Page 29 of Beneath the Beastly Duke's Mask
“This one,” she said, handing him the one she had used.
“Tell you what,” he said, taking it from her. “We take turns using all the bows and arrows. We'll tally all our points at the end. Do you have a specific tally and point system?”
“Just the usual, Your Grace,” Arabella replied. “I have no qualms with any system—new or old.”
The duke raised an eyebrow. “Well, I hear experience and confidence speaking,” he said. “That makes me a tad worried.”
Arabella chuckled. “I haven't practiced in several months, so you have the upper hand.”
“So what was that?” he asked, pointing at the arrow she had shot. It was perfectly in the center of the target.
“Luck?” she said with a shrug.
"Hmm, luck," the duke repeated, chuckling. "No matter. I'm not one so petty or self-deprecating that I cannot compete without being aware of a possible loss. Win or lose, I will enjoy this."
“That is the best way to tackle anything, Your Grace,” she said, smiling at him. “My father always said that one must be a good sportsman no matter the situation or the competition. Win or lose, the process should matter more than the outcome—one is happier that way.”
“Your father was a wise man,” the duke commented. “I wish I could have met him.”
Arabella didn't say that he had probably met her grandfather when he used to treat the old duke and duchess. She was certain he recalled her last name,Lockhart, but he didn't seem to connect it to her grandfather. Perhaps the duke believed it was a common name.
They took several arrows with their bows and took their places. “Are you ready, Your Grace?” she asked. “Please, go first.”
“Ladies first,” he insisted.
Arabella nodded, widened her stance slightly, and took her first shot. It landed as perfectly as the first one. The duke clapped.
“Excellent, Arabella,” he cried. “My turn.”
He stood a few feet away from her, aiming toward the second target. He held his arm steady, but she noticed little mistakes he made. He wasn't going to make the center, but close enough to prove that he did practice and knew what he was doing. As expected, he made it to the circle outside the center.
“Not as good as you, apparently,” he said good-naturedly.
“This is just the beginning, Your Grace,” Arabella pointed out. “We have many other shots to fire.”
He smiled. “Point taken,” he said. “Well, it is your shot next. Shall we swap bows? Yours might just be better than mine.”
Arabella laughed. “I doubt it, Your Grace,” she said, handing her bow to him.
Their hands briefly touched, sending little lightening touches skittering across her skin. It was like her skin had a mind of its own.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“Ye-es,” she said, taking his bow.
She frowned. He didn't appear affected; it was just her. She inwardly sighed. Of course, it was just her. The duke didn't have a problem with inappropriate feelings—that was all on her.
“Is something the matter, Arabella?” he asked.
“No, Your Grace,” she said. “Will you go first this time?”
“I believe I shall. Are you ready?”
She nodded. For the next twenty minutes, they shot arrows until it was clear that he would not win against her.
“You are an excellent archeress, Arabella,” he said. “I believe I need lessons from you. Would you be able to help me improve? A lesson or two a week. Mrs. Cooper can count it as one of your chores.”
“I would be honored to help you, Your Grace,” she readily replied.
