Download File A Shot At The Duke_ A Witty His -... -

Penelope let the string slip. The arrow whistled through the air and thudded—dead center.

Penelope jumped, her arrow skittering across the grass. "Your Grace! You shouldn't sneak up on a woman armed with lethal projectiles." Download File A Shot at the Duke_ A Witty His -...

"I am not 'most ladies,'" Penelope said, notches her arrow. "If I win, my father stops trying to marry me off to Lord Ponsonby, a man who has the personality of damp wool." Penelope let the string slip

"Hardly," Penelope laughed, turning in his arms. The wit that usually protected her failed as she looked up at him. "Perhaps the Duke of Ashbourne is good for something other than scowling at garden parties." "Your Grace

"Ponsonby is a bore," Arthur conceded, walking toward her. "But your form is still tragic. Anchor your hand to your jaw. Don't look at the arrow; look at the gold center."

Arthur straightened, his curiosity piqued. "Freedom? Most ladies of the ton are content with embroidery and gossip."

"Beginner's luck," Arthur teased, though his hand lingered on her arm a second too long.