The shock of his presence made her gasp. And his voice, sleep roughened and low, sent a shiver down her spine.
“I’m not.” Lucy nocked the next arrow and turned to face him, steeling herself not to turn into a melting ninny at the sight of his handsome face. “Not as good as I used to be.”
“Did your aunt teach you?”
“I learned at finishing school, but Aunt Cassandraisa renowned toxophilite.”
For a long moment, he merely looked at her. There was a new wariness in his gaze, or perhaps he’d noticed the new resolve in hers. But neither of them seemed willing to look away.
The sun had risen, lightening the blue in his eyes and highlighting a swath of dark stubble across his jaw. He wore no gloves, no waistcoat or tie. In fact, he looked as if he’d tumbled out of bed and dressed hurriedly.
“How did you know where to find me?”
“Mrs. Fox told me. And then I saw you out the window.” He pointed toward the house and the drawing room that looked out on the field.
“You watched me.” Heat swept up Lucy’s neck and warmed her cheeks.
He merely grinned in reply.
“I woke early and decided a walk might help me think.”
“And the all-hearing Mrs. Fox caught you as she did me, it seems.”
“She’s a watchful woman, and her distrust of me is reasonable. We are protective when we care. How can I fault that?”
“You’ll understand once you meet Aunt Cassandra. She inspires that in everyone.”
He finally pulled his gaze from her face and swept a look across the field and the forest beyond. “It is beautiful land.”
“Yes, I’ve wanted to visit for so long.” Lucy realized suddenly that her first visit to Invermere might also be her last. Because of James. Because of his need to sell the manor soon. Then she blurted, “Perhaps she’ll wish to buy Invermere.”
“I would sell to her.” James stepped forward, uncertainty in his gaze. “If that’s possible.”
“I have no real notion of how lucrative her portraiture work might be.” Was it enough to purchase an estate on acres of beautiful Scottish countryside?
“Your aunt is the artist.” A statement. Not a question. Lucy could see the realization dawning like the rising morning sun on his face. “So many of the pieces in the house are in the same vibrant style.”
“She loves color much more than I realized. I plan to learn from studying how she uses it.”
“There’s a mural on the ceiling in my guest room. Is that her work too?”
“Yes,” Lucy stepped closer, dropping the bow to her side. “She told me in a letter a while back that she intended to paint a mural of some sort in every room. The one in my bedroom is a garden.” Insatiably curious, Lucy asked, “What’s yours?”
“Some fanciful tableau.” He let out a soft chuckle and a bit of the tension between them eased. “There’s a unicorn and a forest.”
Lucy smiled. “I recall the letter referring to that one specifically.”
For a moment, he glanced back at the manor, his expression contemplative. “She’s made her mark on this house.”
Lucy didn’t know what to say. Her aunt’s colorful spirit filling Invermere made perfect sense. Foolishly, she’d expected some wild, Gothic shambles. But Cassandra’s wildness had less to do with decor and more to do with her determination to avoid being hemmed in by society’s rules.
“I hope I can do the same one day.”
He tilted his head as if she’d confused him.
Lucy tried not to stare at the open vee of his shirt and the muscles of his neck that moved and shifted as he looked out across the field and then back at her.
“I mean to be so colorful that I make my mark on the world.”
