“Especially, at a ball.”
“All right, but maybe you should give it to me… for safekeeping,” he suggested. “Carrying around a loaded pistol is extremely dangerous, not to mention… dangerous.”
“Which is precisely why I am keeping it safe myself.”
The carriage swayed from side to side as they stared at each other in the dimness of the interior. They were two strangers sitting uncomfortably across from each other in silence. He knew that to take her at face value would mean death on a battlefield. He wouldn’t be so naive as to think her a safe companion to travel with. He would keep her in front of him where he could keep an eye on her, and her reticule.
The occasional sliver of light from the street lamps illuminated them for only seconds at a time and he tried to study her while he could get away with it. She was somethingof an enigma, this woman called the Black Raven—shrouded in scandal and mystery but inherently interesting to him nonetheless, despite the fact she quite obviously had bats in the belfry.
“I really think you should give it to me, Countess.”
“I really think I shouldn’t, Bellamy.”
“I see.” He didn’t. “Why is that, exactly?” He would feel a lot better with that thing in his possession instead of hers. A woman and a firearm was a volatile mix. Considering her reputation, he thought it strange she would have shown it to him at all. If she wanted to cast shadow over her innocence, he could see no better way of doing it.
“Because, my dear sir, you are a man,” she was saying now. All said in a tone which gave the impression it was not something he should be proud of.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “While I am glad you noticed,Countess, I hardly see what it has to do with a rather perilous object sitting in your reticule.”
A fierce look of disapproval crossed her features for a moment. Was it his use of the word “Countess” which had rewarded him with such a look?
“It is my opinion that men should never be allowed to have possession of a firearm. You are notoriously clumsy with them.”
“We are? Now hold on a minute…” he began, “…clumsy with them?”
Was the exaggerated sigh meant to imply he should already know this and she was simply repeating a well-known fact? He knew he had been out of the country for a long time but surely he would not have missed such a reform. His pistol had been his best friend for ten years. Evidently, this would be hard for her to comprehend, determined as she seemed to be to put down all men as idiots. Even now she was talking. He listened onlybecause he was intrigued with what other complete twaddle she would come up with.
“Yes, and you shouldn’t be allowed to have sharp objects, either,” she stated with as much conviction as she had about the pistol.
He smiled in the darkness. “I presume you mean a sword, or are we now talking of cutlery?”
“You were right the first time, although now that you mention it—”
“Would you care to explain your theory, Countess?”
This ought to be good, he thought, sitting back. She was very negative towards his gender and really, he shouldn’t find it at all amusing. He was, after all, a man, but he did nevertheless.
“Of course,” she said before taking a breath. “It is well known that men use weapons like toys, like they are meant for your enjoyment, but I assure you they are not. They end up killing people.”
Like your husband, Countess?“I think you are being a little unfair. We don’talluse them like toys.”
“The majority of you do, so I’m afraid my statement stands. Do you not patronizeManton’s? Do you not have all manner of killing apparatus strapped to your walls as trophies of some dead ancestor or in cabinets and boxes tucked away waiting for the next time you want to play with them? If you want to go off and kill each other in duels and other such pathetic methods, by all means go ahead, you are only proving my point,” she said, her tone altogether too smug. “Is there ever a hunting party where one of the guests isn’t shot, maimed, or otherwise disfigured?”
He’d never been on a hunt in his life, not a civilized one at any rate, and they had certainly not been parties. “You don’t like us very much, do you, Countess?” Oliver hoped she could hear the frown in his voice even if she couldn’t see it.
He could hardly believe he was having this conversation with her. Duels, although outlawed, still occurred among gentlemen. It was a matter of honor. He couldn’t deny the fact, but it wasn’t as though they did it as a form of recreation, an activity to do for fun before breakfast.
As for the hunting party, Henry had written to him about such things, usually conveying them in a humorous light. So, yes, there were sometimes unfortunate accidents, but it usually involved a jealous husband who took advantage of shooting at his wife’s lover and being able to pass it off as a wayward shot. Hmm, still…
“I like you well enough,” she was saying now. “You do have your uses, after all.” Her tone was bored, like she might let out a loud yawn.
“We do? I’m surprised. One would think you thought we were good for naught but hacking each other up on a whim, or blowing the stuffing out of one another for target practice,” he stated in disgust. “Might I remind you that men with these particular objects have been at war for a decade and more to keep you from having to eat frog’s legs, Lady Blackhurst? You should be damn grateful.” She should be damn grateful he didn’t shake her till her teeth rattled.
“I heard they taste like chicken,” she said, looking directly at him with those eyes.
“They do, a little… but that is beside the point,” he grumbled. Oh, she was a dirty player.
She looked at him then for a long moment. “While I stand by my theory, in terms of certain types of gentlemen of theton, I would never undermine the military’s importance to the safety of England. Though, through history, it is a repeated scenario that it is a lust for the spoils of war which often necessitates the need for one.”
