“Prove it.” Blake’s eyes spoke of his challenge.
Jane lifted the bow, nocked an arrow, and drew the string to her cheek. It had been some years since she had last practiced archery, and she was not as strong as she had been. Still, the bow felt good in her hands.
“When was the last time you did something just for yourself?”
The Duke’s words echoed in her mind. But even as they did, a small voice whispered,No one will want you if you behave like this.She pushed it away, took a deep breath, and then loosed her arrow. It soared through the air, but even as she watched its trajectory, she knew it would miss the target. The arrow lodged an inch to the left of the Duke’s. A good shot, but not as good as she had wanted.
She turned and found Blake watching her. She expected him to tease her, to accuse her of boasting about talents that she did not have. But he did not.
Instead, he said, “If you had relaxed your elbow somewhat, you would have made the shot.”
“Thank you,” Jane answered, taken aback. “I am rather out of practice.”
Before either of them could say anything further, the servant cleared his throat, calling both of their attention back to him.
“The lady and the gentleman have completed the challenge. You each had one shot—one chance at true love. The gentleman’s aim was more true, and thus he has claimed the prize.” The servant looked apologetically at Jane as he handed Blake a bottle of wine.
“It would seem I am the victor.” Blake glanced at the bottle in his hand. “Glassbury was not joking, this is a rather fine vintage.”
“So it would seem.” Jane felt her heart rate speed up as the Duke moved towards her.
“I believe we had a wager, did we not?” Blake looked seriously at Jane, though she could see the ghost of a smile on his lips.
“We did, indeed.” Her chest tightened.What is he going to make me do?“What is my task?”
“Your task, my dear Miss Pembleton,” Blake murmured, his gaze full of impishness, “is to readShe walks in Beautyand tell me if you remain unmoved.”
Before Jane could say anything else, the Duke moved away and bowed. “Now, I am off to enjoy my winnings. Good evening, Miss Pembleton.”
She stood for a moment, unsure if she was more frustrated by the Duke winning, walking away, or by the fact that she now had to read one of Lord Byron’s poems. Sighing, she shook her head and began to make her way back to the castle.
One way or another, she would get her revenge. The Duke might have won this round, but she would be victorious in the end.
* * *
“Mother, for the hundredth time, Father is finding me a match. And even if he was not, there is no one here I am remotely interested in,” Jane said exasperatedly.
Her mother had decided to drop in for a surprise visit—to pay her respects to the future bride and groom, she claimed. But Jane knew that it was because her mother wanted to play matchmaker.
“Now, Jane, do not be ridiculous. There are plenty of eligible bachelors here—I am sure we can find someone suitable.” Lady Cotswalts beamed at her. “Someone with whom sparks will fly!”
“It is far too early for this,” Jane groaned.
The sun had barely begun to rise when her mother stormed into her room, Emily close behind her, and tried to choose her attire for the day.
“If you are looking for sparks, Mother, then might I suggest you watch Jane and the Duke of Caden. Truly, it is practically fireworks when the two meet.” Emily gave their mother a wolfish grin, and Jane flashed her a warning look.
“I think you mean gunfire, dear Emily. Entirely the wrong sort of spark.” Jane tried to sound acerbic but felt her cheeks flush as she said so.
“The Duke? Sparks?” Lady Cotswalts looked alarmed.
“Do not fret, Mother. The Duke of Caden is thelastperson I would want to marry. He remains utterly infuriating. Besides, he is not the marrying type.” Jane frowned at the strange, sudden pang in her chest.
“I do not know, I think there is more to him than meets the eye.” Emily gave Jane a look that she could not quite read.
“I highly doubt that. I know that sort of man, and you would both do well to stay away from him.” Lady Cotswalts spotted a gentleman on the far side of the garden. “Now Lord Comley, that is a man worth pursuing.”
“You cannot be serious!” Emily exclaimed. “I do not think a more boring man has ever existed!”
