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A sennight after the party began, dewy splendor covered the lush green landscape.

Winterbourne was a carefully tended estate of woodland trees bordering a lake and small flowering shrubs that accented every bend.

An arched bridge and Grecian temple complimented the flora and fauna, befitting Georgian style, and were easily reached via a specific route meant to show off Brown’s design to full effect, if one walked the circular path.

Lora stood on the verdant grass in a green nankeen coat trimmed in black over a pale-yellow gown, with matching gloves and kid-skin boots.

Surrounded by a group of sport enthusiasts debating the distance between two archery targets set fifty yards apart—an allowance made for the women since men shot at one-hundred yards—Lora studied Eliza’s form as her friend took aim then let the shaft fly.

“Drat!” A generous amount of applause endeavored to boost Eliza’s spirits as the arrow landed on the board’s outer rim. “Missed . . . again.”

Several women gathered around Eliza to congratulate her for actually hitting the panel.

“You’re mistaken.” Lora had been training Eliza off and on for the past year. She came to stand beside her, hoping to encourage her. “Practice makes perfect. Every attempt is progress on the last, and you, dear friend, have improved.”

Eliza’s cheeks flushed, and she smiled past her embarrassment. “I wish I had as much confidence in my abilities as you do, Lora.” She placed the bow on the stand set out for their use so that someone else could take a turn. “Perhaps I should stick to what I do best.”

“And what is that?” Miss Parr sweetly asked.

“Reading.”

The group was so busy laughing, they neglected to notice the duke’s approach. “Fresh air and exercise are good for the soul, but mastering the mind . . . Now, that is the most challenging pastime of all. And if that brings you joy, Lady Elizabeth, your aim is true.”

Lora couldn’t believe her ears. Was the man a poet?

She hated to memorize poetry, but she respected a well-turned-out sportsman, especially one who chose not to hawk his skills.

And what woman didn’t? Egads! The duke looked resplendent in a dark-green coat trimmed in black, a fawn-colored waistcoat, and trousers, a white cravat, and knee-high black boots.

Before she could find her voice, a new one entered the fray.

“Why would anyone want to closet themselves in a library when the best place for a woman to show off her figure to effect is on the field with a bow in her hand?” Cringing, Lora fought to ignore her crude cousin but, as usual, he made that task difficult.

It was his opinion that women were not fit for sport unless flirting and mingling with men.

To which she vehemently disagreed. “Do you shoot, Your Grace?”

“I do.” Beresford took his time before being more descriptive. “But not to flirt or mingle with the ladies.”

Samuel spoke before she realized her mouth hung agape.

“Ah,” her cousin said catching on. He snatched a bow from the table and shoved it at the duke with the type of force that suggested he did not appreciate being made a fool of.

“Perhaps you will honor us with a display of your prowess then, eh? I, for one, am interested in the training you received at Eton. What say we place a bet on the outcome?”

“I do not think that is wise, Samuel.” Why gamble with money he did not have?

“Far be it from me, cousin, to ruin your party with a meager bet.” Samuel shot a look at Beresford, while Lora and Eliza and Mina looked on. “Or are you above the challenge, Your Grace?”

She grabbed hold of Samuel’s arm, despising the way he’d pushed in on their fun and ruined the happy moment. “Samuel, stop. The duke is our guest.”

People gathered round. Eliza backed away. Mina stared in disbelief as Lora watched, stunned. What lengths was her cousin willing to go to win a bet?

“He is a member of this party, is he not?”

“I am,” the duke answered Samuel.

Mina whispered in her ear. “I know you could easily put him in his place.”

“Shhh. No one can know the truth about how good I really am.”

“But—”

“I would dearly love to put Samuel in his place, but it is imperative that you keep my secret. This is an opportunity for the duke to break away from his father’s shadow. I cannot steal his thunder. Secondly, when it comes to my cousin, I have found it is more profitable to remain silent.”

“But you saved my life and?—”

She took Mina away from anyone who could eavesdrop on their conversation. “No one can know. For reasons I cannot explain.”

“No one?”

“Except my father.” She leaned closer, allowing Mina this one nibble. “Should he wish it, he can explain.”

“It appears that you and I both have secrets we do not want to share.”

She searched Mina’s tired eyes. “And are you in trouble?”

“Nothing so dangerous. You, on the other hand?—”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I pray you are right. But in my short lifetime, I have learned that a woman is limited in the type of care she can provide for herself.”

“I’m forced to agree.” Lora studied Mina, wondering not for the first time what ordeal terrified her so. “I am fortunate. After my mother’s death, my father raised me alongside my brother to face obstacles no matter the danger.”

“Your father seems too good to be true,” Mina said. “Though I dare say some troubles cannot be fought alone.”

“I assure you, his ideals are well-founded. Though his passion for life is not what it once was.”

Mina’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Grief is inescapable.”

Lora peered over Mina’s shoulder to check how the duke and her cousin were getting on.

“We must talk further. Until then, trust me. I have not asked about what you are running from. I had only known you minutes before I knew you were truly good. All I ask is that you extend that same faith in me. Believe that I know what is best, at least in this instance.”

“But have the terrible things you’ve accomplished hardened your heart?”

“A woman must know her place,” Aunt Meg said as she approached to observe the growing spectacle the duke and Samuel created. “It is not for us to interfere with the games these men play.”

“Aunt!” Her chastisement was quickly shut down.

“Shhh, niece. Something is happening, and I for one am eager to hear.”

They moved closer, arm in arm.

“Challenging a man you barely know is a risky business.” The duke strapped on a wrist guard, ending his silence. “The target. Dead center hits only.”

“Dead center, it is.”

“What do you intend to wager, Lieutenant?”

“You assume that I have not done my due diligence, Your Grace,” Samuel murmured, his words loaded with ridicule.

“You’re mistaken.” Beresford selected a bow and tested the string, nocking an arrow. “I know exactly who I’m dealing with and I accept your challenge.”

Her cousin’s laugh was triumphant. “And the wager?”

“You have only to name it,” the duke said sharply. “The choice is yours.”

“Aha! Then I offer the kiss of my fair cousin.”

Lora blinked, unhappy to be put on the spot. Aunt Meg let out a huff, forcing her cane into the earth. Eliza drew close, clasping Lora’s upper arm. Mina moaned her misgivings. The crowd gasped while men lengthened the distance between the two targets to one-hundred paces.

“I’ll be the envy of you all when I get to kiss our hostess.”

Several guffaws sounded before drifting away in the breeze.

“You forget yourself, nephew,” Meg said sternly. “Lady Lora is a human being, not a sack of coin to slap down on a tabletop willy nilly.”

The duke stood his ground, unwittingly subjecting Lora to scrutiny. “I accept.”

Lora staggered. Were both of them daft? Why, her lips were not theirs to barter, to be auctioned off to the highest bidder.

Oh, Samuel had hatched foul business; foul business, indeed.

She placed her hand over her mouth to fend off a bout of nausea, uncertain how to bear the shame.

Kissing a man publicly was positively scandalous.

On the other hand, . . . No, no, no. She refused to even consider it.

But against her will her mind wandered to the place she dared not go.

What would the duke’s lips feel like against hers, taste like?

Oof! Worse. What if she had to kiss her cousin?

Balderdash!

Beresford’s high rank made him the perfect match for a marquess’s daughter.

And she loved him. Oh, how she had always loved him.

But she was not in the market for a husband.

Marriage would quickly put a stop to her nightly forays into the wilds of Kingston, which was something she could not allow.

Nor could she afford a scandal that would see the deed done.

The world balanced on her shoulders—the future of the market town, Papa’s legacy, stopping Nicholas’s killer, and ridding the village of greedy thieves who were not above committing murder.

One was still at large and possibly committing injurious crimes, the blackguard she’d encountered on the London Road not surviving.

Her duplicity in that death had shocked her to her bones, so she refused to think about it further.

But what if her cousin won? He had a penchant for gambling, winning, and losing with the roll of the dice.

She must never underestimate him. He was indomitable in his quest to inherit her father’s title, Winterbourne, and her.

Good God, was that his purpose? To win and announce his intentions to all and sundry this very day, and before her father lay in his grave?

“You may do the honors, Your Grace.” Her cousin’s words were biting.

“After you,” the duke countered.

Though Samuel looked handsome in his regimentals, she sensed a hint of nervousness in his actions—the flick of a finger—as he positioned himself, drawing back to shoot the first volley. He pulled the bowstring, stretching it taut then, on an exhale, loosed his arrow.