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“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.
