“You pull back on the bow string just so.” His breath caressed her cheek.
This man.
This blasted British earl.
What was it about him that made her feel lighter? That caused her to feel weak with giddiness?
Focus on the target.
Deep breath.
Closing one eye, she slipped the string into the nock and pinched the arrow between her fingers just in front of the fletching. Reasoning that his nearness had caused her to feel rather weak, she then allowed the man—the one she’d been determined to resist, to dislike even before she’d met him—well, she allowed that same man to tutor her in doing something she’d done hundreds of times before. Together, they drew the string backward and not half a second after she released, the arrow landed in the center of the target with a satisfying thump.
Silence met her shot initially, and then the others were applauding softly.
“Perhaps Miss Jackson should be instructing you, Jules old boy.”
Charley forced herself to appear as unaffected as possible, hardly aware of which of the other gentlemen commented. Because Julian hadn’t moved. In fact, he seemed to have drawn closer.
He slipped a second arrow into her hand, and they went through the motions a second time with the same resulting bullseye. She could almost imagine they were alone again, only vaguely aware that the others had begun shooting at the second target set up in the room.
Even Mrs. Crabtree’s presence in the corner didn’t matter.
What force in the universe was so powerful that neither she nor Julian seemed capable of stepping away from the other?
Or was it only her?
He caressed the length of her forearm gently, sending a shiver down her spine. “Is that lemon cake I smell?”
There was laughter in his voice but also something else. Something primitive that reignited the sharp wanting that had kept her awake half the night.
“Breakfast,” she said, then cleared her throat. “I ate three of them.”
She felt his chuckle behind her.
And her reaction didn’t seem as though it was one-sided. His breaths sounded a little shorter, a little quicker, just as hers were. His touch lingered longer than it should have, just as she craved.
His lips brushed the shell of her ear, shooting unexpected liquid heat to her core.
They lined up a third time. Charley drew back the string—
“Here they are!” a shrill voice announced, causing Charley to turn her head at the same moment she loosened her grasp of the string.
Any warm fuzzy feelings she’d had fled when her right forearm felt as though it had burst into flames. The arrow landed wide, missing the ubiquitous haybales stacked about and knocking over a vase that had been considered distant enough from the targets so as to be safe.
Glass shards went flying and flowers and water scattered on the floor.
Horrified at what she’d done, Charley bit back her yelp of pain and pressed her arm against her belly.
Jules had taken a few respectable steps away from her and turned toward the door as well. Apparently, the other guests in the house party didn’t wish to be left out. Miss Somerset, her younger sister Miss Delia, and Lady Felicity swept inside the ballroom along with a handful of others.
“Oh, dear! I hope it wasn’t valuable.” The elder Somerset sister’s words ought to have been sympathetic, but she spoke them with a hint of glee. “I suppose you didn’t have the opportunity to learn archery either while growing up in America.”
“Oh, but—”
“You are quite fortunate to be allowed to mingle amongst society,” Miss Somerset interrupted Charley before she could assert that archery, was in fact, something of which she had some knowledge.
“Miss Jackson is not without proficiency with the bow and arrow.” Jules sent a meaningful glance toward the target where both of the two other arrows she’d shot protruded unapologetically from the center circle.
