Page 25 of An Offer By the Beastly Duke

“No more chasing,” Malcolm said. His voice was firm, leaving no room for the boy to argue, yet he didn’t make it unkind. “Do not worry, though. You will have plenty of years to hunt but today, you are with me and must do as I say. Follow my lead.”

Nicholas nodded begrudgingly, but as they began to navigate the thickets, his steps were light, almost bouncing with renewed energy. They walked in a shared silence for several minutes, the distant sounds of the hunt, shouts and the crack of branches, drifting through the canopy.

Then Malcolm held up a hand. The signal was sharp. Nicholas froze instantly, his eyes wide.

“What is it?” Nicholas whispered, the sound barely a ghost of a breath.

Malcolm didn’t answer.

He lowered his center of gravity, inching through the underbrush. He signaled for the boy to crouch beside him. Malcolm pointed toward a dense cluster of laurel bushes. A flash of iridescent brown appeared—a pheasant—tucked into the foliage.

Nicholas’s mouth fell open. He quickly clamped his hand over his face to stifle a gasp. Malcolm felt a flicker of genuine pride; the boy was learning restraint.

“Stay very still,” Malcolm whispered, the words vibrating in the small space between them. “Not a sound. Watch the barrel.”

Nicholas nodded vigorously, his breath hitching in a throat tight with anticipation. Malcolm raised his rifle. The motion was slow, a well-practiced habit that felt as natural as breathing. He adjusted his aim, the world narrowing down to the sight on his gun and the bird.

The pheasant ruffled its feathers, unaware of the two shadows in the brush. Malcolm’s finger rested lightly on the trigger. He inhaled deeply, and took one second.

Two seconds⁠—

Malcolm fired.

The shot rang out with a sharp crack that tore through the stillness of the woods. The pheasant dropped with a soft thud, its life extinguished in a heartbeat. Malcolm stood up slowly, the smell of burnt powder sharp in his nostrils.

He turned to Nicholas, who was staring at the fallen bird as if he had seen a miracle.

Nicholas’s face split into a massive, delighted grin. “You really did it! That was amazing!” He bounced on the balls of his feet, his hands shaking with excitement. “Can I do that one day? When I am grown up like you?”

Malcolm’s lips quirked into a small, real smile. His eyes softened. “With enough practice, yes.”

As they made their way back to the main party, Malcolm kept his gaze fixed on the boy’s bobbing head. Nicholas was sharp, eager, and far too easy to like.

“Do you think Hector would be able to do something like that?” Nicholas asked.

He looked up at Malcolm, his small chin tilted back as he navigated the uneven roots of the forest floor. His voice was filled with a high, eager enthusiasm that cut through the heavy silence of the woods.

Malcolm glanced down at him, his eyebrow lifting as he adjusted the heavy leather strap of his rifle. “Hector?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

“Yes!” Nicholas exclaimed. His hands moved in animated, wide arcs as he spoke, nearly catching on a passing briar. “Hector is really smart. He’s been learning all sorts of things already. I’ve been teaching him how to sit and stay, but I want to teach him more. Like how to fetch things and maybe even roll over! But you probably know that already if you have taught him. But I want to teach him to jump even higher than I did last time! Do you think he can do it?”

Malcolm felt a strange, unexpected warmth spread through his chest, a sensation he tried to stifle with a sharp breath of damp air.

There was a fire in Nicholas, a desperate spark of a need to be capable that reminded Malcolm a little too much of his own childhood. Before the navy, before the scars. He adjusted his pace, his long legs slowing so the boy didn’t have to run to keep up.

“Well, Hector has already got the basics down,” Malcolm said. He kept his voice steady, though he gave a singular, sharp nod of approval. “He’s smart, but like all dogs, he needs consistency. You can’t teach him too much too fast, or he’ll get confused and stop listening entirely.”

He paused, glancing down at Nicholas.

The boy was walking faster now, his small chest puffed out, the excitement practically radiating off him in the cool shade. Malcolm added, “but you have a good start. Keep it up, and Hector will surprise you.”

Nicholas’s eyes widened, the pupils black and deep with wonder. “Really? You think so?”

Malcolm gave another nod, the muscles in his jaw relaxing.

He shifted the rifle, the metal clinking softly. “Just be careful, though, do not let him get too spoiled. A dog needs boundaries, Nicholas. Just like people do.”

Nicholas furrowed his brow, his lips pursing in intense, boyish concentration as he navigated a patch of tall ferns.