Page 13 of The Marquess’s Masked Archer

Sylvie released the shot, horrified when the arrow plunked into the outer ring on the target, not at all where she’d intended it to go. “My show is fine, thank you. I only have a short time to practice, if you’ll excuse me.”

She started to walk away, intent on retrieving the arrow without looking to see if Mr. Wentworth realized he’d gotten to her. But Mr. Miller—the traitor—stepped in her path with a pointed look. “You need a way to get more attention on your show. My instincts tell me this fellow’s help will do it. It’s worth at least listening.”

They stared each other down for a few long moments after his hushed words, but it was clear Mr. Miller wasn’t going to budge. He might even refuse to help her anymore if she didn’t allow Mr. Wentworth to explain himself.

And that annoying little niggle in the back of her mind wouldn’t let Sylvie forget she did need something to make the show more exhilarating, after all.

Spinning on the toe of one black heeled boot, Sylvie sighed as she looked Mr. Wentworth up and down again. “Fine. What is your grand idea? Adding a swordfight to the finale?”

With only half of his face visible, Mr. Wentworth’s smile had even more impact than usual. It was so nice to look at that Sylvie nearly missed his first few words. “You need someone to perform alongside you, to allow for more daring trick shots. I would be more than happy to oblige.” He let his hands fall alongside his body. “I’m already in character. I can add some fencing demonstrations to the show that will give the audience something to watch while you and Mr. Miller set up your shots. And I have full confidence in your skill with a bow. I’m happy to place myself in the path of your arrows if it helps your show.”

As the meaning of his words caught up to Sylvie’s thoughts, she blinked a few times. “You want me to shoot at you? I wouldn’t call that merely daring. It’s dangerous. Fool-hardy. No. Absolutely not. I’ve never done trick shots with another person, and I don’t want to start in front of a crowd, especially one including small children. It’s a terrible idea.”

Even as she protested, Sylvie could imagine how the sensational news would spread. The lady archer shooting arrows at a man would draw a great deal of interest. But she could accidentally shoot him! Sylvie pushed aside the temptation to agree, as difficult as it was.

“Why don’t we practice it once or twice? A standard, easy shot. I’ll hold something well above my head, so if you happened to hit me—which I doubt is possible—it would only be my hand.”

Mr. Miller moved to stand next to Mr. Wentworth, and both of them turned imploring looks on her. Like two puppy dogs batting giant, begging eyes in her direction. It was ridiculous. “Only your hand? If word got out that I hit anyone with an arrow, even on the hand, it would destroy my credibility as a skilled archer. I won’t agree.”

The urge to give in grew with every second she had to look at their faces, so Sylvie spun away and took a few steps in the opposite direction. Mr. Wentworth wasn’t ready to give up, though. He jogged to catch up with her, falling into step beside her. “I do believe this would be good for your show. And you can rest assured I won’t even ask to know your name. I’m Miles Wentworth, by the way, as I don’t believe I introduced myself. Is there something I can call you?”

With her heart racing, Sylvie willed herself not to be drawn in by the sweet authenticity in his words. He wanted to help her. He didn’t have any ulterior motive of wanting to expose her secret, or making her stop, or turning himself into the star. For whatever reason, Mr. Wentworth wanted to help her make her show a success. For her, nothing else.

It was impossible to continue believing she could win against his kindness. “You can call me Robin, I suppose, in keeping with the theme. And while I appreciate knowing your name, Mr. Wentworth, I’ll call you Will if we reach the point of performing together. To keep up the ruse.”

He offered a chivalrous bow, adding a flourish with one hand that tempted her to giggle. Oh, this was going to be a distraction of the worst kind.

But Sylvie had work to do, and maybe remembering her purpose would help her stay focused. “Since you’re in costume already, let’s try a low-risk trick and see if we can incorporate it into today’s show. More challenging stunts will require practice time. Will that be a problem?”

A tiny corner of her heart waited with bated breath, hoping he would say the extra time wouldn’t be possible and the entire thing would be over. Not working on the show together would make it so much easier for Sylvie to keep her distance from him.

Instead, he nodded solemnly. “I’ll be here when you are.”

The way his voice dropped into a deep, smoky tone started her heart fluttering. It was silly how warm those words made her feel. Had anyone ever been there for her without asking a single question? Supporting her without doubting her ability to be successful? Matilda, perhaps. But now that her friend was planning for her upcoming marriage, a bit of distance had grown between them. Sylvie had been lonely over the last few months.

I’ll be here.

As he watched her, his eyes glowed, and an excited smile played at the corners of his lips even while he seemed to be trying to remain serious. He was not only here for her but happy to be. Maybe even anticipating working at her side.

Oh, this was going to be even more of a distraction than Sylvie had predicted.

Twenty minutes later, Miles sat on a stool with his arms high above his head, his self-preservation instinct drawing a prayer that he’d been right in trusting Miss Bryce’s archery skills. Because if he hadn’t, he was going to get an arrow in the face.

After years of separation, did God care enough about Miles to be concerned with his physical safety now?

It took all his willpower to keep the apple in his hands from trembling. It was the largest one Mr. Miller had been able to unearth in the Hotel Breakers dining room, but it was still an awfully small target. Miles refused to show any doubt in the lady archer, though, not even during their practice time. His constant support would prove to Miss Bryce that he was worthy of being an option as her partner in life, as well as in her show.

That particular, unexpected longing made his arms shake more than concern for her aim. When had he began thinking of marriage in conjunction with Miss Bryce? Perhaps when he’d decided to pursue her in any way he could. The entire concept was a bit daunting now that he’d realized it, but what other conclusion could there be to his interest in her? If his courtship went well and they found themselves suited to one another, wasn’t marriage the logical goal?

While he was lost in thought, an arrow whizzed toward him, thwapping through the lofted apple without slowing a bit and causing him to drop the fruit. Miles couldn’t move for a moment, finally drawing a full enough breath to lower his arms and rise from the chair. He looked back. The arrow was embedded in the exact center of the target behind him.

Sylvie Bryce was amazing.

And God hadn’t let an arrow pierce his eye.

Returning his gaze to her, he couldn’t help but grin. “That was marvelous. I didn’t have any doubt you could make the shot, but it’s impressive when you actually see it. Well done.”

She reached under her heavy cloak and wiped her brow with a handkerchief. “I’ve never been so frightened to take a shot in my life. I don’t know if this is a good idea. Even if I can make the shots, I’m not perfect. Something could go wrong at any time. What if I hit you?”