground out.

"Ah, but that would be a lie, and it's a sin to lie to one's husband."

Strange choking sounds began to emanate from his throat.

Kate smiled. "Didn't I pledge honesty at some point?"

"That was obedience," he growled.

"Obedience? Surely not."

"Where is it?"

She shrugged. "Not telling."

"Kate!"

She slid into a singsong. "Not tellllllllling."

"Woman . . ." He moved forward. Dangerously.

Kate swallowed. There was a small, rather tiny actually but nonetheless very real chance that she might have gone just a wee bit too far.

"I will tie you to the bed," he warned.

"Yeeeessss," she said, acknowledging his point as she gauged the distance to the door. "But I might not mind it precisely."

His eyes flared, not quite with desire-he was still too focused on the Pall Mall mallet for that-but she rather thought she saw a flash of . . . interest there.

"Tie you up, you say," he murmured, moving forward, "and you'd like it, eh?"

Kate caught his meaning and gasped. "You wouldn't!"

"Oh, I would."

He was aiming for a repeat performance. He was going to tie her up and leave her there while he searched for the mallet.

Not if she had anything to say about it.

Kate scrambled over the arm of her chair and then scooted behind it. Always good to have a physical barrier in situations like these.

"Oh, Kaaaaate," he taunted, moving toward her.

"It's mine," she declared. "It was mine fifteen years ago, and it's still mine."

"It was mine before it was yours."

"But you married me!"

"And this makes it yours?"

She said nothing, just locked her eyes with his. She was breathless, panting, caught up in the rush of the moment.

And then, fast as lightning, he jumped forward, reaching over the chair, catching hold of her shoulder for a brief moment before she squirmed away.

"You will never find it," she practically shrieked, scooting behind the sofa.

"Don't think you'll escape now," he warned, doing a sideways sort of maneuver that put him between her and the door.

She eyed the window.

"The fall would kill you," he said.

"Oh, for the love of God," came a voice from the doorway.

Kate and Anthony turned. Anthony's brother Colin was standing there, regarding them both with an air of disgust.

"Colin," Anthony said tightly. "How nice to see you."

Colin merely quirked a brow. "I suppose you're looking for this."

Kate gasped. He was holding the black mallet. "How did you-"