Chapter 19 #2
He grimaced, attempting to hide his wounded pride. “Hugh has told you of my reputation, I gather. But I swear I am capable of handling a pistol. If you permit it, I would like to show you the proper handling of the weapon, and later, provide you with a pocket pistol of your own.”
She considered his offer with wary silence.
“Trust me, Kate. I am not trying to keep you from danger, only making certain you are prepared to face it.”
He did not know what assurance she sought, but the doubt soon vanished.
“Very well,” she said at last.
He pocketed the pistol and offered his arm. “Perhaps we can use those trees as targets,” he said, gesturing toward a small grove just ahead.
Kate nodded in agreement. They walked toward the grove until they stood about ten yards out from the tree line. He was confident of his aim at such a short distance. He had no wish to appear like a complete fool in her presence.
He explained the mechanics of the pistol and was gratified that she listened with rapt attention. If she chose to live in the shadows, then at least she would do so with every advantage. He moved with practiced efficiency and loaded the weapon.
“Right now the pistol is at half-cock, which should prevent it from firing. Perhaps it would be easiest for me to demonstrate the steps, and then you might try with some assistance?” he asked.
She nodded. Extending his arm and tucking his other arm behind his back, he pulled the trigger.
The pistol flashed, and the report echoed through the mist as the ball struck the center of the nearest tree.
Satisfaction surged through him, along with a touch of male pride. “Are you ready to try, Kate?”
“I believe I am.”
She moved back to give him room as he went through the steps of reloading the pistol. He gestured for her to take his place, then moved directly behind her. The scent of orange blossoms filled his senses, a sweet contrast to the sharp tang of gunpowder.
He reached around her to settle the pistol in her hand, far too aware of her closeness. He was eager for the excuse to guide her through each movement. “Now, the first thing you will need . . .”
In quick succession, Kate lifted the pistol, steadied herself, aimed, and fired. The lead ball struck a large knot on the tree at the end of the grove. She lowered the pistol and spun around, her eyes twinkling with amused mischief.
“Well, Lord Brenton, did my performance meet your exacting standards?”
His mouth opened, but no sound followed. He stared at Kate, then at the tree, before looking back at her with a stunned blink.
“What—? Did you just—?”
It seemed he was destined to play the fool regardless of his aim, for he could find no words. She stood perfectly still, as though she expected him to be angry rather than awestruck. Her shoulders had gone tight as she waited for his response.
Awe broke through his astonishment, a genuine laugh escaping him. “Kate,” he said, “that was magnificent!” Slowly, helplessly, his mouth curved. “Remind me never to underestimate you again.”
She smiled, the tension easing. “Then you are not offended that I am a better shot?”
“Not in the least. In truth, it appears I should be soliciting your expertise. Why did you allow me to play the tutor?”
She bit her lower lip. “I confess, I found your confidence difficult to resist. My father had our gamekeeper teach me while you and Hugh were away at school,” she explained. “I try to practice on occasion to keep up the skill.”
“Hugh and the others have teased me enough over the years about my poor shooting abilities that I have no illusions regarding my own skill.” He let out a low laugh. “I am simply relieved to know that you would be able to defend yourself should the need arise.”
A charming color rose in her cheeks, and he resolved to find ways to compliment her often. Good heavens, did the rest of the ton not see how extraordinary this woman was? He took the pistol from her and tucked it back into his coat.
“Hugh not only told me of your reputation with a pistol, he shared the nickname your friends gave you.”
He groaned and ran a hand down his face. “Please, I beg of you not to repeat it.”
“Whyever not?” she said with a teasing grin. “You must admit it is quite clever.”
“I would rather you keep calling me ‘Lord Brenton’ than use that nickname.” The lightness of the mood emboldened him. “Though given your talents, perhaps I need to start calling you something other than Kate.”
“Oh? And what name did you have in mind?”
There was a playful, almost flirtatious tone to her voice that sent his pulse skittering. He advanced slowly toward her, placing a finger on his chin as he pretended to consider her question. He matched her boldness, refusing to be the first to look away.
“How about ‘Crackshot’?”
“Undeniably.”
She gave him a broad smile as she took a step backward. He mirrored her movement, moving with her.
“Troublemaker?”
She let out a short laugh, mischief brightening her expression.
“Inevitably.”
She stepped back with her other foot, and he followed, blood thrumming, hesitating a moment before giving voice to the feelings that were beginning to consume him.
“Sweetheart?”
Her breath hitched, and her gaze met his with a sudden intensity.
“Assuredly,” she whispered.
His heart pounded, the rhythm echoing in his ears. The fog swirled around them as he matched her pace, the world beyond the grove vanishing entirely.
“Darling?”
She stopped mid-stride, almost tripping, and he reached his arm around her waist, steadying her. Her eyes were full of tenderness.
“Willingly.”
She retreated one final time, slow and hesitant, until the trees stood only a few paces behind her. His grip on her waist tightened, every nerve in him instantly alive. Something fierce and fragile rose in his chest.
“My Kate.”
He said it softly, reverently, a declaration and a prayer all at once. The words felt less like possession and more like surrender. He searched her luminous blue eyes, hoping to find an emotion that mirrored his own, a sign that she saw him as clearly as he saw her.
This time, she did not take a step back.
“Always.”
Elation coursed through him, heady and strong.
“I rather like the sound of that last one.” His gaze dropped to her lips, his hand firm on her waist as he leaned closer.
“Do you?” Her whisper was soft and ragged. “So do I.”
She placed her hands on his forearms, gripping his coat sleeve, and tilted her chin up. For a single heartbeat, he hesitated. One breath closer and there would be no retreat back to the guarded reserve he had so carefully crafted between them.
He did not care. He was done keeping his distance. He knew what he wanted. What he needed.
Every lingering restraint, every rational objection to loving her, vanished like mist before the rising sun. He knew who she was—the life she had chosen—and he wanted her. Completely and utterly.
He leaned forward, his forehead nearly touching hers. “Kate. What have you done to me?”
Her only answer was a slight parting of her lips, and that was all the invitation he needed.
He lowered his mouth slowly, deliberately, until finally, blessedly, his lips touched hers, soft and warm despite the chill air.
He held himself in check, offering only a light kiss, a mere whisper of the devotion he felt.
As he lifted his head, Kate drew her arms around his neck and pulled him back to her.
Exhilaration swept through him. This time, their lips moved together, eager and willing in a rhythm that settled deep into his soul.
Her lips tasted like sunshine and citrus.
He could have basked in her softness forever, anchored in the truth of her embrace while the world around them dissolved into the mist.
Without breaking their connection, James pressed her back against the nearest tree. Cupping her face in his hands, he deepened the kiss, moving his lips achingly, tenderly across hers, attempting to convey the surrendered state of his heart without words.
Her fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck, and a guttural sound escaped his throat as heat flooded through him. He braced a hand on the rough tree to steady himself, the other gripping her waist tightly, drawing them ever closer though it would never be enough.
But he wanted more than physical closeness.
He wanted to erase every emotional barrier between them.
He wanted to tell her the truth. Using every bit of resolve he could summon, he slowly broke the kiss.
Their uneven breaths tangled in the morning mist, the only sound in the frozen silence of the grove.
James took in the rich warmth of her hair and the delicate curves of her face, committing them to memory. He wanted nothing in the world as much as he wanted to kiss her again.
Except for one thing. He wanted no more secrets standing between them.
“Kate?”
“Hmm,” she said, her lids fluttering open. Her contented sigh almost broke his determination.
“There is one other name you could call me.”
A curious smile touched her lips as she continued to stroke his neck. “And what name is that?”
She tilted her face toward his, trusting and full of a warmth that drew him in.
Unable to resist her pull any longer, he pressed his lips to hers once more, reveling in finally surrendering to the feelings that he had been denying for so long.
He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly to him.
For one moment, the world narrowed to the space between their breaths.
As James lifted his head, a prickle of awareness slid down his spine. The morning mist suddenly seemed a little colder.
“It appears I won’t be hearing any more complaints about your recent assignment,” came an amused and entirely unwelcome voice from the edge of the grove.
James’s heart sank. He pulled back from Kate.
Blast.
Westmarch.