Page 14 of The Marquess’s Masked Archer

Was she concerned about him? The worry in her eyes indicated she was afraid of more than just potential damage to her reputation if word got out that she injured someone.

Striding across the lawn to her side, Miles tipped his head down to ensure she was looking right into his eyes. “You are by far the best archer I’ve ever seen, and I knew some very talented ones in England. If something goes wrong, it would be no fault of yours. Why, I could get injured walking across this grass, with no bow involved. These tricks will enthrall your audience, and that’s what matters.”

Her shoulders released a bit of tension, looking less like she was holding her entire body too rigid. She headed toward the target to retrieve the arrows from her last few shots, and Miles fell into step next to her. It was nice. Companionable. Even if he couldn’t see her full face as he would have liked.

As they walked, Miss Bryce kept her gaze on the targets. “How long ago did you leave England?”

The personal question encouraged Miles. She was interested. In him. Or at least in his history. But it wasn’t exactly easy for him to answer. If she discovered what he’d faced in his home country, she would likely dismiss him on the spot, as so many others had. Maybe she would even reveal it to all of Cleveland society. He’d already faced worse censure than anything they might think of him. But if word of the situation reached the university, it could reflect poorly on his character and jeopardize his involvement at the laboratory. No, he needed more confidence that she wouldn’t jump to the worst possible conclusion before allowing her to know the reason he’d fled. “Eight years ago. I came over to study at Cornell University.”

Not untrue, although the full reality of his past was far, far more complex. She tipped her head, giving him an insight into her thoughts despite her hidden face. “And how do you find America in comparison?”

Another difficult question, given all the things he couldn’t reveal yet. “Very different. There’s much more freedom to make choices for myself here. It wasn’t so terrible before my father and older brother perished in a hunting accident, before there was a chance I might inherit anything. Once I became the marquess, however, my life in England became all expectations and responsibilities I didn’t want. Here, I can choose what I’d like to do without worrying about the livelihoods of an entire household, supporting tenants, and how the public might perceive my choices.”

A sigh reached his ears as they stopped at the targets. Miss Bryce yanked an arrow from the paper target attached to a straw bundle with more force than necessary. “I’m so sorry for the loss of your father and brother. But how lovely it must be to make choices for yourself now.”

The words held a wistful, almost bitter edge. “You don’t have the same opportunity?”

A snort erupted from under the hood. “Certainly not. I’m told how to dress, what to eat, where to go, how to act, even what I’ll be doing for the rest of my life. Every moment is laid out already, and I have no say in how it will go. So enjoy your choices. Not everyone is so lucky.”

Miles had never imagined an American woman with plenty of money and powerful friends would have so little say. It sounded very much like his life prior to leaving his home. But he had to take care not to reveal his knowledge of her position in society. “I apologize for being flippant about it. I didn’t stop to consider that a woman’s life isn’t often any easier than mine was there. Is that why you do this?”

A long pause made him think the inquiry might have been too personal. But then she shrugged and tugged the rest of the arrows from the target in rapid succession, sliding them into the quiver hanging at her waist. “It is. I get to control this one thing, and I won’t fail at it.”

She turned and marched back across the grass, calling over her shoulder, “Let’s try it again. If it isn’t perfect, it won’t be in the show today.”

Miles returned to his seat, saddened that the moment of connection between them had been severed. But the deeper understanding of what her life was like motivated him all the more to win her over. If she were his wife, he could offer her the freedom to pursue her interests in whatever way she wanted. With a husband’s support, she would be less likely to incur censure from society. The idea of giving her that freedom was delightful enough to distract him from potential accidents as he sat down and prepared to try the shot again.

It only took a few more tries for them all to agree they should include Miles in the show. Miss Bryce shot the fruit from Miles’s hands every time with ease, the confidence in her demeanor growing with each hit. By the time Mr. Miller mentioned they should leave the lawn so the audience wouldn’t see them before the show, Miss Bryce was adding dramatic flourishes to her movements during the trick. And Miles had complete faith that the crowd would love it.

The three of them retreated to the shade of the nearby Coliseum. Miss Bryce stood with her back as straight as her arrows but shifted her weight from one foot to the other while holding the bow with a grip tight enough to whiten her knuckles. She stayed apart from the two men a bit, enabling Miles to question Mr. Miller in a low voice. “Does she get nervous about the shows?”

Mr. Miller shrugged. “I suppose. But she never says a word. In fact, she rarely spends time with anyone here outside of the small amount I help her with the demonstrations. Protecting her identity, I assume.”

Miles reviewed all the times he’d encountered Miss Bryce so far, both at society events and here at the resort. Other than the glimpses he’d caught of her with the woman who appeared to be a close friend, she did strike him as a person who kept to herself.

The idea of overcoming her reticence suddenly seemed insurmountable. She kept to herself for a reason, both here and at society functions. She didn’t want his help or his companionship. How could he think he might win her over on willpower alone?

But she’d revealed a small part of herself to him a bit ago. It must be a good sign. Wasn’t it?

As he was growing more accustomed to doing, Miles let his questions coalesce into a prayer. Whether or not God cared enough about him to not only listen, but to help, Miles wasn’t yet certain. After facing tragedy followed by a life-altering ordeal, the idea of a God who reached out to take care of individual believers didn’t match his experience. But it couldn’t hurt to take his longings to the only one who might have the power to influence the way they turned out.

The three of them continued to wait out of sight until uniformed staff had collected tickets and allowed the guests to fill in the bleachers along one side of the lawn. Standing at the corner where he could see the progress, Mr. Miller gestured to Miss Bryce when it was time to begin. They went out and began their usual routine. It wasn’t until after her first trick shot that Miles drew a deep breath, fixed his own mask in place, and strode out to help her in the only way he could imagine she would appreciate for now.

CHAPTER 8

Mr. Wentworth’s harebrained scheme had actually worked.

Waiting for riotous applause to die down, Sylvie could still hear the gasps rising from the crowd when her new helper seated himself in the line of her arrow. Now, after seeing the shot go off without a hitch, the audience appeared spellbound. Children leaned forward in their seats, and there was a buzz in the air as the spectators chatted about what they’d seen.

As much as a small part of Sylvie had wanted it to go badly so she didn’t have to admit he was right, she owed Mr. Wentworth significant thanks when the show was over. And a much larger part of her was thrilled and relieved. The show had indeed needed something bigger than she’d been doing.

If only continuing to meet the growing excitement for the show didn’t mean working alongside Mr. Wentworth for the summer.

Sylvie slid into position for her next trick while Mr. Wentworth stood with Mr. Miller. He did cut a dashing figure in that silk tunic, and the mask accentuated his strong features more than she would have guessed. It took all Sylvie’s efforts to stop watching the way the women in the crowd followed him with their eyes so she could perform the last few shots and finish the show without any mistakes.

Finally, Mr. Wentworth joined her front and center before the audience, and they gave a final bow to the crowd. Then, while Mr. Miller encouraged people to leave the area, she and Mr. Wentworth each took a target and lugged it toward the storage area. Inside the cooler building, Mr. Wentworth placed his target in a corner and leaned back against the wall with a sigh. “It worked, didn’t it? And I don’t think I’ve ever had so much fun in my life. It’s no wonder you make the effort to do this twice every week.”

Before she could stop it, Sylvie’s ire rose. While she loved archery, this job wasn’t an amusement for her. It was important to her future. Vital, even. “I hardly do this for the fun of it. Coming here is a risk for me. I could stand to lose the little bit of freedom available to me if I were to be found out.”