She could not forget that. Must not forget it. Nor could she forget the reason she had requested a shooting lesson from the first: defense against the Fenian menace who knew who she was, and knew who Lucien was. Men who would do her harm just to gain their political freedom.
Her future with Griffin loomed, rife with uncertainty.
“But Idoneed to thank you,” she told her husband gently. “For everything.”
His expression softened, losing some of its harsh, serious lines, becoming almost sheepish. “Trust me when I say you do not. If anyone is to offer their thanks, it is me. Thank you for giving me the means with which to save myself, and for believing in me enough to put yourself and your future at such great risk all for my sake. I am not worthy of you, darling. Not in the slightest.”
Fear for him lanced her at the reference to the suspicions and blame that had been laid upon him. “I believe in you, because you are innocent, Griffin. And together, we will prove it. To Lucien, and to everyone else.”
He gave a jerky nod, as if he too were affected by emotion. And then he cleared his throat and looked away, back toward the hay bale settled against the bank. “Time to practice with this intolerably small target, my dear. I am afraid you shall have to give it your best effort.”
“Show me,” she said.
He extracted a revolver he had secreted within his waistcoat. It was small and slim, the barrel black and the handle oiled wood. How odd it was to think of how much damage a simple object forged of metal and wood could do.
“Stand back and to my side, Vi. But watch what I do, if you please. Always take care to be sure the gun is empty when you are not using it.” He showed her how to examine the chamber to make certain no bullets were within. “Even when the gun is empty, keep the barrel pointed away from you, and anyone you do not wish to shoot, at all times.”
“I fervently hope there will not be anyone I wish to shoot,” she said. But the truth was, in a world where men would kill and cause destruction because they could, where she and her elderly aunt were beset by gunfire in a carriage in the midst of London’s best streets, the likelihood she may one day need to shoot to defend herself was not as ludicrous and small as she had once imagined it to be.
“As do I, Vi,” he said solemnly. “But if the need should arise, I want you to be capable of defending yourself if you must. No more peering out windows whilst you are unarmed and being shot at by cowardly Fenians. Do you promise me?”
She nodded. His concern warmed her heart, and she could not help but be pleased he was encouraging her ability to look after herself, where her brother had been adamant upon being her sole protector. She could not be under the protection of others for her entire life, and for those times when she was alone and needed to defend herself, she wanted to know how to accomplish it.
“I promise,” she said.
“Excellent.” His tone was grim. “Now just see to it you uphold that vow. This is how you load your ammunition.”
She watched him load the barrel of the revolver with bullets, one at a time, slipping bullets meticulously into place and clicking through the chamber until each round was filled.
“Do not forget to always point the barrel away from yourself,” he instructed again calmly, before lifting the pistol with both hands and pointing it toward the target. “There is a bead on the barrel of the pistol that helps you to gauge your target. Train it upon whatever you wish to shoot. If it is a man you are shooting, set that bead upon either his head or his chest. If you are shooting a man, your aim is to inflict the most damage possible.”
He raised the pistol, gripping it with two hands, and trained the barrel upon the target. “It is important to hold the revolver with both hands, as there will be recoil when you shoot the gun.” He paused and used his thumb to pull back the hammer. “Cock the gun thus, and then pull the trigger when you are ready. You may want to cover your ears, Vi.”
She did as he suggested.
“Ready?”
Hands still clamped over her ears, she nodded. “Ready!”
He pulled the trigger, and almost instantly, the metallic clang of him hitting the target rang through the air. The circular target spun. He remained rooted to the spot, eyes trained on the target. He cocked the revolver again. Shot again. Four more times, each occasion generating a clang and a spin of the target, making for a total of six in all, until the barrel was empty.
Naturally, his aim had been flawless.
“Your turn now,” he announced, handing her the pistol with ginger care.
She accepted it, careful to follow his instructions. With Griffin’s aid, she loaded six rounds into the chamber. And then she raised the gun with both hands, aiming it at the target. Holding her breath, she fired the first shot.
The way the revolver kicked in her hands took her by surprise. It was a strange feeling, but she absorbed it, and took her second shot. The clang of metal reached her ears this time. The target spun. Taking great care to maintain her aim, she shot four times, and on each occasion, she hit the target.
Feeling pleased with herself, she turned back to Griffin, who watched her with an expression of unabashed pride. “What do you think of my aim, husband? Will it suffice?”
“It will more than suffice,” he said, his tone rueful. “Are you certain you never shot a weapon before?”
Her grin widened. “Certain.”
“Bloody hell, I knew you were the woman for me.”
She liked the sound of that. She also liked the knowledge she could defend herself if she had to. She was not helpless, not dependent upon anyone. This was where Lucien had gone wrong; he had believed he needed to be the man to defend her, that he alone could keep her safe.
