Free His Favorite Mistress by Tracy Anne Warren Page B

been right to force her to get past her fears and accept their kindness and hospitality, just as Wyvern had been right to tell her the truth about her father, painful as that knowledge had been and continued to be. By rights, she should resent His Grace, the Duke of Wyvern—even dislike him, she supposed—yet somehow she found she could do neither. And if she held no grudge against him on such a grievous score, how could she possibly continue to do so because he had not told her he was a duke? With that realization, the angry knot inside her stomach began to unwind.
    “Still,” she persisted, returning to their discussion regarding the omission of his title. “You might have said.”
    “Yes, I might,” he admitted. “But I did not lie when I told you to call me Wyvern. That is how I am known to those of my acquaintance, with the exception of a few intimates who use my given name, Anthony—or Tony, as I prefer to be called.” A slow smile curved again over his attractive mouth, his voice lowering to a honeyed rumble. “You have my leave to call me Tony as well, if you like. Particularly when we are alone.”
    Her heart went th-thump inside her breast. Sternly, she willed the wayward organ to behave. “I do not imagine we will have much occasion for such a circumstance.”
    “Oh, one never knows.” He gave her another smile that sent tingles rushing all the way to her toes.
    Sipping her lemonade, Gabriella found herself rather hoping he was right.

 
    Chapter Five

    “ W ELL DONE , T ONY ! Another fine shot,” Rafe declared the following afternoon. His assessment was quickly echoed by the five other men gathered on the lawn outside the house for their planned shooting match.
    “Truly excellent,” Lord Nevill stated. “Manton would be proud to see one of his pistols used to such fine effect.” Considering the older man’s inability to hit more than one out of every three practice wafers, his remarks were gracious indeed, Tony decided.
    “Thank you, gentlemen,” Tony replied, as he added fresh powder and shot to the barrel of his weapon. Wiping the gun clean with a soft cloth, he set the pistol carefully aside. “But I only won this round by a couple of points. The match could have gone to any of us. The outcome was no more than a rare measure of luck on my part.”
    “No luck about it,” Ethan disputed, his and Rafe’s second-and third-place scores having come in several points behind their friend’s. “You, Tony, are what’s known as a crack shot.”
    “Quite right. Wish we’d had you on the battlefield while we were fighting Boney,” William Waring added, his own skillful aim apparently unaffected by the loss of an arm during the recently ended conflict on the Continent. “You’d have sent the French running.”
    “Undoubtedly,” Harry concurred.
    “Enough, enough.” Tony threw up a hand. “Otherwise my head may puff up to the size of a balloon and explode.”
    All of them laughed, the sound drifting away on the mild breeze. Overhead the sun shone down out of a clear blue sky, the temperature was pleasant, requiring no more than light coats.
    “The ladies seem to be having a fine time,” Lord Nevill remarked, gazing a number of yards to the left where several archery targets had been arranged. “Good heavens, what a shot!”
    “Who made it?” Tony inquired, turning to watch as well.
    “From what I can see, the archer appears to be Miss St. George. By Jove, she’s hit that bull’s-eye dead on again.”
    Intrigued, Tony watched with the rest of them as Gabriella calmly loaded an arrow into her bow and drew back the string. Her third shot hit the target with the same perfect aim as its predecessors. Without waiting to discuss the matter, he set off toward her. At his back, the other men followed.
    “Where in the world did you learn to shoot like that?” Lily Andarton, was asking Gabriella as Tony came within hearing range.
    “Yes,” Julianna said. “I’ve never seen anyone who