Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

A good night's sleep, Hazel thought to herself as she sipped her tea in the breakfast room the following morning, had done wonders for her mood. Sleep often did. She'd deliberately come down late, wanting to avoid the other guests who were already gathering on the lawn. Hazel had decided while getting dressed that she would not be participating in archery or bowls today. No great sacrifice. She had never used a bow and arrow, nor was she in the mood for bowls. She might be tempted to toss one at August's head.

August was attractive, there was no denying it. Her body, her senses, recognized a large, splendid male in her vicinity. But he was not a gentleman in whom Hazel could ever be truly interested. Rakes and libertines held no appeal for her. Titled lords even less. Not to mention childhood bullies. Soldiers were another matter.

I really wish I didn't know he'd been a soldier.

How had they found a uniform to fit August, given the sheer size of him? The stretch of his shoulders alone would require a coat specially made, not to mention his trousers and—warmth bloomed between Hazel's thighs.

Stop that .

Slotting the book Maria had lent her more firmly under one arm, Hazel marched forward, refusing to contemplate the Duke of Courtland for one more second. She would spend the day reading every word of this torrid leather-bound romance, which, given her thoughts of late, may not have been the wisest choice. She should have asked Maria for a book on history or something equally useful.

Taking up residence in a chair with a view of the lawn, book in hand, Hazel made herself comfortable. This position allowed the appearance of participation in the house party without requiring her to speak to any of the other guests.

Perfect for avoiding dukes when you didn't want to be obvious in doing so.

Fluffing the cushion at her back, Hazel graciously accepted a glass of punch from one of the servants and opened her book.

Barely a quarter of an hour later, Hazel found herself to be a trifle warm, though she was sitting in the shade. Maria's book was far more erotic in nature than she had anticipated, something Hazel would ordinarily have welcomed, but thoughts of August, in various states of undress, kept intruding.

She shut the book and fanned herself, looking out over the lawn.

August had partnered Lady Coraline at bowls, which Hazel had expected. Given the warmth of the day, he had discarded his coat, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to display powerful forearms.

Entirely shocking, even for a duke. No one dared to object.

The Pierce girls were rendered speechless, as was Lady Pierce, whose teacup still hovered at her lips. Lady Coraline was gazing up at August in rapt attention, furiously batting her lashes.

Hazel made a sound. August was giving the poor girl a seizure.

And then there was Lord Garland, stomping about the game of bowls, absolutely no match for August in either form or title.

She returned to her book, determined to make progress. Two lines later, Hazel gave up once more, unable to keep her attention from the spectacle.

August loomed larger than life, a full head taller than nearly every gentleman on the lawn except for Everhurst. He marched about with military precision, leaving no doubt that he probably had strutted about in his uniform. White-blonde hair fluttering in the breeze. Bloody glorious eyes glowing from across the stretch of lawn. Impossible not to stare at August.

Even if you didn't like him.

Cradling a bowl in one big hand, August took two steps, the powerful muscles of his thighs bunching, before launching it gracefully across the lawn.

The fluttering of her pulse made a reappearance.

As a round, pudgy child, waddling about being terrible, August hadn't possessed a shred of athleticism. On horseback, with those same thighs griping his horse, every female in London and on the Continent must have swooned whenever he appeared.

Sensing her notice, August looked up, a lazy smile on his mouth as he took in Hazel sitting on the terrace. He rubbed the tip of his finger along his lower lip. Purposefully.

Heat bloomed across Hazel's breasts, no matter how she tried to stop it. This was what came of reading a scandalous tome while watching your far too attractive childhood nemesis. Who didn't remember you. And was a duke.

Hazel quickly took another sip of punch. Pressed the book open on her lap. Drew her attention from the game of bowls. She remained so focused on the paragraph before her, Hazel did not hear the approach of Lady Leek until it was far too late.

"Miss Dartmont."

Drat .

"Good afternoon, my lady." Hazel closed the book, sticking it in the cushion behind her. No good would come from the title being seen by Lady Leek.

"I'm surprised you aren't out on the lawn, Miss Dartmont. Could you find no one to partner you in bowls? A pity." False sympathy creased her sharp features. "Though I suppose you've become accustomed to it."

Yes, yes. Because Hazel was lowborn. No gentleman worth his salt would partner her. She'd heard it all before. Lady Leek really needed to work on her insults.

Keeping her features perfectly composed, she replied, "I preferred a good book today." Hazel changed her mind and pulled out the tome hidden behind her, holding it so Lady Leek could see the title. It wasn't wise. There was bound to be talk at the next tea over Miss Dartmont's lack of propriety. But this woman brought out the very worst in a person.

Lady Leek's features pinched in distaste. "Not as shocking as one might think, when one considers the reader." Her nostrils flared. "See that books are all that draw your interest, Miss Dartmont."

Hazel blinked, uncertain to what she was referring, and then she recalled the previous evening. The way Lady Leek had claimed August and pulled him back to the other side of the room. Away from Hazel.

"Oh, I don't know, my lady." Hazel gave her a sly smile. How dare this strident harpy warn her away from August? True, she didn't like him, but that was hardly the point. "Lady Talbot's library is rather extensive, but I can only be amused by books for so long. I may seek other ways to entertain myself." Hazel allowed her gaze to drift in August's direction.

A puffing sound came from Lady Leek, like a goose with ruffled feathers. "Good luck in your endeavors, Miss Dartmont. Your appeal is limited to impoverished gentlemen in need of your fortune, not your person. I doubt you will find any admirers at this house party."

"I may surprise you, my lady."

"You have not done so yet, Miss Dartmont." She leaned forward. "You play at being a lady, but you reek of the riverfront docks in Bristol."

Hazel narrowed her eyes at the insult. "My lady, how would you know how the docks in Bristol smell? Do you frequent them?"

Lady Leek's pale complexion mottled. The corner of one eye twitched. "I bid you good day, Miss Dartmont," she said stiffly.

"Good day." Hazel returned pleasantly, her fingers pressed into the binding of the book in her lap, resisting the urge to fling it at the old bat's head. But Widows of Fallen Heroes meant far too much to her. She couldn't afford to lose the connections—and support—of Lady Leek.

Lady Leek marched away, nose in the air, waving at one of the other guests.

"She's a dreadful old thing." Maria appeared, face flushed, and flopped into the chair beside Hazel. "Goodness, there is a reason I don't play bowls." She patted at her cheeks and brow with a handkerchief. The bit of linen fluttered in the breeze as she waved it in the direction of the other guests, who were walking towards the targets set up for archery.

Hazel noted the monogram at the corner. "Who was so gallant to offer their handkerchief?"

Maria didn't look away from the lawn. "What do you think of Balwyn?"

"Lord Balwyn?" She sat up. Balwyn was an older handsome gentleman with bits of silver in his hair and a quiet, almost solemn, demeanor. "He's a widower, is he not? His daughter is Miss Smithers?" She nodded to a red-haired girl seated on a blanket at the edge of the lawn, holding a sketchbook.

"Yes, the odd one who does nothing but draw. I doubt she will leave here having made a match. She's interested in nothing but her sketchbook, no matter how I've tried to steer her towards Kent, who paints. At any rate, I quite like Balwyn. I've had to give up on Everhurst as well as Courtland." She glanced at Hazel. "Whom Lady Leek made a point of demanding I keep you away from. I'll assume that was why she insisted on coming to speak to you."

"Everhurst?" Hazel knew full well who Maria meant.

"Courtland. Don't be obtuse."

"I've no idea why she would say such a thing. I have no interest in the duke."

"Yes, but his interest in you has been remarked upon." Maria arched a brow, clearly not believing her. "Lady Leek worries you'll engage in a dalliance with Courtland during the house party, possibly spoiling him for Coraline. Her words, not mine."

Hazel snorted. "Good grief. Courtland isn't a pitcher of milk. I won't taint him." She turned towards the lawn once more. "I told you, I don't find him appealing."

A group of guests had moved to the line of targets set up for archery. August lined himself up before one, stepping back farther than required, notched an arrow, and drew back the bowstring. The breeze ruffled across his back, lifting the fine lawn of his shirt enough to show the outline of muscle beneath. He was so big and male, standing there, trousers cut sharp to his form, revealing every line of sinew in his thighs, legs spread as he released the arrow. She pictured August once more as a Viking, sword in one hand, bare-chested and ready to toss Hazel?—

"Oh, Hazel," Maria drawled. "You're blushing. I knew it."

"I am blushing because of this book." Hazel held it up, horrified to have been caught ogling August. "You are bound to get an earful from Lady Leek. She found the title questionable and told me I smelled of the riverfront in Bristol."

"Terribly unkind of her. How would she know? I doubt she's ever been to Bristol."

Hazel gave her an exasperated look. "She's bound to make trouble once more and force my resignation from the charity."

"I will never let that happen. Besides, you are the largest benefactor. Now, as to Courtland…"

Hazel considered telling Maria that she'd once known August as a child but didn't.

"You may inform Lady Leek she has nothing to fear from me," she said. "I think Coraline would make an excellent duchess."

"Indeed she would." Maria smiled.

"I've no interest in Courtland," Hazel protested again.

"Of course you don't, darling." She gave Hazel's arm a pat.