"I am not 'most ladies,'" Penelope said, notches her arrow. "If I win, my father stops trying to marry me off to Lord Ponsonby, a man who has the personality of damp wool."
He stepped behind her, his chest inches from her back. He reached around, his large hands steadying hers. The air between them suddenly felt thicker than the summer humidity. Download File A Shot at the Duke_ A Witty His -...
Penelope let the string slip. The arrow whistled through the air and thudded—dead center. "I am not 'most ladies,'" Penelope said, notches her arrow
"And you shouldn't be poaching my deer," Arthur replied, stepping into the light with a smirk that didn't quite reach his guarded eyes. The air between them suddenly felt thicker than
Penelope looked at the target, then back at the man who had finally made her heart race faster than a hunt. "I suppose that depends on who is doing the seeking." If you'd like to continue the tale, let me know: Should the happen next? Does Lord Ponsonby try to sabotage her?
"Ponsonby is a bore," Arthur conceded, walking toward her. "But your form is still tragic. Anchor your hand to your jaw. Don't look at the arrow; look at the gold center."
"Hardly," Penelope laughed, turning in his arms. The wit that usually protected her failed as she looked up at him. "Perhaps the Duke of Ashbourne is good for something other than scowling at garden parties."
"I am not 'most ladies,'" Penelope said, notches her arrow. "If I win, my father stops trying to marry me off to Lord Ponsonby, a man who has the personality of damp wool."
He stepped behind her, his chest inches from her back. He reached around, his large hands steadying hers. The air between them suddenly felt thicker than the summer humidity.
Penelope let the string slip. The arrow whistled through the air and thudded—dead center.
"And you shouldn't be poaching my deer," Arthur replied, stepping into the light with a smirk that didn't quite reach his guarded eyes.
Penelope looked at the target, then back at the man who had finally made her heart race faster than a hunt. "I suppose that depends on who is doing the seeking." If you'd like to continue the tale, let me know: Should the happen next? Does Lord Ponsonby try to sabotage her?
"Ponsonby is a bore," Arthur conceded, walking toward her. "But your form is still tragic. Anchor your hand to your jaw. Don't look at the arrow; look at the gold center."
"Hardly," Penelope laughed, turning in his arms. The wit that usually protected her failed as she looked up at him. "Perhaps the Duke of Ashbourne is good for something other than scowling at garden parties."