Page 16 of A Bargain with the Rakish Duke
Beatrice wished she could be as carefree. As the game wore on, she tried to emulate his good-natured attitude, reminding herself that it was just a game.
The Viscount, however, was not as forgiving.
“Really, Oxthorpe,” he said, shaking his head, “one must take these things seriously if one is to improve.”
“Lighten up, Haddington,” Lord Oxthorpe replied with a wink. “It’s all in good fun.”
Beatrice managed a small smile at Lord Oxthorpe’s response.
Her turn came again, and as she prepared to strike the ball, Lady Featherwellaccidentallynudged her mallet just as she was about to swing, causing her to miss the ball entirely.
“Oh dear, I am so sorry,” Lady Featherwell said in an overly sweet tone, her eyes gleaming with malicious pleasure.
Beatrice wanted to protest, to call out the blatant sabotage, but she heard her mother clear her throat nearby, a stern reminder to remain civil. With a deep breath, she smoothed down her dress and tried to compose herself.
As she took her place again, she tried to focus on the game. The wooden balls clinked as they struck each other, and the gentle rustle of the leaves in the breeze created a serene backdrop that contrasted sharply with the tension she felt.
Lady Featherwell’s whispers to her fellow players were as bothersome as a fly buzzing in her ear. Difficult to ignore and persistent.
Her turn came once more, and just as she was about to swing, she noticed a rider approaching the field.
The horse was a magnificent creature, its coat gleaming in the sun, and its rider handled it with expert skill. The man rode with a natural grace, guiding the horse effortlessly over the manicured lawn.
As he got closer, Beatrice recognized him.
It was the Duke, dressed in riding clothes but noticeably without a cravat. His neck glistened with sweat under the sun, and he had undone a button, revealing the top of his chest. The sight of him, so raw and unrefined, sent a tingling sensation through her, an attraction and an excitement that she found hard to suppress.
Lady Featherwell’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Lady Beatrice, do hurry up. We haven’t all day.”
Beatrice glanced at Lady Featherwell, who was also watching the Duke’s approach with unmistakable interest. The mocking smile on Lady Featherwell’s face was now tinged with a hint of hunger.
Beatrice shook her head, trying to refocus. She lined up her shot, her hands trembling slightly on the mallet.
The presence of the Duke, his disheveled but undeniably attractive appearance, made her heart race.
With a determined breath, she struck the ball, sending it rolling across the lawn.
Suddenly, a shrill cry pierced the air. Lady Featherwell collapsed dramatically onto the grass. Instantly, everyone rushed to her side, their concern palpable. Kenneth halted his horse and dismounted, running towards the commotion.
“Lady Featherwell, are you all right?” he asked, kneeling beside her.
Lady Featherwell, feigning weakness, leaned heavily into his arms. “Oh, Your Grace, I feel so faint,” she murmured, her eyes fluttering shut.
Kenneth looked genuinely concerned as he helped her to her feet. “I will take you back to the house,” he said, his tone polite.
As he guided her towards the house, he stopped briefly next to Beatrice.
“Lady Beatrice. It seems you have won the game,” he said with a small smile.
Beatrice blinked, looking down at the lawn. With all the fuss, no one had noticed that she had scored the winning point. A small smile of joy began to form on her lips.
But her mother’s hand gripped her arm tightly, pulling her back to reality.
“Beatrice, how could you let Lady Featherwell get away with that? You should have done something!”
“Mother, I cannot control Lady Featherwell’s disposition,” Beatrice replied, trying to keep her voice steady.
Prudence’s eyes narrowed. “She did it to get the Duke’s attention, and you should have done something too!”
