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

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

"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." Download File A Shot at the Duke_ A Witty His -...

"I am not poaching," she snapped, retrieving her arrow. "I am practicing for the Midsummer Tournament. My father’s honor—and my own freedom—depends on it." "Beginner's luck," Arthur teased, though his hand lingered

"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." Anchor your hand to your jaw

Penelope jumped, her arrow skittering across the grass. "Your Grace! You shouldn't sneak up on a woman armed with lethal projectiles."

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?