We’ve known his family forever. He doesn’t seem to care about the scandal in ours, and he’s an excellent shot-“
“That would certainly be at the top of my list of requirements for a husband,” Minerva broke in, eyes twinkling. “’Must be able to hit a bull’s-eye at fifty paces.’”
“Fifty paces? Are you mad? It would have to be a hundred at least.”
Her sister burst into laughter. “Forgive me for not knowing what constitutes sufficient marksmanship for your prospective mate.” Her gaze grew calculating. “I heart that Jackson is a very good shot. Gabe said he beat everyone today, even you.”
“Don’t remind me,” Celia grumbled.
“Gabe also said he won a kiss from you.”
“Yes, and he gave me a peck on the forehead,” Celia said, still annoyed by that. “As if I were some…some little girl.”
“Perhaps he was just trying to be polite.”
Celia sighed. “Probably.
I didn’t kiss you “properly” today because I was afraid if I did I might not stop.
“The thing is…” Celia bit her lower lip and wondered just how much she should reveal to her sister. But she had to discuss this with someone, and she knew she could trust Minerva. Her sister had never betrayed a confidence. “That wasn’t the first time Jackson kissed me. Nor the last.”
Minerva nearly choked on her chocolate. “Good Lord, Celia, don’t say such things when I’m drinking something hot!” Carefully she set her cup on the bedside table. “He kissed you?” She seized Celia’s free hand. “More than once?”
Celia nodded.
Her sister cast her eyes heavenward. “And yet you’re debating whether to enter into a marriage of convenience with Lyons.” Then she looked alarmed. “You did want the man to kiss you, right?”
“Of course I wanted-“ She caught herself. “He didn’t force me, if that’s what you’re asking. But neither has Jackson…I mean, Mr. Pinter…offered me anything important.”
“He hasn’t mentioned marriage?”
“No.”
Concern crossed Minerva’s face. “And love? What of that?”
“That neither.” She set her own cup on the table, then dragged a blanket up to her chin. “He’s just kissed me. A lot.”
Minerva left the bed to pace in front of the fireplace. “With men, that’s how it starts sometimes. They desire a woman first. Love comes later.”
Unless they were drumming up desire for a woman for some other reason, the way Ned had. “Sometimes all they feel for a woman is desire,” Celia pointed out. “Sometimes love never enters into it. Like Papa with his females.”
“Mr. Pinter doesn’t strike me as that sort.”
“Well, he didn’t strike me as having an ounce of passion until he started kissing me.”
Minerva shot her a sly glance. “How is his kissing?”
Heat rose in her cheeks. “It’s very…er…inspiring.” Much better than Ned’s, to be sure.
“That’s rather important in a husband,” Minerva said dryly. “And what of the duke? Has he kissed you?”
“Once. It was…not so inspiring.” She leaned forward. “But he’s offering marriage, and Jackson hasn’t even hinted at it.”
“You shouldn’t settle for a marriage of convenience. Especially if you prefer Jackson.”
I don’t believe in marriages of convenience. Given your family’s history, I would think that you wouldn’t, either.
Celia balled the blanket into a knot. That was easy for Jackson to say-he didn’t have a scheming grandmother breathing down his neck. For that matter, neither did Minerva.
Oh, blast, this is all so confusing!” she complained. “How is a woman supposed to figure out what a man really wants?”
“If you learn the answer to that question, do be a dear and tell the rest of us,” Minerva quipped. “Though as far as I can tell, men are simple creatures, for all their posturing. They want food, drink, and a wench to bed, not necessarily in that order.”
“And love?” Celia asked.
Minerva smiled. “That, too. Some men do, anyway.
You are too kind, my lady. Indeed, you are the most amiable Englishwoman I have ever met."
She laughed. The viscount was rapidly rising on her list. "Some people don't find me amiable." Like a certain unfeeling Bow Street Runner.
He struck a hand to his chest. "I cannot believe that! You are such an alma brilhante...a bright soul. How can anyone not see it?"
She grinned at him. "They must all be blind."
"And deaf." He tapped his temple. "And not very right in the head."
"Excellent, my lord," she said. "Your grasped that idiom quite well."
He looked surprised by that, then smiled. "I have to learn if I am to impress the senhora."
She cast him a coy glance. "And why would you want to impress me, sir?"
Picking up her hand, he pressed a kiss to it again and this time didn't release it. "Why would I not?" His wistful expression tugged at her sympathies.
"You'd better eat your eggs before they get cold," she said, gently withdrawing her hand.
He patted her hand. “But I will settle for an amiable wife.” It was as close to making a declaration of his intentions as he’d come.
So of course Mr. Pinter chose that inopportune moment to enter the breakfast room. “And whose amiable wife are you settling for, sir?” he said in a snide tone.
His gaze dropped to the viscount’s hand resting on hers, then darkened. She resisted the urge to snatch her hand free.
The viscount bristled, tightening his hand almost possessively on hers. “Do I know you, sir?”
“Not yet. The name is Jackson Pinter.” He came to stand directly across the table and bent forward over it to offer his hand to Lord Basto, forcing the viscount to release her hand to take it. “Some would call me Mrs. Plumtree’s ‘lackey,’” he added with a side glance at Celia. “Though I work for Lord Stoneville.”
She colored, remembering the conversation they’d had a few months ago, when she’d called him that. He was clearly spoiling for a fight. No doubt he was still smarting over her pulling a pistol on him last night. “Mr. Pinter does investigations of all kinds,” she explained. “For money.”
Mr. Pinter’s slate-gray eyes bore into her. “Some of us cannot live on our family’s fortune, my lady.”
“While some of us are very fond of biting the hand that feeds them.” If he could throw her past words at her, then she could throw back what he’d said to her months ago.
She was surprised when a reluctant smile tugged at his lips. “A hit direct, madam. Perhaps I should get out of the line of the fire while I still have my head.”
“Perhaps you should refrain from putting yourself in the line of fire in the first place,” she quipped. “An officer of the law ought to know better.”
“Know better than what?” Oliver asked as he entered with the duke at his side.
Generally, she liked being in a room full of men. But when it was her brother, two suitors, and the only man whose kisses had ever affected her, there was a bit too much manliness in the air for her taste.
“Your sister and I were just having one of our usual discussions,” Mr. Pinter said.
“You mean she was raking you over the coals again?” Oliver said.
“I believe the coal raking was mutual this time,” she said lightly.
Oliver snorted. She could feel the viscount’s gaze on her, and the duke seemed to be watching both her and Mr. Pinter. It was very unsettling.
Speaking of shooting, my lady,” Mr. Pinter said as he came around the table, “I looked over your pistol as you requested. Everything seems to be in order.”
Removing it from his coat pocket, he handed it to her, a hint of humor in his gaze. As several pair of male eyes fixed on her, she colored. To hide her embarrassment, she made a great show of examining her gun. He’d cleaned it thoroughly, which she grudgingly admitted was rather nice of him.
“What a cunning little weapon,” the viscount said and reached for it. “May I?”
She handed him the pistol.
“How tiny it is,” he exclaimed.
“It’s a lady’s pocket pistol,” she told him as he examined it.
Oliver frowned at her. “When did you acquire a pocket pistol, Celia?”
“A little while ago,” she said blithely.
Gabe grinned. “You may not know this, Basto, but my sister is something of a sharpshooter. I daresay she has a bigger collection of guns than Oliver.”
“Not bigger,” she said. “Finer perhaps, but I’m choosy about my firearms.”
“She has beaten us all at some time or another at target shooting,” the duke said dryly. “The lady could probably hit a fly at fifty paces.”
“Don’t be silly,” she said with a grin. “A beetle perhaps, but not a fly.” The minute the words were out of her mouth, she could have kicked herself. Females did not boast of their shooting-not if they wanted to snag husbands.
“You should come shooting with us,” Oliver said. “Why not?”
The last thing she needed was to beat her suitors at shooting. The viscount in particular would take it very ill. She suspected that Portuguese men preferred their women to be wilting flowers.
“No thank you,” she said. “Target shooting is one thing, but I don’t like hunting birds.”
“Suit yourself,” Gabe said, clearly happy to make it a gentlemen-only outing, though he knew perfectly well that hunting birds didn’t bother her.
“Come now, Lady Celia,” Lord Devonmont said. “You were eating partridges at supper last night. How can you quibble about shooting birds?”
“If she doesn’t want to go, let her stay,” Gabe put in.
“It’s not shooting birds she has an objection to,” Mr. Pinter said in a taunting voice. “Her ladyship just can’t hit a moving target.”
She bit back a hot retort. Don’t scare off the suitors.
“That’s ridiculous, Pinter,” Gabe said. “I’ve seen Celia-ow! What the devil, Oliver? You stepped on my foot!”
“Sorry, old chap, you were in the way,” Oliver said as he went to the table. “I think Pinter’s right, though. Celia can’t hit a moving target.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she protested, “I most certainly can hit a moving target! Just because I choose not to for the sake of the poor, helpless birds-“
“Convenient, isn’t it, her sudden dislike of shooting ‘poor, helpless birds’?” Mr. Pinter said with a smug glance at Lord Devonmont.
“Convenient, indeed,” Lord Devonmont agreed. “But not surprising. Women don’t have the same ability to follow a bird in flight that a man-“
“That’s nonsense, and you know it!” Celia jumped to her feet. “I can shoot a pigeon or a grouse on the wing as well as any man here.”
“Sounds like a challenge to me,” Oliver said. “What do you think, Pinter?”
“A definite challenge, sir.” Mr. Pinter was staring at her with what looked like satisfaction.
Blast it all, had that been his purpose-to goad her into it?
Oh, what did it matter? She couldn’t let a claim like this or Lord Devonmont’s stand. “Fine. I’ll join you gentlemen for the shooting.”
“Then I propose that whoever bags the most birds gets to kiss the lady,” Lord Devonmont said with a gleam in his eye.
“That’s not much of a prize for me,” Gabe grumbled.
She planted her hands on her hips. “And what if I bag the most birds?”
“Then you get to shoot whomever you wish,” Mr. Pinter drawled.
As the others laughed, Celia glared at him. He was certainly enjoying himself, the wretch. “I’d be careful if I were you, Mr. Pinter. That person would most likely be you.
She planted her hands on her hips. “And what if I bag the most birds?”
“Then you get to shoot whomever you wish,” Mr. Pinter drawled.
As the others laughed, Celia glared at him. He was certainly enjoying himself, the wretch. “I’d be careful if I were you, Mr. Pinter. That person would most likely be you.”
“Oho, man, you’ve really got her dander up this time,” Gabe exclaimed. “What on earth did you do?”
Mr. Pinter’s gaze met hers, glinting with unholy amusement. “I confiscated her pistol.”
A Gabe gasped, Oliver shook his head. “You’ll learn soon enough-never take away one of Celia’s guns. Not if you want to live.”
“I’m not that bad,” Celia grumbled as the duke and the viscount eyed her with a twinge of alarm, though Lord Devonmont’s grin broadened. “I’ve never shot a person in my life.”
“There’s always a first time,” Gabe teased.
“Oh, for pity’s sake.” She regarded them all stoutly. “I promise not to shoot any of you. How about this? If I win, you gentlemen owe me a rifle. Between the five of you, I’m sure you can afford a decent one.”
“Five?” Mr. Pinter said. “Don’t I get a part in this little game?”
She stared him down. “I thought you had certain duties to attend to.” He should be investigating her suitors.
“Whatever duties he has for me will keep, Celia,” Oliver said. “Do come with us, Pinter. I want to see how well you handle a fowling piece.”
Mr. Pinter smiled at her. “I’d be honored, my lord. As long as her ladyship doesn’t mind.”
Of course she minded. But if she tried to cut him out, they’d say she was afraid he would beat her.
“Not in the least,” she said. “Just be prepared to contribute your part of my rifle.”
But as she headed for the door, it wasn’t the rifle she was worried about. It was that blasted kiss. Because if he won…
Well, she’d just have to make sure he didn’t.
Apparently, Stoneville meant to gain his amusement solely from watching Jackson bait Celia.
Jackson wasn’t entirely sure why, but neither did he care. He cared only about making sure he shot well enough to beat Celia’s three suitors, to prevent them from gaining the kiss.
So you can gain it yourself.
He scowled as they halted in their new spot to reload. Nonsense. But if he did happen to win it, he would treat her like the lady she was. Devonmont was just the kind of joking fellow to be impudent with her in front of everyone. Lyons had already had a taste of her lips, so he might very well think to make his second taste more intimate. And Basto, who already had a fondness for holding her hand, confound the insolent devil-
Jackson swore under his breath. He was acting like some jealous idiot. All right, so he was jealous, but this wasn’t about that. He merely wanted to keep Celia from making an enormous mistake.
When she’d tried to get out of shooting, Jackson had realized she was serious about choosing one of these idiots as a husband. Clearly, she thought if she pretended to be some milk-and-water miss, it would help her chances.
So he’d made sure she didn’t do any such thing. If they were worthy of her, they had to be worthy of the real her, not the pretend one she presented. Personally, he thought them all fools for not seeing she was putting on an act.
And couldn’t she see that a marriage built on such deceptions would fail?
No, she was too blinded by her determination to prove her grandmother wrong about her. Well, he couldn’t let her stumble into some idiotic engagement with gentlemen who didn’t deserve her. Especially not after what he’d learned about them.
He kept stealing glances at Celia that were filled with longing and perhaps desire.
Jackson didn’t like that one bit. When he gave her his report he would emphasize the viscount’s utter unsuitability as a suitor. Devonmont’s, too.
Lyons’s unsuitability was more murky. But Jackson could still make a case against the man, and he fully intended to do so as soon as he could get her alone. Preferably in a public area where what happened between them last night couldn’t occur again.
Liar. You want to kiss her so badly you can taste it.
It was a wonder he could shoot straight with her standing so near. She’d dressed to entice again today, this time in a heavy redingote the color of the forest. It turned her hazel eyes just green enough to remind him she was a Sharpe, with the same eyes as most of them. The expensive tailoring of her wool attire, a cross between a gown and a coat, reminded him she was a lady and an heiress, especially since she’d refrained from wearing her usual smock.
He’d never seen her shoot and had assumed that her prowess must be exaggerated. It was not. He hadn’t been able to keep track of her kills while focusing on his own, but he was fairly certain the number came close to his. He noted her concentration, the care she took in aiming, the way she compensated for wind and other variables. He’d never met another woman like her. She was magnificent.
His friends liked to hunt. Sometimes I went along.”
“And here I thought you only fired at people,” Celia called over from the other side of him.
“I rarely need to shoot in the course of performing my duties. But I do have to use my pistol occasionally.” He slanted a glance at her. “Unlike you, my lady, I don’t carry mine for show.”
Her cheeks pinked, but she merely sniffed and halted to reload again. So did he.
He probably should stop tormenting her about her damned pocket pistol, but it still shook him. Powder or no powder, such a weapon could easily provoke a man to attack her.
Still, Jackson admitted that it probably wouldn’t have that effect on this lot. They didn’t seem the bullying sort, just the coax-a-woman-into-their-bed sort.
Manton told me I was one of the first to have it.”
“One of the first,” Jackson emphasized. “It appears Lady Celia was the first.”
She shot him a warning look. He ignored it.
“What Mr. Pinter meant to say,” she said smoothly, “was that Mr. Manton probably tells all his customers that.”
“That is not what I meant to say, my lady,” Jackson retorted, unreasonably annoyed. “I said what I meant, and I’d thank you not to put words in my mouth.”
“I’d thank you not to provoke m-“ She caught herself, casting a furtive glance at her listening suitors. “Forgive me, sir. I wasn’t trying to ‘put words in your mouth.’”
“Of course you were.” He was more than willing to draw her fire if it drove her into showing her real self. “That’s why you spoke as if you could read my thoughts. Which we both know you can’t.” If she could, she’d know that right now he wanted nothing more than to drag her away from these curst gentlemen and kiss every inch of her.
“I say, Pinter,” Gabe put in, “you’re awfully argumentative today.”
“The word you’re looking for is ‘prickly,’” Celia said, a militant glint in her eye. “Mr. Pinter doesn’t like having a mere woman speaking for him.”
That sparked his temper. “I don’t like having anyone , man or woman, speaking for me. I daresay you feel much the same.”
She colored but didn’t turn away, her eyes flashing at him.
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