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Eden released the smallest gasp and placed her hand on her heart. Were those tears in her eyes? Jed squinted, but then she blinked and they were gone. ‘Of course, I’ll do that as soon as I get home,’ she said.

Home. She’d called Elmsleigh House home. He sat back, folded his arms and smiled. If Eden had a connection to the charity she would want to help make the polo fundraiser as success.

Eden Ennis wasn’t going anywhere. Not for the time being.

It both pleased and terrified him.

* * *

This was it. This was the real deal.

The practice event a month ago had nothing on the high-stakes polo match unfolding at Cowdray today.

It was another perfect spring-melting-into-summer day, filled with sunshine and a slight breeze that kept the day from being overly uncomfortable.

After consulting Mick on what to wear and raiding her cupboard, Eden had finally settled on an off-the-shoulder, paisley-patterned maxi dress cinched in at the waist with a broad leather belt.

She’d also borrowed a slouchy hat to keep her face out of the sun.

Eden, a glass of champagne in her hand, stood on the grassy bank, revelling in the late afternoon sunshine. It was the last chukka between the Castle Kings and a team whose name she couldn’t remember, and tension and excitement permeated the air.

‘The Kings got the last goal of the chukka because Montoya was blocked by number two. That’s what allowed Harris to get the run around to the goal.’

‘Montoya is a chatto .’

Eden smiled. She’d been hanging around polo players long enough to know that chatto in Argentinian Spanish meant dick, but in polo terms, it was the commonly used term for saying someone was a crap player.

Not that anyone at this level could be called crap; they were all at the top of their game.

But Jed, scorer of most of the goals for the Castle Kings, was freakin’ bloody fantastic.

Eden took in the spectators filling the grandstands, a vibrant sea of colour made up of summer hats, airy dresses and sharp, feminine suits. Their voices, weaving a luxurious tapestry of murmurs and laughter, were further punctuated by cheers of approval as the game resumed.

This was it, the end of her first proper, grown-up, high-stakes game.

The field, a rectangle of emerald green, was meticulously manicured.

With every breath, she inhaled the combination of freshly cut grass, leather from the saddles and bridles of the players’ ponies, perfume, cologne and the delicious scents emanating from the food carts situated at the far end of the grounds.

Her allergy was a lot better, and these days she was only plagued by a few sneezes here and there.

Jed sat in his saddle, his eyes sharp and gaze focused, radiating precision and power.

His shirt clung to his torso, streaked with dust and sweat.

He held his stick with an easy, almost casual grace as he waited for the chukka to start.

His pony’s glossy coat gleamed– he was riding Rey– and she quivered as she waited, taut with anticipation.

The opening whistle cut across the ground and the ponies exploded, surging forward as they thundered across the field. Dirt and grass flew up as the players steered their mounts to make quick changes in direction with a shift of their weight and barely discernible tugs on the reins.

The sharp crack of Jed’s mallet smacking the ball sent a thrill through the spectators and down Eden’s spine, and pushed heat into her core. This was such a sexy, sexy sport…

She followed the ball as it raced across the field, a small, swift blur against the vivid green.

Jed, bent low over Rey’s back, chased down his opposite number, and cheers erupted as he stole the ball and whipped Rey around to head in the opposite direction.

The crowd surged to their feet as he leaned low, guiding Rey in a sprint toward the goal.

Eden groaned when he was blocked by another player in what the people around her immediately, and vociferously, called a foul.

Eden barely breathed during those final few minutes of the game, as the score remained tied.

In the last moments, Kit stole the ball from his opponent and passed it to Jed who was waiting on his outside.

Using all the power in his broad shoulders, his mallet cut the air as he thwacked the ball in one last strike.

It sailed through the posts, and Eden, along with the rest of the crowd, screamed her delight, jumping up and down on her spot.

She got it now, got why people were mad about this sport. It was exhilarating and heartbreaking, exciting and, yeah, as sexy as hell.

And damn, she needed a drink. And a cold shower.

Forty-five minutes later, Eden stood with Mick in the main hospitality tent, a gin and tonic in her hand.

The atmosphere was now relaxed and convivial, a marked contrast to the tension earlier.

The players, still dusty from the field, chatted casually with spectators, took photos, and signed autographs.

Jed, looking fine in his dirty jodhpurs and grubby shirt, held a beer in his hand and was laughing with Troyden and a dapper man in a suit. He looked relaxed and happy, a satisfied smile on his face. She’d thought he was a good player before, but now she was aware of his skill.

Talking about excellence…

She looked around and internally grimaced.

Cowdray was one of the premier venues for polo in the country and had a rich history of hosting amazing events.

Eden hoped that the village’s organising committee, and the sponsors, didn’t expect the charity polo match to be as slick as this. There was no chance of that happening.

Somehow, and because they were now raising funds for Hope Harbour, Eden had become the charity committee’s PA and was virtually organising the event single-handed.

And that was okay; she was used to working behind the scenes, making other people shine.

She had played that role for the Bancrofts for years and was a whizz at logistics.

You couldn’t funnel millions to charities and projects without having your ducks in a row.

Her ducks, admin-wise, were military-trained and never stepped a foot out of line. She might struggle with people– she did struggle with people!– but she could organise the shit out of anything. And because she was doing this for Hope Harbour, she wanted it to be a stunning success.

But the meetings were a nightmare, mostly thanks to Jed and Henry being annoying, competitive bastards. If one said the sky was blue, the other said it was pink with purple spots. It was exhausting and counterproductive and she was on the verge of suggesting that one, or both, should resign.

But Jed was their polo consultant, and she needed his expertise about how to run the matches, the timings and the logistics around grooms and horses.

Henry had a million contacts in the City and through him, she’d arranged sponsorship of the tents, stands and advertising.

He’d also offered to host the charity match at Bythesea Hall and was spending money to transform an unused piece of land close to the Hall into a polo field.

They both had their strengths and uses, but they were doing her head in.

Eden rested her cool glass against her cheek and watched Henry interacting with a girl in a barely-there dress.

If he was a perfectly polished diamond, then Jed was Alexandrite, that amazing gemstone that changed colour depending on the light source.

Henry was every inch the young, handsome duke, but Jed exuded a don’t-care, highwayman vibe.

She liked Henry– they’d met up for a few coffees and had a drink at the pub– but she didn’t experience the same chemical reaction, shivers-down-her-spine, moisture-leaving-her-mouth, do-me-now reaction with him as she did whenever Jed walked into the room.

Around Jed, she was in a constant state of hyper-awareness, conscious of every move he made, all the time.

She didn’t want to think of Jed, and the way he’d kissed her, and the fact that she’d had more than a few X-rated dreams lately.

Since their wild kiss, she’d woken up most mornings sweaty, wild-eyed and more than a little damp.

She’d had one or two sex dreams in the past, and some fantastic orgasms in the process, but lately she always woke up before the crucial moment.

Which meant that she was in a state a constant horniness.

Get your mind out of the bedroom, Ennis .

She switched thoughts and wondered why Jed and Henry hated each other.

Or, to be fair, why did Jed constantly goad Henry?

Henry had inherited a dukedom, not something he could control, and was down to earth, or as much as a guy who owned a fifty-something-room mega-mansion and most of the land surrounding the Bythesea village could be.

Sure, their acquaintance was brief, but she knew he wasn’t a bad guy and sensed he was as lost and alone as she was. Someone standing outside the cool kid’s gang, wanting to join in but not knowing how. She knew how he felt, she was a pro at standing on the outside looking in.

What was Jed’s problem? That he hated him– and no, she wasn’t exaggerating– was easy to see. But what on earth could Henry have done to elicit such a reaction in Jed who, from all accounts and what she’d seen, prized logic over emotion?

Maybe she’d broach the subject over dinner tonight.

Henry had invited her out early in the week and he’d used the excuse of her working hard as a reason to treat her to a meal.

But when he told her he’d make a reservation at an upmarket restaurant two villages over, she wondered if he was thinking date .

How could she go on a date when she spent her nights, and a good portion of her days, mentally beating herself up for walking away from Jed?

Jesus, she was screwed. And not in a good, set-her-panties-on-fire way.