Page 5

Chapter Five

“ D on’t tell me that a woman is making you wonder whether you should shoot the stag when you see it again?” Dominic chided himself.

With Marianne and her sister gone—and the stag somewhere else in the forest—his surroundings seemed to have grown quieter. His body felt warm as it always did after the excitement ebbed.

His misfired shot echoed in his head. He could have been inside the manor now, drinking whiskey, but here he was, hoping for another shot. Hesitation seemed to have gripped a part of him.

Tension lingered after that woman drove his prey away.

Marianne . The girl called her that name.

He remembered how her eyes flashed when she shielded the stag with her body. He could still see her face as he squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again.

Ridiculous woman.

Marianne, or whoever she was, would not stop him from catching his prey. He was still on the trail, gripping his rifle tightly, ready to aim it at the stag once he saw it again.

Even as he regained some semblance of composure, he realized that nobody had done that before—taken him off the scent. Shattered his concentration.

The trail was still fresh. Even though the stag was strong, fast, and clever, it was not clever enough. Or at least not as clever as its hunter. It had darted west into the forest’s densest part.

It was expected.

It also helped that the forest floor was still muddy. Dominic crouched down to examine the disturbed earth. He was right. He knew it when he saw the hoofprints and their westerly direction.

Stealthy and patient, he remained in his element for about half an hour. Somebody else would have left the place in a huff. It was not the case with Dominic, whose breathing had calmed. It was as steady as when he first started this hunt—before Marianne came to ruin his plans.

“Foolish girl,” he muttered.

Yet, she was brave. She didn’t flinch when he shouted, and still didn’t even when the rifle had discharged. She was either brave or damaged. Perhaps both.

A twig snapped not too far away from him.

He stilled, every muscle in his body coiled and ready to attack.

“Thought I might find you like this,” Simon boomed into the silence Dominic had started to thrive in.

The Earl’s rifle was slung casually over his shoulder, a big grin on his face. Dominic groaned.

“I heard the shot and knew it was you. But I see no game in your hands. You missed? That has never happened before,” Simon remarked. “Did something else happen?”

Dominic merely grunted.

Simon narrowed his eyes at his friend, his smile disappearing. “All right, all right. I won’t ask about what rattled you.”

“I’m not rattled,” Dominic growled.

A lie, of course, but a necessary one. He did not want Simon prying further, and discovering how a young woman had distracted him. He could already hear his jests.

“Well, there is that,” Simon said, taking the hint. “The beast is yours. Most of the gentlemen are hopeless. Most of them had retreated to the manor with their tails between their legs. One was even crying about tearing his new coat on a branch. I myself could barely follow the trail.”

Then, he disappeared into the trees as if he’d never been there.

Dominic appreciated the gesture, finally having some space, but he quickly returned to the task at hand. He’d already shaken off his friend’s interruption and forced his mind back to focus, despite the still lingering memory of flushed cheeks and bright hazel eyes.

He wasn’t lying when he told Simon he wasn’t here for a maiden. He was here for business. More specifically, he was here for the hunt.

Dominic’s gaze swept across the forest once more, and there it was. His target. Still waiting.

The sight of the stag seemed almost fated—an odd, fleeting thought, but he dismissed it quickly. He wasn’t the type to depend on fate or any illusion of destiny. He’d always relied on his own skill.

The stag moved again, its muscles rippling as it shifted through the underbrush.

Dominic’s focus sharpened. The chase was on.

He kept his movements deliberate, never rushing. The forest was dense and silent, the perfect cover, but that meant the stag was always just a step ahead. It was a skilled creature, and Dominic admired that.

Finally, the chase brought him to another clearing. This one wasn’t as wide or open as the last. The canopy above let specks of sunlight filter through the branches, creating a patchwork of light on the forest floor.

There it was, the stag, drinking from a stream.

Dominic paused, watching it with a cold, calculated gaze. It was close now—too close to miss. He moved with the precision of a predator, slow and sure. His rifle felt familiar, the weight of it in his hands a comfort. His aim was steady as he raised it, but this time there was no hesitation.

Yes, the creature was magnificent, but it was prey. It was exhausted. The hunt had lasted long enough.

The shot rang out, clean and precise. The stag fell, its graceful descent a stark contrast to the violence of the moment. It landed at the edge of the stream, a quiet end to what had been a fierce chase.

Dominic approached carefully. The animal appeared lifeless, but he never took chances. His boots made no sound on the forest floor as he stalked toward it.

When he was close enough, he placed a hand on the creature’s shoulder. It was still warm, but lifeless.

Dominic closed his eyes briefly, offering a silent thanks. It was a tradition of his, a way to honor the creature he’d bested.

Normally, there would be a sense of satisfaction, a triumph over his prey. Today, there was nothing but the weight of an unsettling thought.

He rose, slinging his rifle over his shoulder, but something felt… off. The satisfaction, the rush he usually felt at the kill, wasn’t there. Instead, her face flashed in his mind again.

Marianne.

She didn’t want him to kill the stag.

Dominic scowled, the frustration aimed more at himself than anything.

What was this? What the hell was wrong with him?

Absurd.

He’d been hunting all his life. A drink would clear his head. That’s all he needed—a damn drink.

Still, the nagging thought of Marianne remained.

She’d thrown herself in front of the stag without a second thought. And somehow, in doing so, she’d managed to make him question everything.

By mid-afternoon, the hunting party had returned to the manor. A handful of gentlemen carried their trophies—hares, pheasants, and partridges, all of which would be cooked alongside the main prize: the stag Dominic had brought down.

The atmosphere was lighthearted and full of joviality, as laughter rang out and congratulations were exchanged.

Toasts were raised here and there, the clinking of glasses punctuating the celebratory air.

Yet, Dominic couldn’t bring himself to partake in the merriment.

His mood remained as grim as when he’d left the woods.

He accepted a glass of brandy, hoping the drink would dull the unease that had gripped him all day. But it did little to quiet the unsettling thoughts that gnawed at him. His gaze kept drifting back to the woods, the memories of the chase—and her —still too vivid in his mind.

For the first time, the satisfaction of the kill seemed hollow.

“Well done, Your Grace!” Lord Grisham’s voice boomed in the parlor. “You felled the creature with a clean shot. One shot!”

Guests turned to look at Dominic, a few applauding in a polite but tepid show of approval. Some of the ladies joined in, their applause muffled by delicate gloves as if the sound itself was too unladylike for the occasion.

Dominic could feel their gazes on him—some bold, some lingering, all with a hint of curiosity that made his skin itch.

He despised this part. The crowd, the praise—it all felt foreign, like a mask that didn’t fit him. He had come for the hunt, not for the empty congratulations of Society. He didn’t want their approval for slaying a creature, especially one he hadn’t even thought twice about until now.

Wait .

He paused, a flicker of a thought unsettling him.

Was he starting to think like her? Like Marianne?

Her words, her defiance, her belief in the worth of the creature he’d killed—it was enough to make him question everything about the hunt.

But no, that was absurd. He was a hunter. He’d always been a hunter. This wasn’t about ideals or sentiment.

Still, the feeling lingered, and it irritated him more than he cared to admit.

“Pray, Your Grace,” one lord called, his voice laced with genuine curiosity, “how do you manage to excel so effortlessly in the hunt? That stag seemed to elude most of us.”

“Practice,” Dominic replied dully, giving the gentleman a look.

Chuckles rang out in response, but Dominic had not been jesting. He could never fathom how the ton carried on, yet he endured these interactions for the sake of business.

His gaze swept over the ladies in the parlor. Marianne was not among them.

“Is that the face you make when people praise you?” Simon asked, raising an eyebrow. “Look alive, man! Try smiling—I hear it’s all the rage. Or at least less frightening than a bear trap.”

Still, Dominic would not reply. So, Simon seemed to feel it necessary to follow his gaze.

“You’re searching for someone, aren’t you?” he asked, his face splitting into a big grin.

“No.”

“Liar.”

Dominic continued to ignore him. His eyes idly scanned the guests again to no avail.

“Ah. I know what this is. Our mysterious vixen has gotten under your skin,” Simon murmured, ending his statement with a dramatic sigh.

“Has anyone told you that you talk too much?” Dominic finally broke his silence.

“Yes, you have. Several times.” Simon did not look repentant at all. “I also know that I’m right. You’ve been looking for that woman.”

Dominic left his friend behind, needing space to gather his thoughts.

He made his way to the stables, where the familiar scent of hay and earth offered a rare comfort.

It was a strange refuge. After all, not long ago, he had taken the life of an animal.

Yet, something about the stables calmed him, as though he could hide in this place, where the world’s complexities felt far away.

But why was he unsettled? He had hunted countless times before without a second thought. So why did the kill today leave an unfamiliar sting?

“You’re trembling. Do you know what that does to a hunter?”

He had never intended to engage in small talk, and yet, in her presence, it had slipped past his lips. She had caught him off guard, and he hated it. He wasn’t the type to say things he didn’t mean, especially not to someone like her.

He exhaled sharply, trying to clear his mind. He was here at Grisham Manor for business, after all. To meet people, to secure contracts. That was the purpose of his visit, nothing more.

But Marianne… She had rattled something deep within him. Simon had been right—he was rattled. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way she had flung herself between him and the stag without a moment’s hesitation.

Selfless. Unafraid. Unyielding.

He had eventually caught his stag. But it was her that lingered in his mind, not the creature he’d hunted. And that, more than anything, confused him.