Chapter 6 #2
Josephine picked up the pistol once more. This time she held it more confidently, steadying her arm as she lifted it towards the target.
“Don’t forget to breathe,” Jude said quietly, stepping closer.
She could feel the warmth of him now, the faint scent of orange and leather clinging to his person. Her pulse quickened traitorously. It wasn’t the pistol that made her hands shake—it was him.
“When you are ready,” he murmured, his breath brushing her ear, “squeeze the trigger.”
Right. Shooting. That was what she was meant to be doing—not behaving like some lovestruck debutante in a garden’s folly.
She forced herself to focus on the target and fired.
Crack!
The ball struck the very edge of the outer ring. Not perfect, but far better than before.
Jude smiled in quiet approval. “You’re improving.”
She turned towards him, and instantly regretted it since they were only inches apart. “It is only because I have an excellent teacher,” she managed to say.
His eyes—so brown, so steady, so uniquely his—held hers captive. There was warmth in them, and a gentleness that unnerved her far more than any gunshot could.
“Or perhaps,” Jude said, his voice dropping to something almost intimate, “you’ve always had the skill but only needed a bit of confidence.”
Her breath caught. The space between them seemed to shrink to nothing at all and her heart began to hammer so loudly she feared he might hear it.
If he just leaned closer—
“Pardon me for interrupting… whatever this is,” came a familiar voice, lilting with amusement, “but I was hoping Josephine might join me for some tea in the drawing room.”
Josephine startled, her head snapping towards the sound.
Charlotte stood several yards away, her gloved hands clasped before her, though her eyes gleamed with unmistakable mirth. Beside her stood her husband, Lord Luca, whose expression—half-smirk, half-resignation—suggested he, too, understood precisely what they had walked up on.
“Charlotte,” Josephine said, mortified, her cheeks burning as if the sun itself had descended upon her.
Jude stepped back at once and bowed stiffly. “My lord. My lady.”
Charlotte waved a hand airily. “Oh, do not mind me. I only thought poor Josephine might wish for some refreshment. It appears she has been… rather busy this morning.”
Josephine could have sunk through the ground. “Tea would be lovely,” she said hastily, trying to compose herself.
“Wonderful,” Charlotte responded. “Come along, then. My husband needs to speak with Jude about—what was it, dear? Ah yes—gamekeeper things.”
Josephine forced a polite smile as she walked towards Charlotte, acutely aware of every step and of Jude’s gaze lingering on her back. Her gloves felt too tight, her heart still pounding from the nearness that had so suddenly evaporated.
Once they were a safe distance away, Charlotte leaned closer and murmured under her breath, “You must forgive the intrusion, but truly, if we had arrived a moment later, I daresay you might have scandalized the entire household.”
Josephine’s breath caught in mortified shock. “I am not quite sure what you are referring to.”
Charlotte’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “I think you are. One would think we were in a gothic novel instead of the countryside.”
“Nothing untoward happened,” Josephine whispered fiercely, her blush deepening.
“No, of course it didn’t. But I have eyes. And I think I understand more than you realize.”
By the time they reached the drawing room, Josephine had schooled her expression into polite composure, the mask she had worn countless times before. But inside, her thoughts were tangled and aching.
What would have happened if they hadn’t been interrupted?
She knew the answer. Nothing would have happened. Nothing could happen. Jude was a gamekeeper. She was a lady. The world they each inhabited might as well have been divided by oceans.
The sooner she left this place, the better.
It was the only way to protect her heart—before it betrayed her entirely.
Jude watched Josephine walk away, the morning sun glinting against the loose strands of hair that had escaped her coiffure. He wanted to call after her, to say something—anything—that might dispel the tension lingering between them, but the sharp clearing of a throat stopped him cold.
He turned.
Luca stood a few paces away, arms folded across his chest, his expression a mixture of disapproval and brotherly exasperation. “Do you care to explain what that was about?”
Jude exhaled, setting down the pistol he’d been holding. “I was merely instructing Josephine on how to shoot.”
“Lady Josephine,” Luca responded pointedly. “You are being far too familiar with a young woman you have only just met.”
“You aren’t wrong,” Jude said, “but you seem to forget that I do not answer to you.”
Luca’s brows drew together. “What would have happened if Charlotte and I had not interrupted you just now?”
“Nothing.”
“It certainly did not look like nothing.”
“Then your eyes deceive you,” Jude replied, his voice tight.
Luca sighed in that long-suffering way of his. “If you are interested in pursuing Lady Josephine—”
“I intend to do no such thing.”
“Then why,” Luca countered, “do you insist on spending every waking moment with her? It is not even breakfast, and yet you have managed to see her?”
Jude reached for another pistol from the table, aimed at a nearby target, and fired. The sound echoed through the clearing. “You are reading too much into it. It was entirely innocent.”
“Jude—”
He placed the pistol back down with deliberate calm. “Is this interrogation over?”
“It is not an interrogation,” Luca returned, though his tone suggested otherwise. “Merely a conversation. I am worried about you.”
“Do not be.”
Luca hesitated, then said with mock solemnity, “I will admit it is a relief. For a time, I was not entirely certain you even liked women.”
Jude stiffened. “I like women.”
“Do you?” Luca pressed. “You once declared that you would never marry and that I would inherit your title when the time came.”
Jude’s jaw tensed. “Is there a point to this line of questioning?”
“Yes,” Luca said. “If you truly have no interest in Lady Josephine, then it would be best if you returned to your cottage until her family comes to collect her.”
“You have already suggested that.”
“And yet you did not listen,” Luca said, gesturing towards the shooting targets. “Instead, you set up practice for her, as though she were your pupil.”
“Every young woman should know how to defend herself,” Jude said.
“I agree. But why must you be the one to teach her?” Luca asked. “And did I hear correctly that you told her to keep Mother’s muff pistol?”
Jude shifted his stance, looking away. “I did. So she could protect herself if needed.”
Luca groaned softly. “You cannot go about giving a young lady gifts, especially not one you have no intention of marrying.”
“You are overthinking it.”
“Am I?” Luca’s gaze was steady. “Or are you the one not thinking through any of this?”
Jude let out a frustrated breath. “I do not have time to quarrel with you. There is work to be done.”
“Not here,” Luca stated. “What if Lady Josephine stumbles upon you poring over the ledgers? Your cover will be ruined. Go back to your cottage. We will send word once her family arrives. Then you may return home.”
“You want me to leave without saying goodbye?”
“Yes.”
“That would be intolerably rude.”
“This charade of yours will not last if you continue to seek her company,” Luca said firmly. “You carry yourself like a gentleman, not a gamekeeper. It is astounding that she has not seen through you yet.”
Jude clenched his fists at his sides. A part of him knew his brother was right.
Every moment he spent with Josephine was dangerous—for both of them.
Yet another part of him, stubborn and unyielding, could not bear the thought of walking away.
There was something about her—the quiet strength, the wounded pride, the vulnerability she tried so hard to hide—that drew him like a moth to flame.
And that frightened him more than he cared to admit.
Luca stepped closer, his tone softening. “I know about Lady Gwendolyn.”
Jude froze. “How is that possible?”
“Charlotte overheard her boasting to her friends,” Luca said. “She was quite proud of herself for ‘securing the son of a duke.’ It was not difficult to guess which son she meant.”
Jude’s stomach twisted. “Then you know why I left London.”
“No,” Luca replied. “Neither Father nor I know the full truth.”
Jude turned away, staring at the distant tree line. “I was going to offer for her. She was everything I thought I wanted in a wife—kind, considerate, gentle. But it was all a facade. She lied to me, Luca. She wanted the title, not the man.”
“Not every woman is like that,” Luca remarked.
Jude gave a bitter laugh. “You say that because you were fortunate enough to find one who isn’t.”
“Charlotte is proof they exist,” Luca said. “If she had been after rank, she never would have married a second son.”
“She is the exception,” Jude replied flatly. “If Lady Gwendolyn taught me anything, it’s that women will lie, cheat, and manipulate their way into Society’s favor.”
Luca arched a brow. “Mother would disagree.”
Jude’s eyes narrowed. “Do not bring Mother into this.”
“Why not?” Luca asked. “Mother taught us love, compassion and forgiveness. She would not want you to let one woman turn your heart to stone.”
“Lady Gwendolyn was not merely a mistake,” Jude bit out. “Had I married her, I would have been miserable for the rest of my days.”
“But you didn’t marry her,” Luca reminded him.
“Only because I overheard her speaking to her friends,” Jude said. “Laughing. Gloating. I heard my name on her lips and realized, for the first time, what I truly was to her—a means to an end.”