“John told me,” Marston blurted out.
“I am a rather good shot.” Elizabeth blushed. “You wouldn’t beat Louisa though.”
Marston’s eyebrows shot up.
This time it was her turn to blush. She was rather proud of her skill, not that she’d had much opportunity to shoot a pistol in recent years.
“Is that so?” Marston’s eyes bored into hers.
“She is a far better shot than I ever hope to be. Not that I have had much practice.” Elizabeth’s eyes met Marston’s.
“I am not at all sure how I feel about ladies with loaded pistols.”
Louisa stiffened. Of course he probably thought she should find a quiet chair somewhere and get back to her embroidery.
“I also find it hard to believe.” He bent to pick up his discarded waistcoat and cravat. “I think I need proof. Why don’t the four of us enter into a contest?”
“Not for me,” John answered. “I’ve already lost once today and don’t intend to add to my humiliation by losing to two ladies.”
“I am too tired,” Elizabeth answered, looking into John’s eyes. “I think I should lie down.”
“What say you, Miss Whitton? Do you care to challenge me?”
Though she knew she shouldn’t participate in such an activity, she wanted to know if she was still as good as before. But what if she wasn’t? It would only prove she lacked any exciting skill. On the other hand, what if she did beat him? Then she would have the private knowledge that she could aim better than someone employed by the Home Office.
“I accept your challenge.”
Even if she was only half as good as John said, it gave Devlin peace of mind that there was at least one other person in the household who could offer a defense if Savary’s men came here, especially since he didn’t know how many were in the country looking. His source indicated there was only one other, but he rarely completely trusted sources. Savary could have sent teams in without telling anyone else. Of course, that didn’t mean Miss Whitton could shoot a man. A target was one thing, but taking a life was completely different. However, when threatened, people did go extreme measures to protect themselves and loved ones.
He knew Elizabeth was an excellent shot and had witnessed it on occasion. Could Miss Whitton be that good? That little slip of a woman?
As much as he wished Elizabeth and John would join them, he knew they were prepared for those coming after them, and he was glad for the opportunity to be alone with Miss Whitton. There was something about her that intrigued him on a level he had never experienced.
Was it safe to be away from the house, just the two of them? He paused at the window from his room and looked out over the vast lawns at the back of the house. There were gardeners and stable boys out and about. They would be safe in the light of day. The darkness was what offered the danger.
Miss Whitton stepped outside and looked around before she marched off toward a servant. He could not hear her from his second floor room, but she was motioning with her arms, and the young man nodded and rushed off to do her bidding. She continued walking and he fixated on the gentle sway of her hips in the light muslin gown. Golden ringlets fell down her back, bouncing with each step, the sunlight turning them to gold.
She was the most intriguing woman he had ever met. Besides all the descriptions he had heard last night, Miss Whitton was also headstrong and opinionated. How did she hide those attributes from everyone but him? And how did she get it into her fool head that a lady didn’t need protection? Even Elizabeth needed to be protected, just not as much as most ladies, given her career. Louisa was cut of a different cloth. Gentle, kind, delicate. A lady he wanted to wrap in his arms and keep safe while enjoying her delicious lips.
Marston stilled. His attraction and desire for the young lady was more than he realized. And he wanted to do much more than kiss those lips. He wanted to divest her of her gown and enjoy all the secrets the muslin hid.
He shook his head and turned away from the window. She was a vicar’s daughter, and he had no business even thinking about her lips or any other part of her anatomy. Yet that one kiss they shared last night still lingered in his mind.
If he read her eyes correctly, she was not immune to him either. Though he and John were both in a similar state of undress, she never looked at her brother-in-law once. After her eyes rose from staring at his chest, her cheeks had developed a deep, rosy hue, and there was a slight breathiness to her words.
Miss Whitton was just as attracted to him as he was to her. But what was he to do about it?
He pulled the damp shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor before he walked to pitcher and poured cool water to wash the sweat from his body.
He couldn’t pursue her. He had three sisters to worry about and could not even think about a potential wife for himself until he had them out from underfoot and settled. To pursue her for anything other than a wife would incur the wrath of the Duke of Danby, and no gentleman in his right mind would even think about offending His Grace. Not if that person wanted to continue to live in England.
Devlin pulled a clean shirt from the wardrobe and threw it on. Maybe she wouldn’t find a husband when she returned to London, which would give him time to court her after his sisters were settled.
He pulled on his waistcoat, tied his cravat, and slipped into his coat. First things first, however. He needed to beat her during the shooting match to prove to her that ladies did require the protection of a gentleman. After that, he would woo her until she couldn’t recall the name of any other gentleman of her acquaintance or be interested in anyone else who may wish to court her once they were all in London.
Bloody hell. She beat him. No, Miss Whitton trounced him. Thank goodness no one was about to witness the event or he would never be allowed to forget this afternoon, especially by those he once worked with out of the Home Office. Who would have thought a young, genteel lady such as Miss Whitton was such a crack shot?
When she opened the engraved wooden case and removed the Miquelet-lock pistol decorated in gold and pearl he was taken aback. He never expected the lady who had sat so serenely last evening and stitching such a delicate pattern, before she was yelling at him of course, would own such a pistol, or any pistol for that matter, let alone know how to use it with such deadly accuracy. He had even brought a gun for her to use, assuming she didn’t own one. Yet she was confident when she loaded and shot, over and over. The only time he gained ground was when the targets moved further away. Her gun lost accuracy with longer distances. She even beat him when they made a contest of who could load, reload and shoot the most objects after lining them up on a fence. When hers were all gone, he still had two items sitting there. It was downright embarrassing.
Right now she was humming softly, a gentle smile on her lips as she put her gun back in the case.
“Where did you learn to shoot?”
She glanced up at him. “Edgeworth, my cousin.”
He shouldn’t be surprised, knowing what little he did about the man. “Why?”
Miss Whitton closed the gun case and turned to him. “When my mother died, he wanted to bolster mine and Elizabeth’s spirits, so he taught us how to shoot.”
“There weren’t more ladylike pastimes he could think of?” Devlin pocketed his own gun and walked toward her.
She laughed. “I am sure there could have been, but he was concerned about us.”
“How so?”
“Elizabeth and I did not have any older brothers. My father was grief-stricken for a time, and Edgeworth wanted to make sure we could protect ourselves.”
Devlin nodded.
“It helped us through some trying times.” They turned and walked back to the house.
There were moments last winter and spring he would have loved to have something with which to distract his sisters. The loss of their father and brother in such a short time had been devastating, and he could think of nothing to comfort or amuse them. He felt the loss as deeply as t
hey, but he had other things to occupy his mind, such as taking up the reins of the title, attending parliament, learning how to run an estate, and making the decision to leave the Home Office. He could no longer be gone for endless weeks, unable to tell anyone where he was. He now had responsibilities at home.
For his sisters, they had nothing new thrust upon their shoulders to take their mind from the loss.
“As you just witnessed, I can shoot as well as any gentlemen and do not need someone protecting me.” Miss Whitton’s voice intruded on his thoughts.
“Yet a lady should not need to worry about protecting herself. A man should have that responsibility.”
Miss Whitton huffed. “But a gentleman is not always around.” She tilted her head a studied him. “Maybe I will teach your sisters to shoot.”
“Good God, no.” He shuddered at the thought of any of them with a loaded gun. Calista would probably spend more hours than necessary thinking about it before trying to understand it from all angles, and end up shooting herself. Miranda would no doubt use it to extract the information she currently sought. A vision of her confronting Lord Stalbridge with a loaded pistol in her hands flitted across his brain. She would probably shoot the man and either hang for the offense or need to move to the Continent. Then there was Penny. That was even more terrifying. While holding the gun on any man, she would also talk incessantly until he grabbed it from her and shot her just to shut her up. No, none of his sisters needed to be around guns.
Miss Whitton stopped and looked up at him. “You don’t wish them to be able to take care of themselves?”
“It isn’t necessary that they do. They have me.”
“Yet you are here, and they are somewhere else.”
Blast, she did have a point, but what was he to do? There was no danger at home, and they were safe. There was an army of servants at the estate, many of them young, strong footmen and stable hands who could see to their safety. “They are perfectly safe and will soon be traveling to London with my aunt and uncle.”
Miss Whitton nodded and began walking back toward the house. Why did he feel she disapproved?
“I see that you would have them coddled, to be moved from your home to another. From your protection to that of a husband without ever considering they may wish for something different.”
“I just want them to be happy.” Devlin sighed. That was really all that mattered.
A small smile came to Miss Whitton’s lips. “That is nice to hear. I had thought you simply wanted to marry them off so they were no longer a burden.”
Is that what Miss Whitton thought? Did his sisters think that? Oh, he had bungled this whole guardian business. “My sisters have never been, nor will they ever be a burden.”
“I was beginning to suspect you were much like my grandfather.”
“Danby?” He wouldn’t mind being more like His Grace. Danby’s children and grandchildren probably never give him a bit of trouble. They wouldn’t dare do so.
“Yes. He was fed up with his grandchildren because none of them had married, and by his estimation, some were well past the time that they should. He ordered us all to the castle for Christmas, and before January was half way complete twelve were married.”
That was an amazing feat, even for Danby. Devlin considered calling on His Grace for advice. If the duke could see most of his grandchildren married within a fortnight, then Devlin should be able to see the same thing happened for his sisters. “How did you escape?”
Miss Whitton stomped away from him. “Grandfather hadn’t picked the perfect husband for me yet.”
“He picked each husband and wife?” Did that mean he chose John for Elizabeth? But how was that possible? Danby shouldn’t have even known John existed or that he was a part of Elizabeth’s life.
“He might as well have,” Miss Whitton grumbled. “Though each cousin did end up with who they wanted.”
“It sounds rather expedient to me.”
Miss Whitton glared up at him. “You would think so, since you wish to marry off your sisters.” She turned and began marching back to the house. He hurried to follow.
“I will have you know, Lord Marston, most ladies do not like having their lives dictated, being told what they can or can’t do, who they should marry, and so on.”
Devlin grasped her arm gently. Why was she in such a dander? “I don’t know why you are so upset. He didn’t marry you off to some stranger.”
“But he will before the year is out if I am not married by Christmas.”
That didn’t give him much time. How could he court her, see if they were a good match, while he had his sisters to worry about? No, he couldn’t let Danby marry her off to someone else who would have access to those delectable lips before Devlin was ready. What if his sisters didn’t do his bidding and marry in time? What if Miss Whitton was lost to him before he ever had a chance to know more about her?
Damnation, why was he even concerned about a lady he had known barely two days, who was a delicate daughter of a vicar, who calmed him in ways nobody ever had, who could shoot a small cup off a fence rail at fifty paces, and who had the warmest blue eyes, golden hair and body of a goddess?
Because she affected him in ways no woman ever had, and he wasn’t ready to give her up.
He needed to make sure Danby didn’t marry her off to someone else, but how could he accomplish that? “Perhaps you’re overreacting.”
Miss Whitton stiffened and drew in a deep breath. “Of course you would think so. You’ve not had to live your life doing and being what everyone expected.”
She yanked her arm away and strode to the house. Devlin simply watched her go.
Louisa flopped down on her bed. What had gotten into her, and why did Marston have the ability to make her so angry? She was never angry. Frustrated at times, but never angry. But that gentleman made her experience all kinds of new emotions.
She stared up at the light pink canopy above her head. And why had she revealed so much to him? Why had she told Marston about Grandfather and his plans to marry her off? What must he think about her fit? After the way she’d yelled at him, twice now, he probably would avoid her for the rest of the visit and not even look her way in London.
And why did she care? Louisa blew out an exasperated sigh and rolled over.
Because he had kissed her. It was her first kiss and in truth, she wanted to kiss him more. Much more, and she had no desire to kiss anyone else. Not that there were any other gentlemen to kiss at Bentley Manor other than Jordan. But even he didn’t inspire her to want to explore things better left behind closed doors after marriage, not that she was sure exactly what those things were. The only gentleman who ever made her heart pound was Marston, and he didn’t want her.
Louisa rolled to her other side. That was the crux of the matter. He didn’t want her. When she announced she would be married at Christmas, he hadn’t even flinched. If he cared he would’ve had some sort of reaction, wouldn’t he? Had her kissing been that bad? Did he not wish to experience it again? How humiliating. She so desperately wanted him to give some indication that he didn’t wish her to marry someone else, but she might as well have announced she was going in to tea for all the expression he offered.
Maybe she was simply tired. She hadn’t slept much last night and when she did, Marston appeared with his wicked smile and delectable lips. A devil in her dreams.
Would she be forced to marry the gentleman her grandfather picked and make the best of it?
No, Louisa refused to settle, even though it was probably expected of her. But what was she to do?
Somehow she needed to change her fate and see that Marston was included.
Louisa glanced up when Marston walked into the breakfast room. She was alone at the table as nobody else had risen yet today. “Good morning, Lord Marston.” She would be pleasant. She would not argue or yell.
“Good morning, Miss Whitton. I trust you slept well.” He walked to the sideboard and began filling a plate with
food.
She would have if his devilishly handsome face would stay out of her dreams. “Yes. Thank you for asking.” She had long since finished her breakfast but was settled in a chair, sipping tea, waiting for him.
What could they talk about? She didn’t want to mention the Little Season or his sisters, because those topics were the source of their past arguments. But what else could she ask? She blew out a breath. She had never been at a loss before. Why was it only with him?
“Is something wrong, Miss Whitton?” He took the seat across from her.
“No. Why do you ask?”
“Because of your sigh and frown.”
A footman came forward and poured coffee into his cup.
“Nothing.” She certainly couldn’t tell him that she was trying to think of a topic with which to woo him. What had they discussed before? What interested him? An idea formed and she waited until he had a mouth full of food before asking. “You never did tell me of your travels. Where have you been?” It was only fair to give him a moment to consider his answer, or lie, if necessary.
He chewed slowly before swallowing. “I’ve been to a number of places.”
Marston would not get away with offering such vague answers, and he couldn’t very well leave the table to avoid answering them, not with a plate full of food before him, unless he wished to starve.
“Tell me about some of them.”
“What do you wish to know?” he countered.
“Have you visited many countries on the continent?”
“Yes.” He took a bite of eggs and chewed. If Marston ate any slower, he would still be eating when luncheon was served.
“Which ones?”
He took a drink of his coffee. “Italy, France, Spain, Germany, Greece.”
“Recently?”
He bit into a piece of toast with a bit more force than necessary. Apparently Marston didn’t like being questioned, and these weren’t even difficult questions to answer. It wasn’t like she asked how long he had worked for the Home Office or if he had had killed anyone.
A Season To Remember Page 4
