Page 31 of What's a Duke Got to Do With It
Katrina frowned. “But that is ridiculous. It is not so long ago that you used to be at the center of such revelries.”
His eyes, so solemn they made her heart crack, found hers. “Much has changed since then, I fear,” he replied softly, then blanched. “And once again I have inadvertently insulted you. My apologies. You know as well as I, even more so, how much has changed since those days.”
Katrina felt the blood drain from her face. Indeed she did.
But she would not focus on that. Nor did she want him to focus on all they had lost. Shifting forward on the blanket, she smiled. “That may be,” she said, “but I do hate to see your talents for such games go to waste. I recall, after all, just how many of the young gentlemen you bested. You were quite the dashing athlete, and I cannot imagine you have lost those abilities.”
He laughed that rough, unused laugh of his, his features softening with relief that the uncomfortable moment had passed. “And how many did you best? I vow, Miss Denby, you seem to have forgotten your own talents.”
“Nonsense,” she declared a bit self-consciously. “I’m certain you all let me win. I was never able to practice such games in my childhood, and so cannot have been as accomplished as you seem to imply.”
That laugh again, though this time perhaps less rusty. “You may rest assured, I was too prideful to have done anything but try my hardest to win. No, your victories were entirely your own. It seems you have a natural talent.”
Unused to being praised in such a way, Katrina’s cheeks heated. “Are you saying,” she said in an attempt at deflection from such a kindness given to her, “that you are not so prideful now?”
His eyes shone with humor. “Miss Denby, are you attempting to verify if I would allow you to win now, just because I am not that conceited young man I used to be?”
In answer she rose, dusting off her skirts and holding out a hand to him. “There is only one way to answer that, isn’t there?”
He considered her for a time, a small half smile on his face that could be either humor or exasperation. “That invitation is too tempting to pass up,” he finally said, the words a low rumble.
Why did it feel as though that innocent statement held a deeper meaning? She did not have long to dissect it, for he reached up, clasping her hand, and she quite forgot what they had been discussing as awareness centered on where their palms met.
It was pure instinct that had her planting her feet wide and tugging as he maneuvered his feet beneath him and rose to standing. What she had not counted on, however, was how little help he actually needed from her—nor had she counted on her own strength. Much like Mouse when he had a rope between his teeth and her on the other end of it, she tugged much harder than was warranted. He gave a surprised grunt, nearly flying forward, just catching himself before he crashed into her and brought them both back down to the sand.
It was a simple mistake, one that should have been laughed off as they parted and went about their day. Except Katrina committed a fatal error: she glanced up. That was all it took, apparently, one quick look at his face, and she was lost. Her breath, which had grown shallow upon that first touch, was sucked right out of her chest at the sight of his gray eyes peering into hers, at those full lips parted ever so slightly, at the small divot between his brows as he gazed down at her. She ached to smooth that line, to press her finger to the indentation in his chin, to trail the pads of her fingers over his hard jaw and dive into the thick waves of hair at the nape of his neck…
“I say, Ramsleigh, you’re taking your sweet time,” Mr. Bridling called out. “Come and join in our game, and Miss Denby with you. Unless, of course, you fear me getting the better of you.” He laughed uproariously, the sound dancing along the breeze.
The duke looked down at Katrina, his lips kicking up in a rueful smile. “What say you, Miss Denby? Shall we?”
Katrina smiled and nodded, allowing him to lead her over the sand. All the while thinking she would follow him to the ends of the earth if he asked her.
The very last thing Katrina expected when following Sebastian out onto the flat expanse of sand toward the others was to enjoy herself. Yes, she had suggested they join the others, but to bring a smile to the duke’s face more than anything. She had quickly come to the conclusion, however, that perhaps she had needed this bit of lighthearted fun as much as he had.
She swung at the cork bird, feeling the vibration of it hitting the strings of her racquet with a satisfying thwack. A cheer went up from the group around her, and she grinned. No, she had not expected to enjoy herself. Yet here she was.
“Miss Denby, that was a brilliant hit,” Miss Mishra called out, bouncing on the balls of her feet in her excitement.
“Even more so for the fact that your brother missed it?” Mr. Mishra said with a wink for his sister.
“Well, that certainly didn’t hurt my enthusiasm,” Miss Mishra quipped.
“I suppose I should have warned you,” the duke called out as the shuttlecock went airborne again, hit up into the air by Mr. Bridling’s enthusiastic swing, “Miss Denby is brilliant at this game. I saw her once put a dozen London gentlemen to shame in the middle of Hyde Park.” The cork bird flew his way just then, and he drew his baddledore back, hitting the shuttlecock with terrifying precision toward Katrina.
“You shall not distract me, Your Grace, by bringing up my past triumphs,” she called out, hitting the shuttlecock back toward him, her heart flying right along with it. It had been so many years since she had experienced this joy. She felt, quite literally, as if she had found a part of herself that had been missing.
That fact was compounded upon a moment later as the bit of cork dropped to the sand at the duke’s feet. Grinning in a carefree way she had not seen since his arrival on Synne, he performed a gallant bow her way.
“Well done, Miss Denby,” he murmured. “You have not lost your touch, I see.”
Why did it feel as if he meant more than her talent for the game? But Katrina was too happy to look at it too closely.
Lord Martin Beckett, Lord Wesley Beckett’s younger brother and still at university if the ginger fuzz sprinkled across his upper lip was any indication, looked at her with bright eyes. “I vow, Miss Denby, I don’t believe I have ever seen any female play such a fine game before.”
“Female?” Regina queried archly, pushing a lock of sable hair out of her face. “I daresay that was a fine game regardless of gender.”
But Lord Martin was not the least offended that his prejudice had been called out. He laughed, the sound as carefree as the gentleman himself. “You are correct in that, Miss Hargrove. But surely there is something Miss Denby is not good at. Say, footraces?” He looked to the duke. “What say you, Your Grace? Do we have a chance at that, do you think?”
