Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

A sennight after the party began, dewy splendor covered the lush green landscape. Winterbourne was a carefully tended estate of woodland trees bordering a lake and small flowering shrubs that accented every bend. An arched bridge and Grecian temple complimented the flora and fauna, befitting Georgian style, and were easily reached via a specific route meant to show off Brown's design to full effect, if one walked the circular path.

Lora stood on the verdant grass in a green nankeen coat trimmed in black over a pale-yellow gown, with matching gloves and kid-skin boots. Surrounded by a group of sport enthusiasts debating the distance between two archery targets set fifty yards apart—an allowance made for the women since men shot at one-hundred yards—Lora studied Eliza's form as her friend took aim then let the shaft fly.

"Drat!" A generous amount of applause endeavored to boost Eliza's spirits as the arrow landed on the board's outer rim. "Missed . . . again."

Several women gathered around Eliza to congratulate her for actually hitting the panel.

"You're mistaken." Lora had been training Eliza off and on for the past year. She came to stand beside her, hoping to encourage her. "Practice makes perfect. Every attempt is progress on the last, and you, dear friend, have improved."

Eliza's cheeks flushed, and she smiled past her embarrassment. "I wish I had as much confidence in my abilities as you do, Lora." She placed the bow on the stand set out for their use so that someone else could take a turn. "Perhaps I should stick to what I do best."

"And what is that?" Miss Parr sweetly asked.

"Reading."

The group was so busy laughing, they neglected to notice the duke's approach. "Fresh air and exercise are good for the soul, but mastering the mind . . . Now, that is the most challenging pastime of all. And if that brings you joy, Lady Elizabeth, your aim is true."

Lora couldn't believe her ears. Was the man a poet?

She hated to memorize poetry, but she respected a well-turned-out sportsman, especially one who chose not to hawk his skills. And what woman didn't? Egads! The duke looked resplendent in a dark-green coat trimmed in black, a fawn-colored waistcoat, and trousers, a white cravat, and knee-high black boots.

Before she could find her voice, a new one entered the fray. "Why would anyone want to closet themselves in a library when the best place for a woman to show off her figure to effect is on the field with a bow in her hand?" Cringing, Lora fought to ignore her crude cousin but, as usual, he made that task difficult. It was his opinion that women were not fit for sport unless flirting and mingling with men. To which she vehemently disagreed. "Do you shoot, Your Grace?"

"I do." Beresford took his time before being more descriptive. "But not to flirt or mingle with the ladies."

Samuel spoke before she realized her mouth hung agape. "Ah," her cousin said catching on. He snatched a bow from the table and shoved it at the duke with the type of force that suggested he did not appreciate being made a fool of. "Perhaps you will honor us with a display of your prowess then, eh? I, for one, am interested in the training you received at Eton. What say we place a bet on the outcome?"

"I do not think that is wise, Samuel." Why gamble with money he did not have?

"Far be it from me, cousin, to ruin your party with a meager bet." Samuel shot a look at Beresford, while Lora and Eliza and Mina looked on. "Or are you above the challenge, Your Grace?"

She grabbed hold of Samuel's arm, despising the way he'd pushed in on their fun and ruined the happy moment. "Samuel, stop. The duke is our guest."

People gathered round. Eliza backed away. Mina stared in disbelief as Lora watched, stunned. What lengths was her cousin willing to go to win a bet?

"He is a member of this party, is he not?"

"I am," the duke answered Samuel.

Mina whispered in her ear. "I know you could easily put him in his place."

"Shhh. No one can know the truth about how good I really am."

"But—"

"I would dearly love to put Samuel in his place, but it is imperative that you keep my secret. This is an opportunity for the duke to break away from his father's shadow. I cannot steal his thunder. Secondly, when it comes to my cousin, I have found it is more profitable to remain silent."

"But you saved my life and—"

She took Mina away from anyone who could eavesdrop on their conversation. "No one can know. For reasons I cannot explain."

"No one?"

"Except my father." She leaned closer, allowing Mina this one nibble. "Should he wish it, he can explain."

"It appears that you and I both have secrets we do not want to share."

She searched Mina's tired eyes. "And are you in trouble?"

"Nothing so dangerous. You, on the other hand—"

"I can take care of myself."

"I pray you are right. But in my short lifetime, I have learned that a woman is limited in the type of care she can provide for herself."

"I'm forced to agree." Lora studied Mina, wondering not for the first time what ordeal terrified her so. "I am fortunate. After my mother's death, my father raised me alongside my brother to face obstacles no matter the danger."

"Your father seems too good to be true," Mina said. "Though I dare say some troubles cannot be fought alone."

"I assure you, his ideals are well-founded. Though his passion for life is not what it once was."

Mina's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Grief is inescapable."

Lora peered over Mina's shoulder to check how the duke and her cousin were getting on. "We must talk further. Until then, trust me. I have not asked about what you are running from. I had only known you minutes before I knew you were truly good. All I ask is that you extend that same faith in me. Believe that I know what is best, at least in this instance."

"But have the terrible things you've accomplished hardened your heart?"

"A woman must know her place," Aunt Meg said as she approached to observe the growing spectacle the duke and Samuel created. "It is not for us to interfere with the games these men play."

"Aunt!" Her chastisement was quickly shut down.

"Shhh, niece. Something is happening, and I for one am eager to hear."

They moved closer, arm in arm.

"Challenging a man you barely know is a risky business." The duke strapped on a wrist guard, ending his silence. "The target. Dead center hits only."

"Dead center, it is."

"What do you intend to wager, Lieutenant?"

"You assume that I have not done my due diligence, Your Grace," Samuel murmured, his words loaded with ridicule.

"You're mistaken." Beresford selected a bow and tested the string, nocking an arrow. "I know exactly who I'm dealing with and I accept your challenge."

Her cousin's laugh was triumphant. "And the wager?"

"You have only to name it," the duke said sharply. "The choice is yours."

"Aha! Then I offer the kiss of my fair cousin."

Lora blinked, unhappy to be put on the spot. Aunt Meg let out a huff, forcing her cane into the earth. Eliza drew close, clasping Lora's upper arm. Mina moaned her misgivings. The crowd gasped while men lengthened the distance between the two targets to one-hundred paces.

"I'll be the envy of you all when I get to kiss our hostess."

Several guffaws sounded before drifting away in the breeze.

"You forget yourself, nephew," Meg said sternly. "Lady Lora is a human being, not a sack of coin to slap down on a tabletop willy nilly."

The duke stood his ground, unwittingly subjecting Lora to scrutiny. "I accept."

Lora staggered. Were both of them daft? Why, her lips were not theirs to barter, to be auctioned off to the highest bidder.

Oh, Samuel had hatched foul business; foul business, indeed.

She placed her hand over her mouth to fend off a bout of nausea, uncertain how to bear the shame. Kissing a man publicly was positively scandalous. On the other hand, . . . No, no, no. She refused to even consider it. But against her will her mind wandered to the place she dared not go. What would the duke's lips feel like against hers, taste like? Oof! Worse. What if she had to kiss her cousin?

Balderdash!

Beresford's high rank made him the perfect match for a marquess's daughter. And she loved him. Oh, how she had always loved him. But she was not in the market for a husband. Marriage would quickly put a stop to her nightly forays into the wilds of Kingston, which was something she could not allow. Nor could she afford a scandal that would see the deed done. The world balanced on her shoulders—the future of the market town, Papa's legacy, stopping Nicholas's killer, and ridding the village of greedy thieves who were not above committing murder. One was still at large and possibly committing injurious crimes, the blackguard she'd encountered on the London Road not surviving.

Her duplicity in that death had shocked her to her bones, so she refused to think about it further. But what if her cousin won? He had a penchant for gambling, winning, and losing with the roll of the dice. She must never underestimate him. He was indomitable in his quest to inherit her father's title, Winterbourne, and her.

Good God, was that his purpose? To win and announce his intentions to all and sundry this very day, and before her father lay in his grave?

"You may do the honors, Your Grace." Her cousin's words were biting.

"After you," the duke countered.

Though Samuel looked handsome in his regimentals, she sensed a hint of nervousness in his actions—the flick of a finger—as he positioned himself, drawing back to shoot the first volley. He pulled the bowstring, stretching it taut then, on an exhale, loosed his arrow.

Lora watched with bated breath, daring the projectile to miss. The arrow disappeared into a ray of sunshine with a whoosh, then penetrated the target, missing the bullseye by an eighth of an inch.

Spectators gathered and broke into applause. Samuel smirked, disgruntled but satisfied. He left his post and made a show of straightening the high collar of his uniform as Lora's father limped into sight.

"What do you make of this?" Mina asked. "Do you think the duke can best him?"

"A bluff surely," Lora said. "I have never known my cousin to excel at any sport. His passions have always lent themselves to the gaming tables."

"Your father has arrived." Eliza gave Lora's arm a light squeeze. "Maybe he will put an end to this."

"I do not see how. Beresford agreed to this travesty."

Mina regarded the scene, nodding. "The duke must know something we do not. He is older, wiser, more experienced. His physique lends itself to the outdoors. Who's to say?"

Papa hobbled forward and said something to the duke, who looked directly at Lora. Though their eyes met briefly, the tug in her heart pulled as tautly as the bowstring he placed between his fingers.

"Oh, I cannot look," Mina said. "What, do you suppose, did your father say to him? It is obvious he has not stopped the match. The duke is preparing to shoot."

Yes, he was. Every formidable inch of him attracted her like a writhing worm to a fish dangling just out of reach. He moved with grace, nocked his arrow, and drew it back—arms flexing, muscles straining, jaw tense. Then, in one fluid movement, a delicate dance that held her spellbound, his fingers flexed and the shaft let loose.

Those gathered around stared in wonder as his arrow traveled twenty, fifty, eighty to one-hundred yards. Magnificent arc! The suspense lingered for what seemed like hours until the tip imbedded dead center on the board.

"Bravo!" several gentlemen shouted to great applause.

"Lora!"

Turning, she came face-to-face with her father.

"It is up to you whether you honor this bet," he said. "No one will say a word if you choose otherwise. I am told you had no part in it, and the duke holds himself to a higher standard than your cousin. Take into consideration that winning a bet is more important to Samuel than your reputation."

"I must go, Lora," Mina said as if desiring to avoid a quarrel. "Ruth is waiting. I fear I have left her alone too long as it is." Mina squeezed her hand reassuringly then withdrew to the house.

"Miss Parr," Papa said, stopping her. Lora watched the pair closely as her father joined Mina. "Please understand, my nephew has been away for several years. Though that does not excuse his inappropriate behavior. I hope it has no bearing on how you view others at Winterbourne."

"Indeed, it does not, my lord."

"Good. I am glad." He offered his arm in a rare, touching tribute. "Allow me to escort you back to the house, then. I understand you enjoy reading, Miss Parr. As it happens, I have just received a first edition of—"

As his voice faded with their retreat, Eliza broke into Lora's thoughts. "Is that not encouraging?"

Watching the pair depart, she asked, "What?"

"The attention your father is giving Miss Parr."

"Yes. Very." She smiled, her heart warming to the lively change in her father's attitude. "And I'm not above wishing Samuel would turn into a frog so that he cannot become master of Winterbourne and the next Marquess of Putney. I am quite piqued that he recklessly gambled my lips away."

"There are worse things to suffer," Eliza said with a sigh.

Her stomach knotted, and she stiffened. "Like what?"

"Being known as a wallflower all of your days."

"Eliza, someday a man will enchant you, and all the years you've spent yearning for that moment will vanish."

The duke divested himself of his bow and the wrist guard, then rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth. Smothering a groan, Lora knew it was unlikely that she would ever forget this mad lurching of her heart whenever she looked at him. She flattened her palms against her dress and watched the duke accept congratulations from those in his vicinity while Samuel stalked up to the house, casting worrisome glances at the woods.

"Don't look now." Lora tore her gaze away from Samuel, reservations about his behavior sinking into the pit of her belly. Why was he so on edge, so desperate to win a bet? "His Grace is heading this way," Eliza whispered, her warning too persuasive to ignore. "I wonder what he will say to you, now that he has won a kiss. Do you suppose he plans to collect his prize?"

"I do not know." Rather, she wasn't sure she wanted to know. It was all so scandalous and stimulating and seductive. A delightful shiver ran through her, warring with her anxiety.

"I have seen the way you look at each other. And do not tell me you feel nothing for him."

"I feel—" Though she was delighted to see her father finally show interest in living again, she was angry at Samuel. He'd humiliated her, mocked her. And the duke . . . he . . .

"You have done nothing wrong, sweet friend. You are above reproach."

But that wasn't true. She hunted down men and made them pay for their crimes. "I wish Nicholas was here. He'd tell me—" She stopped short in dismay. "Why can't things be different?"

"Because they aren't."

Eliza had a pure heart and, therefore, couldn't possibly understand the dilemma Lora faced. "I am in imminent danger," she said fearful of what the future had in store. "I feel it deep in my bones."

"No," Eliza said, "you are saved."

If only that were true. "Am I?"

"Yes. And now I must venture indoors before I'm christened like a baker. Heaven knows I have enough freckles already. Besides, it's time to face the duke."

"Don't go." She hung on until their hands nearly parted, forcing Eliza to stay.

The duke arrived, his eyes brimming with tenderness and passion, stealing her breath. "My apologies for entertaining that bet, ladies. I had no choice but to defend Lady Lora's honor."

She found her tongue. "I do not need a protector, Your Grace."

"Except that isn't so. Is it?"

She and Eliza exchanged glances, Eliza's eyes imploring her to go along with everything she said. "Your Grace, please allow me to applaud your archery skills. They make my paltry attempts to use a bow pale in comparison."

"No one becomes a proficient without practice, Lady Eliza."

"Thank you for saying so, but that is the problem. I cannot practice while I am at Winterbourne because Lora doesn't know how to hold a bow."

"Eliza." She blinked back surprise. Why was her friend acting out of character? It benefited no one, especially Lora. If the duke discovered her proficiency with the weapon, he might be led to suspect she was the highwaywoman he'd seen in the woods.

"You see? She's too humble by half. May I prevail upon you to give her a lesson or two? A bit of practice would put us on more equal footing."

Beresford bowed. "I would be honored."

"You see, Lora, we are saved."

"Would you like a lesson today, Lady Lora?" he asked with a faint glint of humor in his eyes. "I am at my leisure."

Eliza put her hand to her forehead, nearly unsettling her bonnet. "Oh, yes, the sooner, the better. But you must excuse me, I am quite famished. Sport kicks up quite the appetite, does it not?"

Lora shot her a warning glare.

"Enjoy your lesson. I shall be over there, chaperoning by the refreshment table. I am quite certain that Lora will be the goddess of the hunt in no time at all."

Some of Lora's frustration evaporated. "Eliza."

"Allow me." Beresford offered his hand. The charge of unbidden energy that shot through her extremities at the contact as he led her to the bow stand, proved this was a bad idea. Once there, he began removing the glove on her right hand, one delicious finger at a time. Her knees weakened, her pulse quickening. He replaced the glove with the wrist guard and began lacing it with slow, infuriating skill. Then, he plucked a bow from the table and stepped behind her, lowering the circumference of it over her head. Heat flushed over her as he whispered close to her ear. "This puts me in mind of Cruikshank's Comic Alphabet."

"A is the archer who shot at a frog," she found herself saying.

"You know it?" he asked, placing her fingers on the string one at a time. "Much can be said of intellectual sport, but there is nothing like having this kind of power in one's hands." How right he was. "It is invigorating. And once a person accepts that power, it flows vicariously through the fingers to the arrow and on to the target. A silky, smooth transition spent on a breath." He eased back her arm, leveling her hand with her cheek. He adjusted her footing and placed his hands on her waist, turning her body toward the target and melting every inhibition she'd been born with. "A line." He flattened his fingers down the length of her left arm, reviving every inch of her until she closed her eyes envisioning their bodies intertwined. "Release."

She leaned into him and turned her head toward his heat, their lips a hairsbreadth apart. Their eyes met for an instant.

"Nock the arrow."

"How?" she asked breathlessly, embracing the theater. "Show me."

The duke cleared his throat and then stiffened suddenly, releasing her arm. Before she knew what had occurred, the bow stand bridged the space between them. "That is enough for today." His gravely tone sounded as if he was in pain, but she had no idea how that could be. He was fine a moment ago. "If you like, we can pick up where we left off tomorrow."

Perplexed, she asked, "Have I done something wrong?"

"No." He shook his head. "Please, excuse me. I just recalled something that requires my immediate attention."

Beresford turned his back and walked away, leaving her staring in his wake.

"Good heavens!" Eliza exclaimed, hurrying to her side. "From where I stood, that was quite entertaining. But what did you say to him? What could have possibly caused an end to your lesson before it began?"

"I hardly know."

Had she given herself away? Did the duke suspect she was the highwaywoman from the woods?