His Favorite Mistress

by Tracy Anne Warren

  Intrigued, Tony watched with the rest of them as Gabriella calmly loaded an arrow into her bow and drew back the string. Her third shot hit the target with the same perfect aim as its predecessors. Without waiting to discuss the matter, he set off toward her. At his back, the other men followed.

  “Where in the world did you learn to shoot like that?” Lily Andarton, was asking Gabriella as Tony came within hearing range.

  “Yes,” Julianna said. “I’ve never seen anyone who could hit the target like you. I don’t believe you have missed once since all of us began.”

  Gabriella relaxed her stance, lowering the bow she held to her side. “Oh, well, it is only because I have had a great deal of practice.”

  “Really? How did you come by that?” Maris Waring inquired in a curious voice from where she stood before her own target.

  “My…um…mother’s theater company sometimes played in the same town as a circus during the summers. There was a man there who could shoot flaming arrows through hoops while he stood on the back of a galloping horse.”

  “My word!” Beatrix Nevill declared, setting her bow aside to join the conversation. “How amazing!”

  Gabriella gave a tiny smile. “Yes, Mr. Stanley was quite a marvel. He was known as the Stupendous Stanley, and he could quite literally hit anything he wanted with his arrows. I watched him every afternoon for a week before I got up the nerve to ask if he would teach me.”

  “And obviously, he did,” Lily said.

  “Yes, though only after a great deal of cajoling. I was but ten at the time, and he was reluctant to waste his efforts on a girl.”

  Striding up to the group, Tony stopped. “Your abilities show that his attentions were far from a waste.”

  Her eyes flashed up to his own, their color luxurious and soft as pansies. “Hallo, Your Grace. What brings you and the other gentlemen here? I thought you were firing pistols.”

  “We were, but had to come see your remarkable prowess with a bow and arrow. May I say you are indeed a marvel.”

  A faint smile turned up the edges of her lovely mouth. “I suppose you may.”

  “And may I also inquire as to how far you can shoot? You have stirred my curiosity.” Among other things, he couldn’t help but add to himself.

  She paused and glanced around at all the eyes upon her. “Oh, I wouldn’t know. A few yards.”

  “From what I have observed, I suspect a few yards is an understatement. The targets are set now at twenty feet, I believe. Do you think you can do thirty?”

  “Well, I—”

  “Give it a try,” he encouraged. “There is never any harm in trying, is there? You, young man,” Tony called toward one of the footmen who had accompanied the party outdoors. “Move Miss St. George’s target back ten feet more.”

  With a nod of his head, the servant hurried to reset the straw bale.

  “Your Grace, I’m not sure—”

  “Wyvern,” he reminded, lowering his voice. “And don’t turn shy on me now. I only want to see what you can do. All of us want to see, I believe.”

  “I have to confess, I do,” Rafe said, folding his arms over his chest. “Give it your best shot, Gabriella,” he encouraged.

  “Yes, yes,” the others cheered.

  She glanced around again, her gaze uncertain. “Well, if that is what all of you want, then I shall make the attempt.”

  In the distance, the footman finished his work and moved well out of the way. Lifting her bow, Gabriella assumed a marksman’s stance and set her arrow. Slowly, she raised the bow and drew back the string, her arm held taut, elbow cocked appropriately as she sighted her aim. A second later, the arrow went flying, a solid thud resounding as it hit its mark dead in the center.

  “Bravo!” Rafe said, several others murmuring their approval.

  Tony studied the target for a moment. “I knew that would be too easy for you. Shall we try for fifty this time?”

  Once again the target was set, and once again Gabriella hit the bull’s-eye squarely in the center.

  “One hundred feet!” Tony declared. “Can you do one hundred?” Meeting her gaze, he saw a spark of true competition glitter in her violet-blue eyes, her gamine face alive with an undisguised enthusiasm that showed she had warmed to the game.

  “Move the target and we shall see,” she agreed, flashing him a confident little grin.

  A pair of minutes later, she made yet another perfect shot. She was laughing at her achievement and accepting another round of congratulations when Tony found himself challenging her once more. “Double it again,” he said. “A real test of skill this time.”

  The chatter faded to an abrupt halt.

  “I say, that seems a bit much, don’t you think, Wyvern?” Lord Nevill protested. “Most men could not even reach such a distance. I believe all of us will eagerly attest to Miss St. George’s superlative aptitude with the bow.”

  For a moment, Tony paused to consider. Am I pushing her too hard? Clearly, his dare was a mighty one, and there was a great chance she would fail this time. Yet, for some reason that not even he fully understood, he wanted to know exactly how good she was. Could she make the sensational shot, or was it beyond even her obvious talent?

  “Two hundred feet,” he repeated. “Unless you would rather not, Miss St. George. I leave the decision entirely up to you.“

  She tossed him a look he couldn’t fully read, her eyes narrowed slightly in obvious indecision. “And if I win?”

  “Ah, a wager,” Harry chimed. “I love a good wager.” At his statement, Rafe and Julianna both turned their heads to fix him with a look. “Not that I am in the habit of indulging in such sport,” he stated in a rush. “Still, there can be no harm in watching others have a go, can there?”

  “None at all,” Rafe agreed. “Particularly when money is not in the offing.”

  Tony suppressed a smile. “In that spirit, I challenge Miss St. George to make one final bull’s-eye at a distance of two hundred feet. If she succeeds, I will grant her the boon of her choice, payment of which she may collect from me at any time, as it suits her pleasure.”

  “And if I miss the shot?” she asked, her pretty chin angling up a notch.

  Ah, if she misses? he mused. He knew the prize he’d like to extract from her—his blood warming imperceptibly at the notion. But he supposed demanding a passionate kiss wasn’t the sort of bargain one made with an innocent young lady, particularly not in the presence of relations and friends. Besides, he really needed to exercise stricter control over himself when it came to the beautiful Gabriella St. George and cease this penchant for flirtation, no matter how sublime such a pastime might be.

  He gazed upward, momentarily tracing the path of a meandering cumulus cloud as he considered the issue. “Well,” he drawled as he lowered his eyes to hers, “if you fail to make your shot, you must promise to take a dish of tea with me tomorrow afternoon in the drawing room.”

  “Tea? That is all?” Her shoulders dipped, her eyes widening in apparent surprise—and if he wasn’t mistaken, disappointment. Precisely what, he wondered, had she been expecting me to suggest?

  “Yes,” he replied, forcing down a roguish grin. “Just tea.”

  She stared at him for a long moment. “Well, in that case, I accept.”

  Excited anticipation traveled through the group as all of them waited for the straw target to be repositioned, a second footman trotting out from the house in order to aid the first man in his task.

  “You can do it, Gabriella!” Lily urged, a spirited expression on her face that complimented the fiery color of her hair.

  “That’s right, we’re behind you,” Julianna agreed, clasping her hands between her breasts in eager expectation.

  “If I am not mistaken, I believe I have just been slighted,” Tony complained in teasing affront. “I assumed, based upon our long acquaintance, that you would support me.”

  “Oh, we would under other circumstances,” Julianna explained. “But we ladies have t
o stick together, since you gentlemen have a habit of winning far too often. I can’t wait to see her put that arrow in the target.”

  “Nor I,” Maris concurred. “We’re all rooting for you, Gabriella.”

  “Go get ’em, Miss St. George,” Beatrix Nevill added.

  A fresh round of laughter ensued.

  “Men, what say you?” Tony scanned his fellows. “Are you with me?”

  “Of course,” Ethan agreed. “Though I must admit I’d like to see her manage the shot.”

  Rafe shook his head. “I remain neutral and will gladly congratulate whoever proves the victor.”

  Although he remained silent about his feelings on the matter, Tony secretly hoped she made the shot too—though at such a great distance, the odds were decidedly not in her favor.

  Gabriella grew deadly serious. Quiet fell as she studied the site, taking her time to evaluate the shot. She even went so far as to remove her pelisse so nothing would interfere with her aim before holding up a single dampened finger in order to test the wind. At length, she took up her bow, reached for a fresh arrow, and slid it into place. As she once more assumed the proper archer’s stance, everyone held their breath, not so much as a bird daring to cheep. Drawing a deep breath, she drew back the bowstring.

  Time slowed, each second ticking past in a syrupy flow.

  In the blink of an eye, she released the arrow, the weapon making a hissing noise as it rushed toward the straw bale and the round target, which looked very small from where they all stood. The arrow struck with a solid impact. For a long moment, though, no one could tell if it had hit square in the target’s center. A footman hurried forward to check, waving his arms a second later and shouting confirmation that she had indeed scored a bull’s-eye.

  A wild cheer exploded, the women hurrying to engulf her in a group hug. Gabriella came up laughing, an expression of happy amazement on her face. Not to be outdone, the men approached to bow over her hand, Rafe moving to pat her on the back with beaming pride and approval.

  “By Jove, Miss St. George,” Harry remarked. “You’re a regular William Tell. If only we had an apple, you could shoot it off someone’s head.”

  Gabriella chuckled. “I would be happy to, Lord Allerton, if one of you would care to volunteer.” A wide grin teased her pink lips as she turned and found Tony’s gaze. “Perhaps you, Your Grace?”

  Gasping laughter echoed in the air. Good-naturedly, Tony smiled. “Admittedly your skill is impressive. However, I fear that is one wager on which I must pass.”

  “But what if that is my chosen boon?” she inquired.

  The unexpected retort made him pause. “If that is the case,” he drawled, “then I would beg your leave to go in search of an extremely large apple.”

  Laughter rippled among everyone again.

  Happy excitement glittered like stars in Gabriella’s eyes, her voice dropping to an almost intimate murmur. “Do not worry, Wyvern, I shall retain my boon for now. One never knows when such a favor will come in handy.”

  “Very true,” he replied. “I look forward to the day you decide to claim it.”

  A moment later, Lord Nevill stepped forward to interrupt. “What a superb display of talent, Miss St. George, quite extraordinary! I realize guns aren’t in the common way for ladies, but have you ever had occasion to fire a pistol?”

  Tony watched her gaze flash between his own and Rafe’s before she turned to face Lord Nevill. “Actually, my lord, I have. The Great Moncrief himself taught me how to shoot.”

  “Good heavens! You truly are a marvel of your sex, aren’t you? Is your ability with firearms at all comparable to your skill with a bow?”

  “I’ve a fair aim.”

  “I’ll bet it’s more than fair. Oh, I say, you and Wyvern should have a match between you. I’d love to see that. What do you think, Your Grace?”

  Before Tony could respond, Julianna broke into the conversation. “I think His Grace and Gabriella will have to schedule such a competition for another day. I have just been informed that our nuncheon is ready, and Cook will be quite put out if we are late.”

  Nevill, taking the hint, made a small bow. “Of course, Lady Pendragon. One dare not offend the staff, particularly one’s cook. I hope Miss St. George will have the opportunity to delight us with her prowess at small arms at a later date.”

  Turning, all of them began to stroll toward the house, Lily sliding her arm through Gabriella’s so she could question her further on her archery technique. Tony followed several paces behind, out of hearing range.

  Rafe fell into step beside him. “Seems as if I owe you yet another measure of gratitude,” Rafe said.

  Tony raised a brow. “For what?”

  “For disarming my niece that night in London. The girl shoots arrows like an Amazon princess. I tremble to imagine what she can do with a gun.”

  He chuckled. “As you said yourself, she would never have gone through with it.”

  “No. She’s a sweet young woman. Still, I’m relieved matters transpired as they did, since I have the feeling Gabriella could shoot the cork out of a bottle and not break the glass.”

  “Now, there’s a trick I’d like to see.”

  Rafe paused, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Perhaps I shouldn’t mention it, but I could not help but notice the way she was looking at you.”

  “Oh?” Tony replied, striving for an even tone. “How is that?”

  “With nascent infatuation. Tread carefully there, my friend. I do not wish to see her hurt.”

  “Don’t worry, she won’t be. She’s far too young, Rafe. Besides, you know my rule about innocent, just-out-the-schoolroom misses. I steer well clear of such lures.” At least I always have before, he mused, pushing aside the hint of guilt that whispered between his ears. “She’s only testing her wings and having a little meaningless fun. I’m sure it’s nothing over which you need be concerned.”

  “No, I suppose not.” Visibly relaxing, Rafe gave him a solid pat on the shoulder. “Thankfully, I can trust you. Julianna and I have decided to bring her up to London next month, and let her have a Season. We’re hoping she’ll take, have fun at all the parties and entertainments. Who knows, maybe she’ll meet a decent young man or two, someone confident enough that her parentage won’t bother him. If she falls in love, mayhap she’ll even make a match. Of course, that will be strictly up to her. We’re in no hurry to lose her.”

  Marriage! He’d never even considered such a notion, not in Gabriella’s case. Still, he supposed he was being naïve, since girls her age married all the time. But why did he care? It wasn’t as if he had any designs upon her himself. Even if she was one of the loveliest, most vivacious and charming young women he’d ever had the occasion to meet.

  Lord, I need to return to London soon, he decided. Luckily, only three days remained and the house party would be over.

  “…which is why I’m hoping I can count on you,” Rafe was saying when Tony’s attention returned to his friend.

  “Count on me how?”

  “To keep a vigilant eye on her, of course. Despite her worldliness on many matters, she is still an innocent and lacks in experience with men. In spite of her illegitimacy—or perhaps because of it—I fear there may be a few unscrupulous bounders hoping to take advantage. I want to make sure none of them has the chance.”

  “They won’t,” Tony promised, one of his hands curling into a fist at his side. “I’ll be on the lookout to turn them away.”

  “Again, I owe you my thanks.” Rafe smiled.

  Reaching the house, they stepped inside the main hallway. As Tony walked upstairs to change clothes for nuncheon, he reviewed his conversation with Rafe, vowing again to follow through on his promise. But as he let himself into his guest bedroom suite, he found himself pondering a far more dangerous question.

  While I am busy protecting Gabriella from other men, he wondered, who will be protecting her from me?

  Chapter Six

  T WO MORNINGS LATE
R, Gabriella tossed down her watercolor brush, then shoved the paper aside. “Faugh, what a mess! I give up.”

  “Oh, now, don’t say that,” Julianna told her. Glancing up, she paused in her efforts to re-create the magnificent flower arrangement she had set out in the morning room so that all the ladies could enjoy doing some artwork. “I am sure your painting is far better than you believe.”

  “No,” Gabriella declared with a self-deprecating laugh. “It’s not. Here, see for yourself.” Lifting her painting, she turned it around to reveal a mass of disjointed blobs—runny pink and yellow ones that were supposed to be flowers, and a huge grayish-white splash that looked like a deformed rain cloud rather than a gorgeous Meissen vase. Even the sheep on the vase were unrecognizable.

  Julianna stared, plainly searching for an encouraging response. The other women peered around their own paintings, their eyes widening before they gave her pitying little smiles and returned to their own work.

  “It’s a fine effort,” Julianna stated in a bolstering tone. “You can’t expect too much on your first attempt, you know.”

  “This isn’t an attempt, it’s a disaster. You are very kind, but the sad truth is I am no artist and never will be.”

  “Keep practicing. You’ll improve.”

  “In fifty or sixty years, if I’m very lucky.” She sighed and reached for a cloth to clean a few paint smudges from her hands. “I think it safest to quit now, and save myself and countless others innumerable hours of pain.”

  “Well, as you prefer.” Julianna glanced toward the clock, the hands reading half past nine. “I had envisioned us painting until nuncheon, but we can stop now and do something else.”

  “No, no, pray do not stop on my account. I won’t hear of it.”

  “But we do not want you to be alone, dear,” Mrs. Mayhew said, the older woman showering her with a concerned smile.

  Lily, Maris, and Beatrix nodded their agreement.

  “I shall be perfectly fine on my own for a couple of hours.” Gabriella rose to her feet. “So none of you are to worry. Besides, there is a book I found in the library that I have been longing to read. This will give me just the chance.”