Chapter 16
“Iam going to teach you to shoot today.”
Juliana looked up from her toast. “I beg your pardon?”
“A pistol,” he said. “Every woman ought to know how to use one, particularly a woman with your penchant for finding trouble.”
She ought to have been irritated by that. To her mild surprise, she found that she was not.
He had been different since that night in London.
The sharp edges had been filed down somewhat, and in their place was something she did not quite have a word for.
Consideration, perhaps. A deliberate, almost cautious courtesy that told her he knew he had been harsh and, in his own fashion, was attempting to make amends.
She had decided to accept the olive branch. It seemed the sensible thing to do.
The morning was crisp and bright, the meadow behind the estate still damp from an earlier frost, the air carrying that particular smell of cold earth and pine that she had come to associate with Stonevale.
She stood at the makeshift mark he had set up against an old oak post, the pistol heavy and foreign in her hand, while Cassian stood at a distance, an imposing figure in a dark coat, juxtaposed against the meadow’s more cheerful green. He looked like a shadow materialized.
“Lower your shoulders. Yes, like that,” he instructed, his voice a steady anchor amid what was otherwise a completely new challenge.
“Focus on your aim. We do not want stray bullets piercing the clouds and falling onto innocent branches. Think of the weapon as an expression of your intent. You cannot have a shaky intent, or else the bullet would waver from its target.”
She adjusted her shoulders as instructed, feeling a creak in her back. She had not slept well last night, and this morning she was so jittery she had to get up early. That was how her husband caught her and led her outside after a quick breakfast.
“I do not need this, Your Grace. I am not leaving the estate without you or another companion ever again,” she promised wearily. The memory of the confrontation in the dark alleyway was still far too vivid.
“Do not make promises you cannot keep,” he said, his tone teasing, but his eyes were serious. “Besides, the world will remain dangerous even if you keep your promise to be a good girl. You must know how to defend yourself in any situation. Your brother has less-than-honorable ties.”
Cassian called her a good girl, something she was not, or at least one that she did not want to become in this too rough world. She should be annoyed, but it did something else to her insides.
They might even have been friends, she thought, if she did not have quite so many reasons to resent him.
“Your wrist is limp,” he said.
She stiffened. “I am aware.”
“Then correct it.”
“It is heavy,” she retorted, clenching her jaw and stiffening her arm from the effort. The metallic surface did not help.
“Well, it is a weapon. You must accustom yourself to it,” he said, as he strode toward her. The rhythm and rustle of his limp had become a sign of safety, one she had grown attached to.
Her mind stuttered at the sight of him drawing closer and closer, like a predator closing in on its prey. He was no danger to her, not really. The danger he posed to her was far more complex. It did not threaten her body, but the aching spot between her thighs had been betraying her recently.
“May I?” he said, and did not wait for her answer before his hands came over hers, adjusting her grip with a quiet authority that left no room for argument. His chest pressed against her back, solid and warm, and she forgot entirely what she had been doing with the pistol.
“Thumb here,” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. “Secure the grip. You are holding something that decides who lives and who does not. You cannot afford to be tentative.”
She was not tentative. She was barely breathing.
Then he wrapped his other arm around her waist. She straightened as he did, even as he pulled her against his body. It was too close. She swore he could hear her heartbeat as the pulse at her throat thudded. His scent and presence were too overpowering.
“You are trembling, Juliana,” he whispered, his breath warm against her skin. It was a boon that he was holding her. She suspected that if he were not, she would have already fallen down on the ground since her knees felt weak. Boneless.
“It is chilly,” she lied.
“Are you really cold?” he asked. “Or are you terrified? Focus, Juliana. I am right here. Do not think about anything else but the mark. The mark is everything you hate in this world. Everything in it that tried to hurt you.”
She closed her eyes as she tried to calm her breath. With every breath, she got closer and closer against his body. She was well aware of the hardness of his torso.
“Y-you are too close,” she gasped, wriggling herself.
Cassian chuckled but did not give her space. Instead, he leaned even closer, his lips nearly touching her cheek. “Do you think so, wife? I want to know because you are rubbing against me.”
“W-what? I do no such thing!” Juliana protested as she attempted to pull away, but to no avail as he held on tightly.
“There is no need to lie about that. I do not mind it. But if you keep on doing that, I cannot promise I will remain a gentleman. Now, pull the trigger. There you go.” His voice was becoming ragged against her ear, and she could not help but squirm.
As she did, she felt his hard member against her backside.
Oh, my.
The realization sent a jolt of lightning through her, so close to triumph.
She was doing that to him. But she was there for a reason; she had to remind herself.
She pulled the trigger after finding her mark.
The pistol roared. She did not expect the deafening sound.
Then again, she was not a markswoman. At least, not yet.
The recoil jarred her, but she had his body to keep her from falling. She stifled a groan.
For a moment, she did not know what happened. White smoke filled the air. She waited for it to clear so she could see what she had managed to do. When the smoke cleared a little, she saw the hole at the center of her mark.
I did it!
“Well done, especially for someone who had just begun learning. What will you be like in a fortnight?” Cassian asked, even as he kept his arms around her. She did not complain. “Your hands are quite steady, even though you were so distracted with other matters.”
“I was not distracted,” she said. “I was… trying to find my footing.”
“Is that what we are calling it?”
The white smoke from the shot was still clearing. She watched it drift against the pale morning sky and was acutely, helplessly aware of his arms still around her, of the solid wall of him at her back, of the fact that she had not taken a single step away from him and had no intention of doing so.
“You are still rubbing yourself against me,” he said.
“I am not—”
“You are.” His voice had dropped. “You have been doing it since I put my arms around you, and I have been a perfect gentleman about it, but I am not sure I can be civil much longer.”
“Perhaps you are improving,” she said.
“I would not count on it.”
His arms tightened as she rubbed herself against him once more. She felt the change in him, the shift from instructor to something considerably more dangerous, and her pulse responded to it before her mind had the chance to intervene.
“Juliana.”
Just her name. Nothing else. But the way he said it made her knees go weak.
He took the pistol from her hand and set it aside. Then he turned her, not gently, his hands firm at her waist until she was facing him, and she looked up at him, and whatever clever thing she had been about to say dissolved entirely.
“Tell me to stop,” he said. “Or I will kiss you.”
It was pure defiance that led Juliana to say, “I would rather get shot.”
“For shame,” Cassian said, turning her to face him. She felt faint at the sight of his knowing smirk. He knew just how much she wanted him. For once, she felt no shame about it, only relief. “I wonder if you really mean it, given how you have been rubbing your buttocks against me…”
Cassian moved his large hand to the back of her neck, and her eyes immediately closed as though she had been waiting for it.
His fingers tangled in her hair as he pulled her toward himself for a kiss.
It was a slow and bruising kiss, intensely exploring.
She grabbed his lapels and kissed him back with everything she had.
He pulled away from the kiss so he could trail his warm lips down her throat. His stubble heightened the sensation, and she found herself moaning.
“You sound so ready for me, wife,” he breathed. “I wonder what other sounds you are capable of making…”
Cassian pushed Juliana against a nearby oak tree, the rough bark pressing against her.
It should have woken her from this madness, but she had no intention of sounding the alarm.
His hand slid down to the hem of her skirts.
She gasped, but her body was already far too warm. He was right. She was ready.
“We are outdoors. Someone might see us,” she said, helpless in her own pleasure.
Her mouth said one thing, but the fingers tangling in his hair were saying another.
The groan in her voice was more of an invitation, and she was fully aware that she was only using their location as an excuse. A way out of something she wanted.
“Oh, let them look,” he said. “Are we truly doing anything wrong? No. You are my wife. I want them to see that the Duchess of Stonevale has finally recognized who she belongs to.”