“No need.”
Percy gritted his teeth watching her satin slipper skid down the bark of the trunk. Not only was the woman risking neck and life falling out of a tree, but she couldn’t even be bothered to wear the proper footwear when doing it. “Really—”
She dropped down to the ground in an elegant crouch and stood, eyes bright and stunning. Brushing off her hands, she peered around him and smiled at Lord Pickles, who eyed their exchange with a grand show of pomposity.
“Troublemaker,” she said.
Percy’s blood heated at the purr in her voice. He’d climb a tree and mewl for rescue if this was the outcome. He picked a twig from her mushed coif—berating himself for being jealous of a damn cat—and silently surveyed her for any injury. Aside from a long tear in her sleeve, the remains of which were still clamped between Lord Pickles’s teeth, she looked fit and radiant from the exercise.
“You shoot, climb trees, play nurse to servants, steal bushes from unsuspecting gardeners.” Percy shook his head. “What’s next? Carriage races at twilight?”
“I haven’t the time, what with late-night rendezvous with a certain gentleman.”
“If the gentleman isn’t me, there’s a dead man walking somewhere.”
She rolled her eyes at his serious threat and nodded towards the targets. “Care to practice your shot, Your Grace?”
How he’d like to deliver the arrow in his pants straight to her center. Percy sighed. He’d never get through this afternoon.
“That bad?” Danny laughed. “You must be the shame of the Home Office.”
Percy smirked, a sudden idea lending to his growing good humor. “Care to make a wager on who’s the better shot?”
She tilted her head, her smile coy. “I’m not bad. Even the rough-and-tumble boys would be hard-pressed to take the lead.”
There wasn’t a possibility the woman was bad at anything. “Is that a yes?”
Coyness turned to confidence. “What are your terms of surrender, sir?”
God, he liked her aplomb more than her eyes and ankles and wrists put together. And grandiose arrogance must be rewarded in kind. “I’m a trained assassin by Her Majesty’s service. You may set your own terms of defeat.”
Teeth flashing, Danny trekked back up the hill and took her place opposite the targets. “WhenI win, Your Grace, you are to do as you once claimed and import a grove of coconut trees here and attempt to grow them for no less than a year.”
Percy guffawed. “That’s insane.” He could worship at her feet for merely suggesting the grueling endeavor.
“Good thing you’re so confident in your winning.”
He smiled. He was going to enjoy taking the egg too. “And when youlose, my lady, you will acquiesce to any question I ask at the conclusion of our wager.”
Curiosity lit her eyes, but she didn’t ask for specifics. Confident, indeed.
Nerves had Percy narrowing the terms further. “Two chances, no more.”
She laughed. “Feel free to take a practice shot. One will be enough for me.”
Dear God, he was going to marry her if he had to offer up his soul to the goddess of archery. “Agreed.” He waved a hand over the table with the equipment. “After you.”
There was no hesitation in her choices. Picking up a medium bow, she placed a quail-feathered arrow on the string and pulled back until her thumb rested against the corner of her mouth, the action displaying toned muscles in her arms.
Percy felt a moment of apprehension seeing her perfect form. He held his breath as she released.
The shot went wide, missing the target altogether.
Percy crushed his cry of victory and took up his place where she’d stood, using a longbow and an arrow that ended in a decorative raven wing. Leveling his gaze at the top of the arrowhead, he inhaled and released.
His arrow struck the inner ring, just shy of the dead center where he’d intended. There was no need to rub his victory in her face.
Composing his expression, he returned his bow to the table and offered Danny his hand.
