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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,pleasestep 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.”
