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“I am always broadening my horizons,” the Duke said smoothly even though his eyes were on Rosamund for the most part. “Local games seem to present the best and most dynamic competition.”

“His Grace is merely seeking new audiences to attract and impress,” Rosamund said.

“Shall we begin, then?” the Duke of Westbourne asked. Mr. Wycliffe seemed completely oblivious to the undercurrents of the conversation and merely nodded and smiled.

The nine pins game had always been a part of the village’s light-hearted amusement. The other players, which included several villages, were merely playing for fun. However, the Duke and Lady Rosamund were engaged in a battle.

Thomas took his turn first, scoring a respectable five pins. Rosamund clapped her hands excitedly for him.

The Duke bowled next. He did not even pause to gauge the distance. He merely stepped forward and released the ball. It hit the pins with speed, strength, and precision. All nine pins tumbled into the grass in utter surrender.

The village crowd was completely behind me, hooting and clapping enthusiastically. The Duke turned to Rosamund to give her a bow.

Rosamund narrowed her eyes at him, even as her face flushed warm. What was he trying to do? It was her turn, and she intended to do well and show him that it was not only him who could do well at nine pins.

She took her position and ignored the niggling fact that she had never played the game before. But she shook it off, and on the pins as village boys set them up. With only a brief instruction from Thomas and the games played by the men who played before her as guides, she swung her arm back and focused all her anger and frustration into her throw.

Then, there it was. The ball sailed down the turf and managed to wipe out eight out of nine pins. She was shaken at how well she did, but she still glared at the last pin standing.

“Impressive, Lady Rosamund,” the Duke drawled. Then he stepped onto the court and kicked a pebble away from the path.

“You are cheating!” Rosamund cried, pointing accusingly at his boots. “You cannot change anything once the round has commenced!”

The truth be told, Rosamund did not really know what the rules were, but she felt that what the Duke did was wrong.

“Lady Rosamund! How is that cheating? I am nowhere near the pins, and I am not attempting to throw the ball closer to them?”

“B-but you are still tampering with the path, Your Grace!” At least, Rosamund still remembered to be respectful.

“I believe Lady Rosamund has you there, Your Grace,” Thomas chuckled. “The frame may have been considered active.”

Rosamund could tell Mr. Wycliffe had no idea that the argument was not only about the game. It was something so much more.

“You may want to stay where you are, Your Grace. Sometimes, knowing your turf is important,” she muttered, no longer talking about the game.

“Do remember this, Lady Rosamund,” the Duke said. “Dukes do not cheat. They merely reinterpret rules advantageously.”

Thomas merely laughed. Rosamund was not in the least bit amused.

“Arrogance is not nearly as attractive as you imagine, Your Grace,” she protested.

The Duke leaned down toward her slightly. It was then that she realized that he had gotten too close, not only to the path and the nine pins but to her. She could not breathe.

“Ah. But why are you contemplating my attractiveness at all, Lady Rosamund?” he asked, his voice low so that only the two of them could be certain about the words coming out of his mouth.

Rosamund gasped. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest as she stared at his heavy-lidded eyes and his firm but full lips. He had to be that close just to goad her!

“You are impossible!” she choked out, turning on her wheel to return to watch the game.

A young villager named Isaac took a turn for the Duke’s side and made a decent turn, by felling four pins. Everyone was ecstatic. The games were made more for spectacle and fun than true competition. Still, Rosamund saw Westbourne’s eyes narrow into slits as if he was quite displeased.

More games followed. The scores between the two teams were quite close, and Rosamund was fidgeting from the excitement. She knew she had to do well. Thomas did well enough with a seven the last time he went. He was cool and happy about it, reminding her that the village games were supposed to unite the people and not make them act like rabid dogs.

When she took her next turn, her hands were trembling. She was fully aware of the Duke watching her closely. She could feel his gaze prickling at the back of her neck and down her spine. She was so distracted that she almost missed her turn, swinging too late and a little off balance. The ball wobbled and zigzagged along its path, taking down two pins before it retreated into the ditch.

The Duke let out an annoying chuckle. Well, it should be annoying but somehow it vibrated through her spine and did things it should not do. The man looked too pleased with himself, and in that moment, he had become completely attractive.

“My turn, I believe,” he murmured, as he took his position.