Page 63 of Never Dare a Duke
She was very good, and she easily defeated her opponent, Mr. Tilden.
And when she wasn’t setting arrow to string, she was talking with the journalist. Christopher let her have her head, but when he overheard snatches of their conversation, he realized it was mostly about Elizabeth, and that annoyed him. Did she want to bring his sister to the attention of the world? Why would she be doing so?
When they paused for lemonade, he cornered Abigail to discover her purpose.
She gave him a faint smile. “Did you not notice how focused he is on you? He is discussingyourather than the ghost with everyone he can. I decided to distract him.”
“My knight in shining armor.”
She grinned.
“Feeling guilty?”
Her grin faded just a bit. “Aren’tyou?”
They looked into each other’s eyes. Damn, but if she wasn’t making him feel guilty.Shewas the one who was lying.
She was the first to look away, taking a sip of her lemonade, then speaking quietly. “Did you notice that Mr. Walton almost seems to be…antagonizing you?”
He shot a glance at the journalist, who was trying to speak to his mother. The duchess’s look was polite, but cool, and Christopher found his buried temper beginning to simmer.
“And I think it’s working,” Abigail added.
How could she think she knew him so well? “Your next opponent is waiting, Miss Shaw. Shall I give you some pointers, show you just how to stand? I could demonstrate from behind you, my hands on your hands as you held the bow.”
Her eyes widened, her lips parted, and for a moment, they were thinking about other things. The color rose in her face, and he thought about standing so close behind her that his chest touched her back, that his hips nestled against her backside.
“Ooh, that is unfair,” she said. “Are you trying to make me lose?”
She handed him her lemonade so quickly that some spilled onto his hand. He barely withheld a chuckle. Why was it so easy for her to make him laugh, even when he could not afford to lose his concentration?
Then she had the audacity to look so cool and composed under broad daylight, as she next defeated the earl of Greenwich, who did not take his loss to a young lady well. He stomped back to his wife, muttering.
The other women of the party applauded enthusiastically, and Christopher realized that Abigail was the last woman still in the competition. Only when she faced Keane in the final match did she lose, and not by much. Keane held her by the hand, displaying her to everyone while they applauded, and Christopher felt the stirrings of jealousy.
A picnic luncheon was set up in the park, and Christopher calmly approached the journalist, and said, “Walton, you may enjoy the meal, but afterward, you will make your excuses to my sister and leave. I am certain you have enough for your little ghost story.”
“One can never have enough research, Your Grace. Perhaps I don’t wish to leave.”
Christopher studied him with interest. Why was the man deliberately trying to provoke him? “That is what a duke has footmen for. I will be happy to have you escorted from the property. Now do enjoy your luncheon.”
He walked away. He kept his mother company and amused the older guests. Only sometime later, when he glanced around to see what Walton was up to, did he realize that the man was missing.
He could not believe that he would leave so easily—and early, at that. Christopher excused himself and wandered through the crowd, but could not find him.
And Abigail was missing, too.
Damn her, he thought, trying not to pick up his pace too obviously. Was she again attempting to protect him? Or was she taking it upon herself to discover the man’s true purpose?
He thought of where Abigail might take him and remembered her fascination with the castle ruins. He casually headed that way, even hid on the path to make sure no one was following him. If he had to escort Walton out, he didn’t need an audience.
He expected to find them speaking calmly, for Abigail was not one to lose her composure. Instead, he heard them before he saw them, and the angry tone of their voices made him instinctively remain hidden behind a curve of the path.
“Don’t bother lying,” Walton was saying. “I thought I recognized you the moment I arrived, but I assumed it was only because you were of Society. I finally realized that you’re as much of Society as I am.”
“I do not know what you’re talking about,” Abigail said coldly.
But Christopher recognized a faint thread of fear in her voice. And his instinct was to go to her, to protect her.
