“Now,” Llandrindon said, “let’s see who we are to face in the final round.”

They watched the two remaining teams compete, Mr. Swift and Miss Leighton against Mr. Mardling and Miss Higginson. Mr. Mardling was an uneven player, following brilliant shots with awkward ones, whereas Miss Higginson was far more consistent. Cassandra Leighton was hopelessly bad and highly amused by the fact, giggling and tittering uncontrollably during the entire match. It was profoundly annoying, that continuous laughter, but it didn’t seem to bother Matthew Swift.

Swift was an aggressive and tactical player, considering each shot carefully, displaying an easy economy of motion as he bowled. Daisy noticed that he showed no compunction about knocking the other players’ bowls out of the way, or moving the jack to their disadvantage.

“A formidable player,” Lord Llandrindon commented softly to Daisy, his eyes twinkling. “Do you think we can best him?”

Suddenly Daisy forgot all about the novel that awaited her inside the manor. The prospect of playing against Matthew Swift filled her with anticipation. “Doubtful. But we can give it a good try, can’t we?”

Llandrindon laughed appreciatively. “We certainly can.”

Swift and Miss Leighton won the game, and the others left the green with good-natured exclamations.

The four remaining players gathered up the bowls and the jack, and returned to the delivery line. Each team would get four bowls total, two shots for each player.

As Daisy turned to face Matthew Swift, he looked at her for the first time since she had arrived. His gaze, direct and challenging, caused her heart to thump hard in her chest, sending blood hurtling through her veins. His tousled hair fell over his forehead, and his sun-warmed complexion glowed with a subtle sheen of perspiration.

“We’ll toss a coin to see who goes first,” Lord Llandrindon suggested.

Swift nodded, his gaze dropping away from Daisy.

Cassandra Leighton squealed with delight as she and Swift won the coin toss. Skillfully Swift rolled the jack out to the head of the green in a perfect position.

Miss Leighton picked up a bowl, holding it close to her bosom in what Daisy suspected was a deliberate ploy to call attention to her generous endowments. “You must advise me, Mr. Swift,” she said, sliding him a helpless glance from beneath curly lashes. “Should I throw it with the flat side of the ball on the right or the left?”

Swift moved closer to her, repositioning the ball in her hands. Miss Leighton radiated delight at the attention he paid her. He murmured some advice, pointing out the best path for the bowl while Miss Leighton leaned closer until their heads were nearly touching. Annoyance spiraled upward from Daisy’s chest, tightening her throat muscles like a corkscrew.

Finally Swift stepped back. Miss Leighton moved forward with a few graceful steps, letting the bowl fly. But the drive was weak, and the bowl wobbled and rolled to a halt right in the middle of the grass lane. The rest of the game would be far more difficult with that bowl in the way unless someone cared to waste one of their shots to knock it aside.

“Hang it all,” Daisy muttered beneath her breath.

Miss Leighton nearly collapsed with more loud giggles. “Dear me, I’ve fouled things up awfully, haven’t I?”

“Not at all,” Swift said easily. “It’s no fun if it’s not a challenge.”

Irritably Daisy wondered why he was being so nice to Miss Leighton. She wouldn’t have thought he was the kind of man who was attracted to silly women.

“Your turn,” Lord Llandrindon urged, handing a bowl to Daisy.

She curved her fingers around the scarred wooden surface of the sphere and turned it until it felt right in her hands. Staring at the distant white shape of the jack, she envisioned the path she wanted her bowl to go in. Three steps, a back swing of her arm and a fast forward drive. The bowl shot down the side of the green, neatly avoiding Miss Leighton’s, then curving at the last second to land precisely in front of the jack.

“Brilliant!” Llandrindon exclaimed, while the onlookers cheered and applauded.

Daisy stole a quick glance at Matthew Swift. He was watching with a faint smile, subjecting her to a survey that seemed to penetrate to her bones. Time stopped as if it had been tacked down with diamond pins. It was seldom, if ever, that a man ever looked at Daisy this way.

“Did you do that on purpose?” Swift asked softly. “Or was it a stroke of luck?”

“On purpose,” Daisy replied.

“I doubt that.”

Daisy bristled. “Why?”

“Because no rank novice could plan and carry out a shot like that.”

“Are you questioning my honesty, Mr. Swift?” Without waiting for his reply, Daisy called to her sister, who was watching them from the cluster of chairs. “Lillian, to your knowledge have I ever played bowls before?”

“Certainly not,” came Lillian’s emphatic reply.

Turning back to Swift, Daisy gave him a challenging stare.

“To make that shot,” Swift said, “you would have to calculate the green speed, the required angle to offset the bowl bias, and the point of deceleration at which the bowl’s path would turn. While also taking into consideration the possibility of a cross wind. And you’d have to have the experience to pull it off.”

“Is that how you play?” Daisy asked breezily. “I just envision how I want the bowl to go, and then I roll it.”

“Luck and intuition?” He gave her a superior glance. “You can’t win a game that way.”