Page 29 of The Marquess’s Masked Archer

Pausing in her pattern of drawing her empty bow while spinning on one foot, Sylvie examined Miles. “You look cheerful. Has something good happened today?”

He couldn’t help himself. He wasn’t supposed to know who she was, but it was getting more and more difficult to treat Sylvie the socialite differently from Sylvie as the disguised archer. He wanted to share his news with the woman he was coming to care about far more than he should. “I made a discovery this morning at the laboratory.”

Dropping the bow to her side, Sylvie took a step toward him. He couldn’t see as much of her face as he’d like under the hood and mask, but her lips turning up into an anticipatory smile was all he needed. “What kind of discovery?”

Miles described how he’d seen the parasite and how house flies could transmit it to human food and surfaces, thus spreading illness. He couldn’t stop there, explaining how significant the effects of this new development might be, once he confirmed and reported it. “I’ve worked for years, hoping for the opportunity to do something that might have such widespread benefits. But I never truly expected it would happen.”

Sylvie stepped right up to him, closer than the usual propriety might allow, and rested her hand on his forearm. “I had no doubt you’d accomplish something like this. Congratulations, Miles.”

Awareness of her shot through Miles, stealing his breath. They stood that way until Mr. Miller walked up and cleared his throat. “The audience is waiting. Are you ready to start the show, ma’am?”

After holding the warm, lingering look for a few seconds more, Sylvie turned and squared her shoulders. “I am. Let’s see how the new shot goes.”

They moved through the beginning of the show as usual. Miles stood back to allow Sylvie and Mr. Miller to begin with easy demonstrations. Then, when she moved on to trick shots, he drew upon years of reciting poetry in school to assist her. Shouting out her next move, he gestured with dramatic flourishes at each target she hit as they’d practiced in the woods. He felt beyond silly, but at the same time, drawing attention to Sylvie’s exceptional talent was a joy. In between her shots, he amused the audience by demonstrating some of the fencing skills he’d learned over years of lessons.

Finally, Mr. Miller brought out a stool and positioned it several feet in front of a target. Miles sat down and placed an oversized apple on his head, dropping his hands into his lap once it was balanced and steady. A wave of murmurs from the crowd indicated that they recognized this wasn’t the same as the usual show. From her place about a hundred yards away, Sylvie stared at him, and Miles met her uncertain gaze, hoping his overflowing confidence in her was transmitted through his eyes. He offered a brief prayer, more for her success than any concern about safety.

After cracking her neck, Sylvie drew a deep breath and turned her back to Miles. That was Mr. Miller’s signal to step close to the path of the arrow about halfway between Sylvie and Miles with a wooden ring in his hand. The crowd went still, waiting with bated breath to see what the lady archer would do.

They’d practiced so many times over the last few weeks that Miles could predict every move she would make. But it still took his breath away when Sylvie spun into motion, turning on her toes while raising the bow up and over her head and pulling the string taut with an arrow notched. Almost before she stopped moving, Mr. Miller tossed the ring into the air. Sylvie released her arrow, and Miles braced himself, instinct telling him that remaining frozen in place would reduce his chances of being struck.

As he and the entire crowd watched, the arrow flew straight through the ring on its descent. Doing his best not to flinch, Miles sat still as the arrow sliced cleanly through the apple on his head—knocking it to the ground in the process—and then thumped into the target behind him. The crowd jumped to their feet, cheering with the same delight that expanded in Miles’s chest. How he wished he could run across the lawn and scoop Sylvie into a joyful embrace.

What he had to settle for was standing in front of the crowd and asking them to applaud her one more time. While they began rising from their seats, he reminded them that the show was scheduled twice a week and that they should tell others all about the spectacle they’d witnessed that afternoon.

Once the crowd dispersed, he was finally free to make his way to Sylvie’s side. Affecting a gallant air, he bowed to her. “I told you the shot would be perfect. You were flawless, my lady.”

Pink tinged the part of her cheeks that he could see, and Miles was once again struck with an urge to touch her, to wrap his arms around her. But as he’d been forced to practice all too often over the last few weeks, he restrained the urge. One day, perhaps he would have the right. But until she chose him and he could reveal everything about his past and current situations, it wasn’t his place.

The glow of joy in her eyes was going to make maintaining that restraint a true challenge. And Miles could only pray that he would be able to meet it until the time was right.

CHAPTER 15

By the beginning of August, Sylvie had to admit Miles was right about their complicated new trick shot. People loved the perilous, theatrical nature of it. A buzz had started about the show that brought a surge of new viewers every time they performed. It was all Sylvie had hoped to achieve and more.

She’d also managed to pacify Lucy by holding Miles at bay a bit about their investigation. She’d claimed wanting to avoid any suspicion about them being seen together at functions. In truth, she didn’t have much interest in actually uncovering the identity of her admirer anymore, anyway. The letters continued to arrive, and they were beautiful. They stirred her heart and lifted her spirits. But Sylvie found they paled in comparison to the hours spent with Miles practicing for and performing their show.

At social events, Sylvie struggled with watching Miles from a distance. She hated seeing Lucy’s sly, false smiles and affectionate behavior with him. But deep down, she also gloated a little because she knew the real Miles Wentworth far better than Lucy did. Maybe Sylvie wasn’t able to claim him as her own, but she got to be his friend, and that was worth more than the superficial flirting Lucy clung to.

On this Monday, Lucy was the farthest thing from Sylvie’s mind. The show’s popularity had brought an increased interest from reporters along with the growing audiences. Sylvie did her best not to speak with them, terrified she would slip and reveal something that might give away her identity. She’d asked Miles to speak to them on her behalf whenever possible, but today he had a meeting with Ohio State University officials about his recent discovery and wouldn’t be at the show. And she hadn’t been able to find Mr. Miller beforehand to ask him to intercept them for her.

Thus, at the end of the performance—which hadn’t been as well received without Miles there to have an apple shot off his head—Sylvie was cornered by a man in a plain brown suit with a notepad and pencil at the ready. “Could I have a moment of your time? Jeremy Howell from the Cleveland Press.”

Sylvie shook her head, trying to look busy with gathering her arrows. “No, I’m afraid that’s not possible. I don’t speak to reporters.”

The man tilted his head with a shrewd narrowing of his eyes. “Your partner often does. Why don’t you, I wonder?”

Sylvie ignored the comment, certain he was looking for any way to get her talking. She slid a handful of arrows back into the quiver at her waist. Then she hoisted the target and started toward the building with it, praying he would take the action for the dismissal she intended.

Unfortunately, the reporter didn’t catch the hints that she’d rather be left alone. Or he didn’t care. Instead, he trotted after her, undeterred. “Does the disguise hide your real identity? Or perhaps some disfiguration? Most people would want to enjoy the type of fame you’re getting, not hide from it. There must be something that keeps you in the shadows.”

My, he was tenacious. But Sylvie had a knack for letting goading words roll off her thanks to years of living with her mother. She set the target by the wall where Mr. Miller had left several others and turned to the reporter, hands on her hips. “You will not be getting information from me. Please go on about your day and leave me to mine.”

His eyes brightened. Those words had been some kind of a mistake, though she couldn’t imagine what. “Ah, yes, the rest of your day. If I wait long enough, you’ll need to leave the resort. And then I can see where the mysterious Lady Archer spends the rest of her time.”

Panic bit at Sylvie’s stomach, causing it to clench. The one day she didn’t have someone to help deflect reporters was the day this stubborn fellow showed up. God, give me a way to escape this man.

Mr. Howell watched her with a steady gaze. He had her cornered. And what could she do? Even if she was free to spend her whole day at the resort without making anyone at home suspicious, he seemed committed enough to follow through and wait until she had to leave. While there were several docks on the peninsula and she might be able to escape him in the crowd, he knew when she would be back, thanks to the show schedule. Eventually, he would manage to follow her long enough to see her without her costume or be able to put together pieces to identify her.