Page 11 of The Perfect Rose

“That’s my target.” He tried to sound as off-handed as possible. He knew it was a difficult shot as well as a thin target at that range. It was most likely she’d miss the tree entirely.

“Very well. Who shoots first?”

So very formal. It was infuriating. Was it better to have her show her hand or give her reason to doubt herself from the beginning? He figured it would create more nerves on her part if she saw who she was up against. “I can go first as it was my choice.”

She only nodded, keeping her eyes downcast, the picture of demure politeness. “Shall we have His Grace be the judge?”

“Excellent idea!” Frederick whistled and Samuel turned his attention to them once again. “We request the Right Honorable Duke of Gilfordshire as our judge.” Frederick made a flourishing bow his friend’s way, amid the chuckles of the gathered guests.

Samuel lifted his chin and walked with all the dignity of, well, a duke, toward the pair of them. “My services are requested?”

Lady Rose smiled, and Frederick’s heart skipped a beat. He’d never seen her smile like that before. Her dark pink lips curved upward, and a light beamed from her chestnut eyes. Her rosy cheeks were framed by rich brown curls that shone gold in the sunlight; he had a sudden impulse to touch her to see if she was real. She nodded to Samuel. “Yes please; we need an impartial judge, Your Grace.”

“And what is on the line for this competition?” Samuel asked.

Frederick drew his brows together. He’d not thought of anything but besting the dragon, the dragon that could apparently smile. And not just smile, but smile and make him forget himself entirely. He looked at Lady Rose; she had rearranged her soft pink lips into a line, pursed together in obvious thought. She was still exceptionally beautiful; but he felt more confident he would stay focused if she kept that smile tucked far away.

Samuel broke the silence, “May I suggest the winner gets to alter the loser’s ensemble for the evening meal? A silly game my mother taught me. We ended up with the most astounding cravats, shawls, and hats imaginable,” he laughed, his mind quite obviously far from the archery field.

That would be quite a sight, Frederick having an opportunity to make Lady Rose look ridiculous. “That sounds like appropriate terms to me. Lady Rose?”

She nodded her agreement, a coy smile playing about her face.

Frederick turned toward his target, the less time he spent looking at her pretty face, the better. “The knot in that tree is our first target, Samuel.” He took a deep breath as he pulled his arrow back and settled his fingers next to the edge of his mouth. One more breath and he let the arrow fly. A satisfying thud sounded, and he was pleased to see that he’d only missed the small knot by a hand’s length.

“I do hope you enjoy beetles, Lady Rose. I’m certain I could find one for a brooch,” he laughed.

She cocked one eyebrow at him, pulled her bow back, and let her arrow loose. She’d hardly taken any time aiming. The smile dropped from his face. Bullseye.

Chapter Nine

Take that, Frederick Hastings. She turned to see her opponent who, for once, wasn’t smiling. The shocked look didn’t fit him at all. However, she didn’t intend to let him smile again until this contest was over. “I can’t say I’m fond of beetles. My uncle used to collect them. He had them pinned up on the wall in his study.” Rose shivered at the remembrance.

“My target is the fence post.” She pointed over Mr. Hastings’s shoulder.

He turned around and looked for the target, something she knew very well would be difficult to spot. It sat back behind the tree line a considerable distance. “You mean to say you think you can hit the fence post before any of those branches layered in front of it?”

She shrugged. “Unless you want to forfeit now. I have an incredible imagination when it comes to one’s wardrobe.” She narrowed her eyes, assessing him with a tilt of her head.

“You’re downright scary, Lady Rose. But I’ll take my chances. You shoot first, my lady.”

He smirked at her, but it didn’t ruffle her feathers. She was quite confident she could hit the post. She looked down the shaft of her arrow intently; at the very least, this shot would challenge her. She adjusted her three fingered shooting glove to ensure she had a sufficient hold. Henry, the groundskeeper who had been tasked with teaching her how to shoot, would have been proud. He had always seen to the smallest of details when teaching her, and he’d likely been one of the only people to truly compliment her skill. She released her arrow and was rewarded with a satisfying thwack. She smiled. A perfect shot. “I believe it’s your turn, Mr. Hastings.”

The duke blew out a low whistle. “You may have met your match, Freddy,” he chuckled.

Rose took a step back and forced her face to remain impassive even when her brain told her to be on high alert. His Grace hadn’t meant that as a marriage match, had he? If the duke were Mr. Hastings’s best friend as she believed, he could very well be planting seeds for her to see Mr. Hastings as her match for marriage. This was all part of the game, was it not?

Mr. Hastings rolled his shoulders and took his stance. His weight was just a touch too far on his front leg. She held a hand over her mouth to hide her smile. His arrow went just a tad low and buried itself in the branch of an obliging tree at the front of the tree line.

“Devil take it,” Mr. Hastings mumbled before dropping his left arm. “How did you do that?” He turned on her. He looked torn, as if he wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or frustrated.

She lifted her shoulders as if she didn’t know. But she did. There was no harm in helping him at this point; she was clearly the winner even with one target on the line. She walked over to him. “Take your stance again, please.”

He lifted his eyebrow skeptically. What else could she expect?

“Nock an arrow and look down the shaft to the target.”

He obeyed, although it didn’t look as if he enjoyed it. “Am I to take lessons from my opponent then?” he asked drily, but a smile played at his lips. She appreciated that he could still smile even when his pride took a bruising.