"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."
"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." Download File A Shot at the Duke_ A Witty His -...
"And you shouldn't be poaching my deer," Arthur replied, stepping into the light with a smirk that didn't quite reach his guarded eyes. "Ponsonby is a bore," Arthur conceded, walking toward her
Penelope looked at the target, then back at the man who had finally made her heart race faster than a hunt. "I suppose that depends on who is doing the seeking." If you'd like to continue the tale, let me know: Should the happen next? Does Lord Ponsonby try to sabotage her? Don't look at the arrow; look at the gold center
Penelope let the string slip. The arrow whistled through the air and thudded—dead center.
With a heavy mahogany bow in hand and a quiver of arrows cinched at her waist, she marched into the clearing of the Duke of Ashbourne’s sprawling estate. She didn't notice the Duke himself—the notoriously brooding and impossibly handsome Arthur Vance—leaning against an oak tree just past the practice hay bales.
