Page 10 of Daring with a Duke (The Jennings Family #2)

10

Felicity

T he report of a pistol rent the air. Felicity’s lips tugged up at the serious mask hardening Pandora’s features. Such determination in a girl nearly fifteen. Felicity looked at the target, squinting. A large hole was ripped through the third line of the bullseye. Impressive. Well, Felicity assumed it was impressive. She wasn’t exactly an expert, given she had shot a gun a total of zero times in her life.

The Duke walked up to her, a freshly loaded pistol in his hand. Time to find out how difficult a task it was.

He motioned for her to step in front of him—silently, of course. Actually, he did make somewhat of a grunt. She rolled her lips in to prevent her smile, though she could tell by the way his eyes narrowed that she wasn’t successful in hiding her amusement. Grunts and growls weren’t going to deter her. It only made her that much more determined.

She sidled up to him, deliberately pressing her back into his chest. He sucked in a breath. Heat rippled over her skin, a fission sparking in her veins. She let out a long, slow breath. But so did he. And bugger her, because the sharp scent of his toothpowder surrounded her and made it nearly impossible to form a single rational thought.

He cleared his throat. “You will want to grip it here with your shooting hand. Be sure to avoid the trigger as you set up your positioning.”

Focus, Fliss, pistols . She was about to shoot a gun. She should probably have her wits about her. She took the gun and replicated his grip, her hand wrapping high up around the handle.

“Excellent.” His low murmur whispered over the back of her neck, warm and wicked. Egads, she very much liked him praising her. “That’ll ensure you have the most control over the recoil. If you choke up too high, you’ll feel the full force against your palm, but just below the butt there and you hold the control.”

She shivered against him, and he stilled, the rise and fall of his chest suddenly absent. What the Duke didn’t know was, she couldn’t have prevented that slight tremble if she tried. Control was a heady thing for Felicity. It was something she lacked entirely. And even in this, in shooting a pistol, having full control sent a thrill coursing through her.

“Where do I put my other hand,” she prodded.

“Right,” he said roughly, his words drifting over her neck like coarse gravel, her hair prickling in its wake. “Line up your thumbs and curl your fingers around the handle. Be sure to have the heel of your palm as tight to your lead hand as possible. The tighter your hands are together, the more command you’ll have over your shot.”

She slid her left hand into position.

“Now straighten your arms, line yourself up with the target.” His arms curled around her, his hands resting on either side of hers on the gun.

Her heart rate kicked up. He was so solid. So warm. Bloody hell, he smelled like fresh soap and lemons. And Felicity loved lemons.

“The key is to think of the gun as an extension of yourself.” His rich timbre reverberated through her, and she couldn’t prevent herself from leaning back into him. She was here for seduction after all.

“Now plant your feet,” he said, his voice lower than before. “Toes pointing toward your target. Remember what I said, the gun is an extension of you. Everything you do should lead to your target, point to your target.”

She shifted in his arms, stepping away from him slightly, squaring her shoulders. Her eyes homed in on the target, narrowed.

“Slight bend in the knees. Stabilize yourself. Prepare for the recoil.”

She loosened her stance, letting her knees soften.

“Good girl,” he murmured.

Heat arced to her core.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck .

“Now, one last point of advice. A strong, firm grip is essential.”

Oh God. Did he want her to drag him back to the castle and have her wicked way with him?

“If your grip is too loose, it’ll jerk and fire off-target. The recoil will hit you harder. Let’s practice once before you shoot. Show me your grip.”

Oh, how she’d love to show him. She blew out a small breath. Target. Focus on the target. She stretched her neck from side to side and let the competitiveness that ran rampant in the Jennings bloodline spread through her, clear her mind and body of the effect this man had on her.

She squeezed the pistol tight, a slight tremor shaking through her hands and arms.

The Duke leaned forward, his cheek brushing ever so slightly against hers. “See that? There?” He let his forefinger trace over the barrel of the gun. “See how it tilts to the side? That means your grip isn’t straight. It means when you pull the trigger, your bullet is going to pull wide.”

Her brows pinched. Well, that wouldn’t do. She needed to hit the bullseye. All of a sudden, showing this man she was a crack shot took on the utmost importance. She wanted to seduce him, yes. But now, for reasons she didn’t quite understand, she also wanted to impress him.

“Loosen your fingers, readjust, and squeeze again.”

She let out a frustrated snort. He needed to stop saying such suggestive things or she was never going to get this right. She pushed her shoulders back against his chest, and he stumbled away from her.

“Yes, I understand, Duke. Thank you.”

She let out a long breath, finally able to fill and empty her lungs fully. She readjusted her grip and squeezed. The pistol stayed straight.

“Now, be sure you are prepared for the recoil,” he was saying from a few feet behind her.

Felicity narrowed her eyes, her gaze lining up over the barrel of the gun directly with the bullseye.

“…it is forceful, but I’ll be…”

Knees loose, legs slightly bend.

“…catch you…”

Hands together, grip firm.

“…don’t worry…”

She pulled the trigger.

The recoil hit her like sharp kick to the chest. But she was ready for it. She held steady, mouth set in a firm line, gaze never leaving the target, and let her knees absorb the shock.

And then shock hit her.

Her mouth dropped open.

Pandora whooped from where she stood off to the right of Felicity. “A bullseye! Felicity, on your first shot!”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” the Duke whispered.