Page 62 of Duke of Pride

Duels were so outdated and illegal, but Stephen was willing to be called unfashionable and a criminal just to have this outrageous man at gunpoint. He took a deep breath, his eyes flicking to Victoria.

“It was presumptuous of us to talk about Miss Victoria as if she has no opinions of her own,” he said sincerely. “She is totally capable of making her own decisions.”

Victoria was shocked to hear him say those words. Shaken by the fact that he had remembered what she truly desired—to be the one dictating her life. He was openly giving her this choice. No coercion, no corrupting power games.

Her lower lip trembled as she swallowed.

“Well…” She struggled to maintain her light-hearted composure as all eyes turned to her. “I must help His Grace defend the honor of Colborne House. From what I have seen, he is the one hopeless with the mallet.”

The table erupted in joyful laughter at the banter.

Victoria looked up at him, her gaze clear but loaded. She chose him. Again.

“Then I must insist, Miss Victoria.” Blackwell was determined to ruin the moment. “That I have your first dance tonight.”

Victoria looked at him with a polite smile. “This is the tradition we started at this house party, is it not?”

Stephen knew that she had to give the rake something. To deny him a third time just to take Stephen’s side would raise suspicion. It didn’t mean that it stung less.

Stephen leveled Blackwell with an ice-cold look that spoke volumes. The rake just smiled, satisfied.

* * *

The morning sun shone brightly on the lawns of Colborne House. A tent was set up at one side to provide shade and refreshments while chaos ensued. The idea of a competitive game had lifted the spirits of everyone, and soon mallets were swinging too hard, balls were ricocheting off tree roots, and laughter was ringing across the lawn.

Stephen was suffering all this racket, but he drew great pleasure from outmatching Blackwell. The rake had teamed up with Adelaide, who had sought after what she thought would be easier prey. However, Victoria was doing everything in her power to make them lose this game. Not on purpose. No one could ever play that bad on purpose.

“Miss Victoria, if you—” Stephen tried to instruct her.

She seemed determined to let out all of her frustration by hammering the balls, and she didn’t heed his directions. He didn’t really mind. He just watched her play with unbridled joy, with wild bliss.

So, he was not surprised when she hit the ball so hard that it vanished behind the thicket of trees at the edge of the lawn. Victoria shaded her eyes and looked into the distance with a huff. Thank the Lord she didn’t hike up her skirts and run like she did last time.

“Wait here,” Stephen said and made his way to retrieve the ball.

“It was my shot,” she argued, “and I shall bring it back.”

Victoria didn’t wait for his permission. She was already marching toward the copse, her spine rigid, her skirts snapping with each furious step. Stephen followed, his pulse a dull, heavy drum in his ears.

The moment they crossed the first line of trees, the chaos of the game dissolved into nothing. It was as if they were the only people in the world. Stephen didn’t even pretend that he was looking for the ball. He just realized that this was the perfect opportunity to do what he had decided to do. What his honor dictated he did.

“Victoria,” he said firmly.

“It has to be somewhere here.”

She actively searched for the ball in the overgrown grass, oblivious to his disquietude.

“Can you forget about the ball, Victoria?”

Her back stiffened. She didn’t move. She didn’t turn to look upon him. He drew closer but still kept a decent distance.

Stephen didn’t trust himself to come any closer. He needed to do this right, not ruin it the way he had every time they found themselves alone.

“Look at me, please,” he added softly.

Victoria turned to him, her hands resting on her mallet. A warning? Stephen smirked before the gravity of the situation dawned on him once more.

“We need to talk, Victoria.”

---