Chapter 7 #2
Jasper barely responded. He only gave a curt nod in the woman’s direction once the footman retrieved the bird. Jasper’s silence spoke volumes, Noelle thought.
“Can’t we shoot something besides live animals?” Olivia questioned, looking at the dead bird hanging from the mouth of one of Jasper’s hounds as though she’d be ill.
“What would you suggest, then, sister?” Noelle asked plaintively.
Fitz leaned closer toward her, his gun unloaded and hitched over one arm, to suggest, “Your dancing slippers, perhaps?”
“I was addressing my sister, my lord.” The look that Noelle gave him must have been murderous; but upon meeting his eyes, full of jest, a hint of a smile holding up one corner of his mouth, laughter escaped her until she covered her mouth with her hand.
The Earl scowled, whistling after one of his hounds who had collected the departed bird, then added: “Lord Ludlowe, I can see why you’re such a terrible shot if this is how you practice your tactical skills.”
“Depends on what one is aiming for, my lord,” The young viscount said, not meeting the man’s gaze, his eyes looking out over the rolling hills of an early English spring before him. Noelle wasn’t sure that Jasper had heard him as this comment elicited no rebuke, barely an acknowledgment.
“Shall we move on to archery next for Olivia’s sake, then?” Moria questioned.
Lady Olivia responded, “Don’t pretend to move onto a different sport to support my boycott, dear sister. We all know you want to show off your superiority.”
“Did you expect anything less?” Noelle whispered to Olivia.
The group handed off their weapons to a bevy of male servants who would take them to the armory to be cleaned. The group followed Jasper down a hill and around a copse of trees to a clearing where several targets were already assembled.
The siblings began armoring themselves with pads and choosing bows when the Earl caught Miss Kelley’s elbow.
“Have you shot a bow before?”
Miss Kelley looked at the targets, then at the stands of bows and arrow quivers before turning back to him. “No,” she answered.
Noelle spoke up, putting her at ease. “Well, you can’t be worse than I am, Miss Kelley. I myself am rather a novice at Archery. I’ve been striving for improvement, but few of us have the finesse of Lady Moria.”
Noelle’s eyes followed Bridget’s in the direction of Lady Moria who was making some animated conversation with Lord Ludlowe that had him tossing his head back in laughter. The two of them and their classic, blond good looks appeared to the uninformed observer to be a natural pairing.
Noelle said nothing as she began putting on her limb pads, then preparing to shoot as Moria took her first shot, an arrow that landed just left of the bull’s eye, to some applause. Lawrence was next, followed by the others, and at last Noelle.
She aimed, drew back, and released her arrow. It landed on the ground beside her target.
Lord Ludlowe was beside her in three strides.
“Here, let me help you,” he said with a gentle voice.
His attentive hands corrected her stance, her shoulders, her grip.
Noelle sucked in a breath, inhaling the masculine and citrus scent of him as his hands skimmed her shoulders and arms to steady her hold on the quiver.
She closed her eyes, exhaled, and made her shot.
The rest of the party watched with bated breath, as the arrow pierced just above the center circle. Olivia gave her a wink. Sly girl, she seemed to say from her position on Noelle’s left. If Viscount Ludlowe suspected her of any untruth or trickery, he didn’t let on.
The Smirking Viscount immediately let out a whoop and picked her up off the ground and spun her around.
It was a good excuse for Noelle to wrap her arms around his neck for good measure, even though she knew somehow that he’d never drop her.
The flaxen hair curled at his nape and beneath her fingers felt softer than silk, softer than she’d imagined.
In contrast, the muscular curve of his shoulders and arms against her, were firm and unyielding.
“Put. Her. Down!” The Earl ground out, poignantly pointing his unstrung bow in the young man’s direction before meeting Miss Kelley’s eyes, shaking his head in bewilderment.
When Noelle was back on firm footing, she stole another glance at Fitz, just as he looked away from her, a wicked smile on his lips.
Everyone took several turns. Still, Moria made the best shots of the group each time. Finally, Noelle’s arrow struck true, right in the center of the target all on her own.
The jubilation that came from the Viscount, as well as the others, was giddying. Shouts of triumph and pats on the back and several handshakes later, Fitz still held her hand in his. The leather of his gloved grasp warmed her from her fingertips to her core.
It was his turn to shoot, and he relinquished her hand slowly.
With a loud whistle, the arrow that the Viscount released pierced right through the arrow that Noelle had just shot, splitting it in half down the middle.
The others clapped; but Fitz’s eyes locked with Noelle’s, as though her reaction were the one he sought.
She held onto her bow with a white knuckled grip, teeth biting into her bottom lip.
He leaned down to say something close to her just as her elder sister piped up, “I think I can do even better than that, my lord.”
Noelle bit her lip to stifle a cry of impatience that threatened to eke out.
At the same moment, she felt a water droplet hit the shoulder of her day dress.
Noelle looked above their heads as a convenient smattering of gray clouds rolled closer. The others followed her pointed gaze.
“I’m afraid it’s going to start raining soon, we should get indoors before we are all soaked,” Miss Kelley interrupted.
She was too late. As they all beat a hasty retreat to the nearest doors, it started pouring.
“Race you inside!” Olivia called to the others.
Miss Kelley held Jasper’s jacket above the two of them.
Fitz ran to retrieve his, holding it over Lady Noelle.
Noelle felt the warmth of his large hand at her back radiating through her dress.
Lawrence rounded up the discarded bows and arrows and piled them on the stand as the others retreated indoors.
As they entered, Noelle returned the borrowed coat to Viscount Ludlowe.
Her eyes fell to the linen shirt plastered to the expanse of his chest and the slight bulk of his shoulders.
The outline of his pectoral muscles and broad shoulders beneath soaked linen looked like something out of an erotic novel.
His eyes drifted to her lips as her hands reached to touch him.
He’d been drinking her in, letting her gaze consume him in return.
Belatedly, she noted his smallest finger wrapped around hers.
The gold signet ring was warm against her skin.
He was warm against her skin. Her cheeks must have heated for the way a wide knowing smile cut across his face.
“Noelle!” Moria called, returning to the hall to find the two of them alone and dripping rainwater on the marbled foyer. Both jerked apart at the sound of her voice. Moria’s eyes widened. Fitz’s eyes didn’t veer from Noelle’s face.
“You should go with her to change. I’ll see you at dinner, my lady,” he said with a formal bow.
The sight of him in only his wet linen shirt clinging suggestively to his body in salacious contrast to his courtly manners, his blond hair dripping droplets of rainwater on the stone entry.
She almost giggled. Of course that was Jasper’s cue to enter their foyer.
As subtle as a gargoyle, Jasper made his voice commanding as he stepped closer to his guest, taking his shoulder in one large hand. “I think it’s time you returned to Ludlowe Castle, Pomfrey.”
Fitz’ head jerked up to look the Earl in the eyes, “Have I overstayed my welcome, my lord?”
Jasper could be such a prig; but in his defense, Noelle knew the closeness with which they’d been standing in the foyer didn’t help her prospects of finding a husband or publishing her novel.
When she looked over her shoulder, she caught Fitz teasing his fingers across his lips, until his small, signet ring finger caught his lips.
He closed his eyes briefly like he could still savor that small extravagant brush with her skin.
Noelle didn’t hear the rest of their conversation as Olivia raced her up the stairs, hoping he’d still be there when she came back down.
But she was to be disappointed, Fitzwilliam Pomfrey had left at the Earl’s encouragement with only a note on her desk.
Her heart flitted at the acknowledgement that he’d been in her space, had left a note in his own hand for her to find.
“Don’t stop dancing. And don’t stop writing. I’ll see you in London.
- F”
And something in her felt as optimistic as that self important and swaggering single letter F.