How to Catch a Duke in Ten Days by Violet Hamers

Chapter Nine

Hermione looked down, feeling her eyes widen and her hands tremble at what had happened. The arrow in the Duke’s hands had been at completely the wrong angle with the arrowhead catching her dress. At once, her dress had torn awfully, the skirt had come away partly from the bodice on one side, revealing the bottom of her corset and also the top of the chemise skirt underneath.

“Well, that was unfortunate,” the Duke said, with a chuckle under his breath. She pushed the arrowhead away as fast as she could and jumped back.

“You did that on purpose!” she accused, pulling at the skirt hopelessly, somehow praying it would magically fix itself.

“Believe me, I did not,” he said, stilling laughing away, “but the result is a very happy accident.”

“Happy? Do I look happy!?” she railed at him, still pulling at the skirt. In her effort to hold the silken skirt up, she pulled too hard, and she heard another tearing sound. She itched the silk to the side slightly, seeing that she had now ripped the chemise beneath as well, revealing a flash of bare skin.

“Well, I’m even happier now,” the Duke said with a husky tone. She held the skirt flat to her body, covering up the flash of skin as she lifted dark eyes to her. “Oh, I see you truly are angry. I apologize, I didn’t mean to do it, and I am merely jesting with you.” He hurriedly placed the longbow and arrow down on a table behind him and lifted his hands up in surrender.

“You expect me to believe that?” she scoffed before lowering her voice and glancing around them. Fortunately, her father, her aunt and the Dowager Duchess had wandered on and were nowhere nearby to see this scene unfold. “After what you did last night?”

“After what we did last night; I’d like to correct you,” he said with a smirk, “for I still maintain that you kissed me back.”

She let out a growl of frustration and turned away from him to pull back the skirt a little and examine the damage. The skirt was torn badly, perhaps beyond repair. Her father would be furious for that was another costly expense to buy her another dress.

Footsteps behind her made her snap the skirt closed, just as a voice whispered in her ear. “May I be of some assistance?” the Duke asked. She moved away from him.

“I think you have done enough,” she said sharply, about to walk away through the woods, back to the house, when she paused, looking down at the state she was in. It would hardly be proper for her to walk back into the house like this.

“I am being serious now; I assure you,” the Duke said, coming near her again.

“Are you capable of such a thing?” she said, arching her eyebrows. She briefly thought how mad her father would be if he could hear her speaking so to the Duke, but she didn’t care right now. The Duke deserved his admonishment.

“Occasionally,” he said, still smiling. “Here, take this.” He picked up the tailcoat he must have taken off earlier in order to practice his archery from where it was laying across a nearby tree branch and passed it to her. She was wary to take it, watching him as though it were some sort of trick.

“It is merely a jacket,” he said with that smile she was beginning to find insufferable, despite what it did to his handsome features. “No need to be scared of it.” He shook it slightly in the air, taunting her with it.

She lifted a hand to take it, but by releasing her skirt, she made the folds flash open again. She lowered her hand back down to the skirt, gathering it together without taking the jacket.

“In something of a pickle?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Look away,” she ordered, pointing at his face.

“Ah, we are back to our debate of orders. You expect me to follow your orders now?” he asked, still teasing her.

“Unless you wish me to find a new target for my archery practice, yes,” she said tartly. She hardly expected his reaction. He guffawed with laughter before turning his head away with the jacket held out for her to take.

“Well, I’ll be following your orders with due diligence now,” he remarked as she took the jacket from his hands and pulled it over her shoulders, pushing her arms through the sleeves and wrapping the loose covering around her body. It swamped her, because of his height, but it also held the scent that made her freeze and linger with her nose pressed into the collar.

It smelled of the sea and the woodland they were in, and something altogether deeper. It was the same scent that she had experienced in the library from him the night before. “Are you decent?” he asked, still looking away from her.

“Yes,” she said, checking that the jacket covered the rip. He turned back around, still smiling at her. She was so incensed that she threw Cordelia’s guidelines far from her mind. There was going to be nothing remotely demure or deferential in her next words. “I do not think I can forgive you for this, Your Grace.”

She briefly caught sight of his smile vanishing before she turned and hurried away. She walked as quickly as she could, through the trees and the formal garden, back in the direction of the house, holding the jacket close around her body. As she reached the pebbled path through the garden, she could hear something behind her– footsteps on the same path. She glanced back to see that the Duke was following her.

Frustrated that she had not escaped him, she picked up her pace and hurried in through the front door of the house, pushing past the butler, who nearly jumped at the sharpness of her arrival almost dropping the silverware in his hands that he had been cleaning, before she headed for the stairs. She glanced back part way up the steps, just long enough to see that the Duke’s arrival made the butler jump again. This time, he nearly tossed the silverware in the air.

“My apologies,” the Duke said quickly, before chasing her up the stairs. She huffed in frustration and lifted her skirt to aid her run up the steps.

As she reached the landing, she could hear the Duke was gaining on her fast now. She hurried down the corridors, as fast as she could, until she reached her chambers. She placed a hand on the door handle, about to fling the door open, when he caught her. He placed his arm across the door, holding it in place.

“Release the door, Your Grace,” she pleaded, pulling on the door handle in a futile effort.

“No, we have not finished our discussion.”

“I have.”

“I have not,” he said with feeling. The strength in his tone made her pause and look up to him from the door. He was standing close to her, reminding her of what they had shared in the library. The memory of it was torment for part of her longed to experience that thrill in his arms. The other part of her knew that it would be a deceit against him.

“Why are you so angry at me?” he asked. “I genuinely did not mean to damage your dress.”

“Because you are showing a shocking lack of respect for me, Your Grace,” she whispered hurriedly, looking up and down the corridor to ensure no one could see them together in such a way.

“Respect? Oh, I respect you; it is merely that such a feeling is being overridden by another at this moment,” he said, just as quickly.

“What is that?” she asked.

He didn’t answer. Silence descended between them just as his eyes darted down to her lips. For one minute, she had been certain he was going to kiss her again. His gaze lingered there, and he even angled his head to her; she could feel it was seconds away.

“You have not answered my question, Your Grace,” she whispered to him as he leaned even closer to her.

“I could answer it by showing you,” he murmured. She could feel his lips so close that she was aware of the feeling of his breath on her cheeks. Despite knowing she shouldn’t, her eyes fluttered closed, and she tilted her chin up, waiting for the kiss.

Before it could happen, there was a sound of a door closing nearby. Hermione snapped her head away, turning to see the source of the sound. At the far end of the corridor, she could see a maid’s shadow moving. Realizing how she had nearly been caught kissing the Duke, she had to take action.

She tapped the Duke’s arm away from the door. He jumped back dutifully, allowing her to pull open the door and hurry inside. Once the door was closed behind her, she found his jacket still about her shoulders.

She turned and opened the door again to find the Duke looking back at her with his eyebrows risen. “Changed your mind?” he asked.

She didn’t answer; she merely threw the jacket back at him. He caught it in a fuddle. When she closed the door once more, she could hear his chuckle as he retreated back down the corridor. She placed a hand to her chest, feeling her erratic breathing, and she was aware of the panic coursing through her body.

What am I doing? Shouldn’t I be happy that he nearly kissed me? It is what my father wants?!

She didn’t feel happy now. She felt cruel.

* * *

Antony was trying to read The Modern Prometheus in the library when he heard the door open. He looked up, half hoping that the person disturbing him would be the same one he was trying to distract himself from.

That morning with Lady Hermione and the near kiss they had shared was lingering with him, tormenting him. On the one hand, he longed to come out from his hiding place to see her and experience the same thrill of their flirtation, but, on the other hand, he knew such a thing was dangerous. It was a strong attraction; it could lead nowhere good.

“Antony?” His mother’s voice made him sink back down into the chair with that hope dissipating. “There you are. I have been searching every hook and cranny for your whereabouts,” she said with a smile as she tottered toward him.

He smiled instantly, charmed by his mother’s errors in such matters. “Nook and cranny, mother,” he said softly.

“What?” she asked, none the wiser as she took the chair beside him, near the fireplace.

“The phrase is nook and cranny,” he said, chuckling.

“Oh,” she looked most confused, screwing up her brow. “Your father never told me as much.”

“I know,” he said, still smiling. It was something he had always found quite heartwarming about his parents’ relationship. His mother might not have had the brightest of minds, but his father adored her, nevertheless, and her casual errors never bothered him. He was simply charmed by them. A sign of true love: to have one’s faults adored by the other.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” he said, closing the book cover and placing it on his lap.

“You are avoiding our guests,” she said, pointing at him with her eyebrows arched. “You were barely at dinner, and now you have not seen them all evening.”

“I am enjoying my book,” he said, holding it up for her to see. He’d been rereading it ever since he found Lady Hermione reading the book, and he was enjoying it more than the last time he’d read it. Rather intriguingly, he had found a bookmark within the pages, evidently placed there by her.

“You are not avoiding them on purpose then?” Rose asked, tilting her head to the side. “For example, you are not avoiding Lady Hermione, are you?”

He froze slightly, stunned his mother had been so perceptive of him. “No,” he lied quickly.

“She is a charming lady,” Rose smiled, leaning toward him and gushing. “So elegant and kind; I like her a great deal.”

“You do?” he asked, holding back the words that he did too.

“She is everything I could hope for in a daughter-in-law.” Her words made Antony shift in his seat and open his book, pretending to be avidly reading.

“I do not believe Fergus has noticed her virtues, mother. You may have to give up hope for her being your daughter-in-law.”

“It was you I was thinking of. Not Fergus,” she said quickly.

“Mother, please,” he pinched the bridge of his nose. “We have been over this, many times.”

“I wish to speak of it again,” she leaned toward him, placing a hand on his arm, “for I do not understand why you have condemned yourself to being alone. There seems no sense in cutting your nose off to spite your own cheeks–”

“Face, mother,” he said quickly. “The phrase is face.”

“Do not change the subject,” she said, shaking her head. “I wish to talk about Lady Hermione.”

“And I do not.” He moved to his feet. He pushed the book under his arm to carry it as he walked toward the doorway of the library. If he could not hide from his mother’s pleas in here, then he would retreat to his room, where he could easily hide from her.

“Antony, please, just speak with me,” she pleaded with him, tottering behind him as they walked through the labyrinth of shelves. He glanced back just once, seeing her tottering on her feet with the slim skirt. It would have been a rather funny sight had he not been so angry at the topic of conversation.

“Mother, I am not doing this again,” he said plainly. He stopped by the doorway to the library with his hand on the handle, ready to open it, as he turned back to his mother. “I have no wish to marry. Least of all Lady Hermione.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“For starters, we barely know her.”

“That’s how all relationships begin. You can get to know her,” his mother said with hope. He had to shut down that hope.

Flirtation was fine, fun even, but marriage? No, never! I experimented with that life once; I will not put myself through that pain ever again.

“I have no wish to get to know her,” he said quite loudly, speaking over his mother so she couldn’t plead with him anymore. “As far as I’m concerned, Lady Hermione could leave this house tomorrow, and I’d think no more of her than I would the next wave that crashes onto the shores of Lyme Regis Bay.”

He didn’t wait to see his mother’s reaction; he just hoped he had made himself plain. He opened the door and was about to march through it when he stumbled to a frantic stop in the doorway. Lady Hermione was standing just a step away with her hand outstretched as though she had been about to enter the library. The paleness to her cheeks, the widened eyes, and the open lips told Antony of her shock.

Oh God… she heard me.