In quick succession, Kate lifted the pistol, steadied herself, aimed, and fired. The lead ball struck a large knot on the tree at the end of the grove. She lowered the pistol and spun around, her eyes twinkling with amused mischief.
“Well, Lord Brenton, did my performance meet your exacting standards?”
His mouth opened, but no sound followed. He stared at Kate, then at the tree, before looking back at her with a stunned blink.
“What—? Did you just—?”
It seemed he was destined to play the fool regardless of his aim, for he could find no words. She stood perfectly still, as though she expected him to be angry rather than awestruck. Her shoulders had gone tight as she waited for his response.
Awe broke through his astonishment, a genuine laugh escaping him. “Kate,” he said, “that was magnificent!” Slowly, helplessly, his mouth curved. “Remind me never to underestimate you again.”
She smiled, the tension easing. “Then you are not offended that I am a better shot?”
“Not in the least. In truth, it appears I should be soliciting your expertise. Why did you allow me to play the tutor?”
She bit her lower lip. “I confess, I found your confidence difficult to resist. My father had our gamekeeper teach me while you and Hugh were away at school,” she explained. “I try to practice on occasion to keep up the skill.”
“Hugh and the others have teased me enough over the years about my poor shooting abilities that I have no illusions regarding my own skill.” He let out a low laugh. “I am simply relieved to know that you would be able to defend yourself should the need arise.”
A charming color rose in her cheeks, and he resolved to find ways to compliment her often. Good heavens, did the rest of thetonnot see how extraordinary this woman was? He took the pistol from her and tucked it back into his coat.
“Hugh not only told me of your reputation with a pistol, he shared the nickname your friends gave you.”
He groaned and ran a hand down his face. “Please, I beg of you not to repeat it.”
“Whyever not?” she said with a teasing grin. “You must admit it is quite clever.”
“I would rather you keep calling me ‘Lord Brenton’ than use that nickname.” The lightness of the mood emboldened him. “Though given your talents, perhaps I need to start calling you something other than Kate.”
“Oh? And what name did you have in mind?”
There was a playful, almost flirtatious tone to her voice that sent his pulse skittering. He advanced slowly toward her, placing a finger on his chin as he pretended to consider her question. He matched her boldness, refusing to be the first to look away.
“How about ‘Crackshot’?”
“Undeniably.”
She gave him a broad smile as she took a step backward. He mirrored her movement, moving with her.
“Troublemaker?”
She let out a short laugh, mischief brightening her expression.
“Inevitably.”
She stepped back with her other foot, and he followed, blood thrumming, hesitating a moment before giving voice to the feelings that were beginning to consume him.
“Sweetheart?”
Her breath hitched, and her gaze met his with a sudden intensity.
“Assuredly,” she whispered.
His heart pounded, the rhythm echoing in his ears. The fog swirled around them as he matched her pace, the world beyond the grove vanishing entirely.
“Darling?”
She stopped mid-stride, almost tripping, and he reached his arm around her waist, steadying her. Her eyes were full of tenderness.
