How to Catch a Duke in Ten Days by Violet Hamers

Chapter Eight

“What are you doing with that?” Hermione asked, standing perfectly still as she stared back at the Duke. He had shed his tailcoat and was currently wearing his waistcoat with his shirt sleeves pulled up to his elbows, revealing a flash of forearms. Hermione felt her mouth go a little dry at the hint of muscle visible in those arms.

“Practicing,” he said with a smile and then moved the bow and arrow just an inch, making a signal for her to step back.

She took a step away hiding behind a tree. Realizing she still had Cordelia’s guidelines in her hands, she tucked the folded piece of paper down in her bodice, hiding it from view, then she turned her head to see what he was firing at. A distance from them there was a round target set up with a yellow-straw surface and rings drawn in black charcoal.

He released the arrow, and Hermione heard it whistle through the air. It landed with a loud thud in the center of the target, though a little to the left, not quite a bullseye but not far off.

“Damn,” he muttered. Hermione peered back around the trunk, looking at him with raised eyebrows. She reminded herself of what her father had urged– she had to talk to the Duke.

“In my experience, I thought that was a good shot,” she said, watching as he smirked in response, pulling out another arrow from the quiver stationed beside him on a garden table.

“I missed the very center,” he said. “I blame you.”

“Me?” she said in outrage, stepping out and into his path another time. “How on earth was that my fault?”

“You distracted me,” he said, still looking down at his bow and arrow. “Now, out of the way. I’m going to try again. Oh, wait…” he paused, lowering the bow and arrow an inch. “As that was an order, I’m guessing you’re not going to do it. Or now that you know I’m a Duke, will you hop to it and obey me?” He smiled the entire way through the words, teasing her and clearly waiting for a reaction.

Irked by his statement, Hermione chose to hold her ground instead. She folded her arms, standing firmly in the way.

“Well, I’m pleased to see you at least stay true to your word,” he chuckled and lifted the bow. “Now, please step out of the way; I don’t want you to get hurt.”

As he’d had the decency to be at least polite this time, she did as he asked. Instead of stepping back behind the tree, she walked up to his side, giving him free view of the target. She was aware he glanced once her way with those striking blue eyes before he turned back to the target, sizing up his shot.

In the silence that followed, Hermione watched him, thinking of everything that her aunt had just written down.

I have no choice. I must do it.

Yet everything Cordelia had written disgusted her. To be demure and quiet like a mouse was not in her character, no more than constantly complimenting a man would be. Everything was against her nature, especially the last guideline Cordelia had written.

‘Number Six. Catch a man in a compromising position in public, and you will force his hand. He will have to marry you then.’

Her thoughts were disturbed by the release of the arrow, and it whistled through the air. This time, it didn’t even land in the central dot, but further off to the left in one of the outer rings on the target.

“Was that one my fault too?” Hermione asked. “Or maybe you are not quite as skilled as you like to think?” The moment the words were out of her mouth, she clamped her lips shut. Her father would be most ashamed of her speaking so, but she had been herself. Was there something so wrong in that?

“I am excellent at this,” he said, with a tone that suggested he was mocking his own pride. “So, the only explanation is that you are distracting me again.”

“I am merely standing next to you,” she said as he turned to her.

“That’s distraction enough,” he whispered, his voice taking on a lower octave as he reached for another arrow.

“You should not talk so,” she said sharply, looking away from him toward the target. It was set amongst the trees, so that they were completely secluded, far away from anyone who looked their way. On this end of the estate, the wood had grown thick too, with silver birch trees encasing them.

“Why not?” he asked.

“Because it is not proper.”

“Ah, you did not seem to mind what was so proper last night,” he smirked with the words.

“I do not think I have ever met a man as forward as you before,” Hermione was tempted to laugh as she raised her eyebrows at him. Then she remembered that she was supposed to trap this man and all temptation to laugh died. “I think it best if we do not talk about what happened last night again.”

Thinking on what Cordelia had said, she could maybe prompt this man to kiss her another time in front of others to see, therefore forcing him to propose, but that felt wrong. If she was going to do this, she was going to do it with the least deceit possible.

“If it is your reputation you are concerned for, have no fear. No one saw us,” he said as he lifted another arrow.

“You still should not have taken the liberty.”

“It would be easier to think you believed your own words had you not kissed me back.” As he spoke, he released another arrow. This one was even more off the mark than before, landing in the outer ring on the target. “Damn, you’re making me even worse.”

Hermione’s lips had parted in sheer amazement that he would be so audacious. His remarks suggested a man that was a rogue, perhaps even someone who often went around kissing young ladies. If he thought her of easy virtue, then he would never propose to her. She would have to change the nature of their conversation at once.

“I cannot continue this discussion,” she said, shaking her head.

“Why not?”

“I wish to start it again.” She walked toward him, stopping him from lifting another arrow out of the quiver.

Recalling just what Cordelia had said, she attempted to put some of it into action. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance properly today, Your Grace,” she said, curtsying deeply before lifting her gaze and smiling as sweetly as she could muster. “I apologize whole heartedly for the incident last night in the library. That includes my refusal to move and the insults I gave you.” In response, he planted the longbow in the grass and leaned on it. “I beg of you to forgive me for my errors.”

She waited with bated breath, checking she had done everything Cordelia had said.

Smile sweetly, just like Phoebe does. Then put yourself at a man’s mercy. How absurd! She figured at the mercy of an apology would do well enough.

“Hmm…” he paused, holding her gaze as he tilted his head to the side. “No.”

“No?” she repeated in amazement. This had not gone according to Cordelia’s script. “Why ever not?”

“Because I do not believe you mean your apology, and to be frank, neither do I wish to hear it,” he explained as he lifted the longbow. “Last night, you were your true self. This person now, curtsying to me with flowery language,” he gestured to her, “is a façade. Whatever you may think of me, Lady Hermione, I am not a Duke who prefers people to pander to him. I’d rather you be yourself than pay me a compliment that is empty by apologizing to me for last night.”

Hermione was wrong-footed entirely. She thought again of Cordelia’s list, but there was nothing there that could help her now. “You wish me to be honest with you?” she asked carefully.

“Indeed, I do.”

“Are you sure about that?” she asked, tempted to be completely truthful.

“I would not say it if I do not mean it. Please, you may speak the absolute truth of last night.” He assured her as he picked up another arrow.

“Very well, in that case…” she paused, watching as he lifted another arrow and aimed at the target. “I think you were one of the most ill-mannered gentlemen I have ever met.”

* * *

Antony heard the words just as he released the arrow. This time, it didn’t even land in the target. Instead, it whipped through the air and landed in a silver birch tree trunk nearby.

“Ooh,” Lady Hermione made a pained sound as she watched. “I’m sure that one was my fault.” He laughed, in spite of her words, turning to see her expression. She was smiling as she stared back at him. He had challenged her to tell the absolute truth, and she had done that, much to his surprise.

She’s certainly not like any other lady of the ton I have met.

“Well, I am pleased to see you are not afraid of my disapproval,” he said, lowering the bow. “Everyone else is.”

“Everyone?” she repeated, frowning. “That seems a little hard to believe.”

“Walk a day in my shoes, Lady Hermione. You would soon see what I mean,” he assured her as he placed the longbow on the garden table. “Now if you would excuse me, I need to go and collect my arrows to try again.”

“Will you be better next time?” she asked.

“That rather depends on how long you intend to keep me company,” he said over his shoulder as he walked toward the target to retrieve the arrows. He collected ones he had shot earlier too that resided more in the center of the target. Once complete, he returned back to his shooting station to find Lady Hermione had picked up the longbow and was analyzing it in her hands. “If you want a lesson, I am an excellent instructor.”

“A lesson is not necessary,” she claimed as she held out a hand, beckoning to be passed one of the arrows. Antony stilled, holding a single arrow just out of her reach.

“You have been taught how to shoot?” he asked, with some doubt.

“My mother was always keen to ensure Phoebe and I had a rounded education,” she said, trying to grab the arrow out of his grasp. She jumped up and snatched it away before placing it in the bow.

“Where is your mother now?” he asked, circling her to give her a view of the target.

“In the church yard at King’s Lynn in Norfolk.” At her words, Antony hung his head.

“My apologies, I did not realize she had passed,” he said quickly, desperate to atone for any hurt he may have caused. “No wonder you think me ill-mannered. I should have guessed as she is not with you.”

“There is nothing to apologize for,” she said, though clearly there was some hurt there as she would not look back to him as she spoke. “She passed a little while ago. I miss her every day, but it has become easier.”

“I know what you mean,” he acknowledged, thinking back to the chair she had sat in the night before and the image of his father in the same seat.

“When did your father pass?” she asked, busying herself with preparing the arrow.

“Four years ago,” he answered. “And your mother?”

“Three,” she said. “Well, this is a miserable topic,” she altered her tone to something cheerier. “Let us talk of something happier instead.”

“Any preference on a topic?” he asked.

“I do have a preference,” she said as she pulled the arrow back. “I wish to discuss who is the finer shooter.” She released the arrow. It flew through the air and landed straight in the center of the target, not even slightly to the left or right but perfectly in the middle.

Antony felt his eyes widen in amazement before she looked back to him with an enticing smirk playing on her lips. “Then again, I think I know the answer to my question,” she said with glee.

“That is impossible.” He gestured toward the target. “I’ve rarely seen a shot like that.”

“Are you saying you do not think I could do it again?” she asked, gesturing for him to pass her another arrow.

“I’d be tempted to make a wager on it.”

“Then a wager it shall be,” she said, preparing the arrow. “What is the wager?”

He couldn’t resist the temptation to tease her, especially standing this close to her with their spark-filled conversation. Her scent was different from the ladies he met in the gentleman’s club. Where their scent was dark and musty, hers was light with a hint of rose and clementine. It made him yearn to take another step toward her.

“How about we make the wager another kiss?” he asked. She was so startled that she dropped the arrow entirely to the floor. “It seems you were the one distracted this time.”

She snatched the arrow off the floor and stood straight. Her face looked initially irked before she attempted a smile, forcing a smile she didn’t mean though Antony couldn’t figure out why.

“Let us choose another wager,” she said, lifting her chin and challenging him. “I am not fond of the idea that if I were to miss the target, I’d have to kiss you again.”

“Well, I had no idea I was such an awful kisser–”

“Your Grace,” she insisted, cutting him off. “It has nothing to do with the skill of the kisser.”

“So, you enjoyed it?” he asked, watching as she blushed all the more.

“It is a simple matter that losing the wager would mean risking my reputation further. Do not you think you have done enough damage to it already?”

“That suggests you think you cannot make the shot again,” he smiled, unable to resist teasing her more. “If you are so confident, why should we make the wager anything else?” She narrowed her eyes at him as her only answer before she looked away and lifted the arrow another time. He chuckled under his breath, waiting for her shot.

When she released the arrow, it followed the same trajectory as before and landed perfectly in the target, less than an inch away from the other.

“Well, I lost,” Antony said, with more than a little disappointment.

“Thank goodness for that,” Hermione said, looking back at him. He had itched forward while she was shooting until they were standing quite close together. Her eyes flicked down in surprise, looking at his lips.

He was tempted to kiss her. The yearning for it rumbled deep within him as he could remember the feel of her lips from the night before. For a minute, his lips hovered near hers, knowing he could take it. Yet he didn’t.

Whatever spark there was between him and Lady Hermione, it had to stay at this alone. He was more than happy to enjoy this flirtation with her, and it was certainly the most interesting flirtation he’d had, but that was as far as it could go. He only ever spent one night with a woman, and Lady Hermione couldn’t even give him that, not without destroying her reputation. As for the other option… marriage was impossible.

He leaned away from her, stopping himself from being so tempted. As he turned from her, he looked through the trees, and something caught his eye. Some distance away and staring in his direction was the Earl of Branigan walking with Mrs. Atkins and his mother. The Earl was watching the two of them intently together.

Well, I would have been trapped into marriage then, wouldn’t I? He thanked his lucky stars he had restrained himself and stepped away from Lady Hermione, determined to resist her.

“Your father seems to be keeping a close eye on you,” he remarked.

“He is?” Lady Hermione said, flicking her head round and fumbling with the longbow so much she nearly dropped it again. She turned to watch her father with an expression on her face Antony could not quite decipher. She cleared her throat, looked away, and then passed the longbow back to him.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, curious at the sudden change in her. She had gone from being at ease and not only talking with him but flirting too to this odd stiff manner.

“No, thank you, Your Grace; I am perfectly well,” she said quickly, the words practically jumbling together. She glanced at her father one last time before she looked at him, pinning what seemed to be a false smile in place. “I was just wondering…”

“Yes?” he said, prompting her on. She seemed to second guess herself.

“Never mind,” she said, about to walk past him.

“Wait, what was it you were going to–” he turned to follow her when one of the arrows in his hand got caught in her dress.

“Your Grace!” she said sharply and jumped away from him as an awful sound of silk being torn ripped through the air.