Page 5

Resolved, he settled back, arms crossed over his chest, and allowed himself to enjoy the passing scenery with its increasing degree of foliage and decreasing populace.

The air smelled sweeter here than in London.

Not to mention he’d spent the past several months cooped up on a ship, unable to walk two feet without running into a fellow passenger or crewman.

“That’s it, talk to them a bit, Kit. It puts the horses at ease.”

He allowed himself a small smile as the earl’s words brought back a similar memory whereby he, and not Kit, had been the recipient of his grandfather’s tutelage.

Zeke felt considerably lighter of spirit when, a short time later, Kit guided the team onto a narrow gravel drive.

“This old spot? I’d assumed this place had been sold off. Seems a lifetime ago since you and father brought Caden and I here.” The country cottage held good memories, all from before his father’s life imploded.

“I’ll take it from here, m’ boy.” The earl pulled the reins from Kit’s small, gloved hands.

“Allow me.” Zeke took the reins in turn, shaking his head in dismay. Some future groom Kit would make.

“Carry on to the pond,” his grandfather directed.

He led the horses past the faded limestone cottage and down the grass covered hill. When the pond came into view, he slowed, reining in the team under a canopy of hawthorn trees.

He hopped down to aid the earl’s descent. “As I recall, you and Father gave Caden and I our first pistol shooting lessons here.”

From the corner of his eye he saw Kit scramble down the opposite side of the hitch. Good Lord. The boy had his pinkie crooked in the air as if to balance his weight. What an odd bird.

“Exactly what Kit and I have been doing out here these last several weeks.”

This was too much. His voice rose an octave. “You and Kit?”

“Never know when one might need protection.”

Zeke threw up his hands. “Why would Kit need protection?”

“I was referring to myself,” the earl answered. “I prefer my servants trained to defend me.

Plausible. Barely..

The earl’s eyes narrowed in sudden contemplation. Never a good sign.

His grandfather glanced from Zeke to Kit and back to Zeke. “The recoil from the blast is a bit much for my shooting arm. Perhaps today you could instruct the boy?”

Kit’s head jerked up and his frosty green eyes went saucer-round. Apparently Kit didn’t like the idea of taking lessons from him.

Blame it on a perverse sense of humor, but the thought of irritating Kit had a satisfying edge to it.

Kit spoke up for the first time in a long while, his voice at once hoarse and squeaky. “My lord, if your arm troubles you, perhaps we should skip the lesson today altogether. This way you can spend the time visiting. After all your grandson has been so long away.”

Zeke could only stare at the boy.

After a moment passed whereby his grandfather didn’t rebuke the lad, he found his tongue. “Nonsense, lad. Why should a small thing like a family reunion interfere with your shooting lessons? Not that we don’t appreciate your suggestion.”

He hoped Kit's intelligence quotient allowed him to detect the sarcasm he’d infused into every blasted syllable.

He glanced at his grandfather, expecting commiseration. Damned if the old man wasn’t glaring at him . Fine.

“I’m happy to help the boy, my lord.” Zeke fixed Kit with a critical eye. “What have you got so far? Can you hit a target?”

Kit glared at him. “Even a moving one.”

Oh, dear. She hadn’t meant to speak the words aloud. She braced for a through set-down.

Instead Zeke threw his head back and roared with laughter. The earl quickly followed suit.

Her own lips quivered, but she managed to suppress her mirth. Giggling would undermine the accusatory scowl she had aimed at the earl.

What had he been thinking, asking Zeke to instruct her? Sweet, practical, logical Lord Claybourne. His common sense had vaporized the moment his grandson arrived.

“Let’s see if you know how to load and unload the revolver,” Zeke challenged.

"’Course he knows how. Show him how it’s done, lad.” The earl set the revolver before her on the overturned hay barrel.

She squinted against the glare of the sun and scrubbed her damp palms on her trousers, mentally reviewing the loading procedure.

She could hardly concentrate, what with Zeke staring and the heat. The afternoon sun beat down on her, baking her monstrous wig onto her head.

Sweat droplets trickled from her forehead down her cheek. One had the audacity to slide to the tip of her nose. She blew it off. How mortifying. But then she was supposed to be a boy, and boys reveled in their perspiration, didn’t they?

“I take it I need to load it for you?” Zeke reached for the firearm.

Impatient, arrogant ass.

She waved a dismissive hand at him swiped her brow, and set herself to the task, lining up the powder and ammunition.

The earl had taught her well, and, now that she’d begun, she fell into a routine, unclipping the compaction lever underneath the barrel to fill each of the recesses with powder.

Next, she packed a lead ball into each cylinder’s receptacle, before placing a cap on the opposite end of each of the chambers.

“There.” She crossed her arms over her flattened chest—and winced. The strap did its job all too well.

Lord Thurgood cocked his head and frowned. “Are you unwell?”

Of course the odious man would notice. He watched her like a hawk.

“No, I’m very well. Thank you for asking, my lord.”

He shook his head and eyed the heavens as if in a silent plea for patience.

She knew exactly how he felt.

A beat later, he stalked away, his long legs devouring the distance between the grassy knoll and the abutting vegetable garden.

She sent the earl a questioning look. He merely smiled at her. At least one of them appeared to be enjoying himself.

Lord Thurgood fished a smallish pumpkin from the garden, set it at his feet, then strode toward the hoard of firewood piled beside the cottage.

After rolling up his shirtsleeves, he crouched to scoop half the logs into his arms. His back muscles rippled under the load, tightening his waistcoat across those broad bands.

When he rose, his muscular thighs bulged in his well-fitting tweed trousers.

Kitty heard herself sigh and then coughed to cover it. “Swallowed some dust,” she muttered, and ordered herself to stop staring at Zeke. Unfortunately, her eyes refused to obey.

In just two hauls, he moved the entire heap away from the building to make one stack.

He placed the pumpkin on the stack and strode back to where she and the earl waited. “There’s your target.”

Up close, his bare forearms were thick and bronzed, and dusted with golden hairs. Her gazed moved up his shirtsleeves, suddenly very fitted over very large, very hard looking biceps.

She swallowed with difficulty. Her mouth had gone oddly dry.

“Are you paying attention, Kit? I said—”

“I have eyes. I see the target,” she snapped, more irritated at herself than him. She’d been gaping at him as if she’d never seen a man. She was a complete idiot.

“Good. See if you can hit it,” he clipped back.

She squared her shoulders and adjusted her stance. Evidently, she didn’t move fast enough for his liking.

“Pull the hammer back,” Lord Thurgood began in a tone typically reserved for dimwits.

She pinched her lips together and cocked the hammer.

“Now line up your sight, and shoot.”

Of all the irritating, obnoxious…she slid him a narrow-eyed glare, and saw his lips twitching with humor. Only out of deference to the earl did she resist throwing the pistol at him.

Gritting her teeth, she leaned forward and braced for the recoil, angling one foot slightly behind her. She laid her shooting arm across the barrel and used her free hand to grasp her forearm. Pinching one eye shut, she aligned the rear sight. Breath held, she squeezed the trigger.

The powder exploded with a deafening bang, and seemingly at the same instant a large chunk of pumpkin disappeared into the atmosphere. A loud ringing clanged in her ears, obliterating all other sound, and a cloud of acrid black smoke stung her nostrils, but she didn’t mind.

She put a hand to the small of her back massaging the area most impacted by the recoil, and smiled in utter delight.

“Good going, lad!” the earl shouted.

She’d have loved to offer Lord Thurgood a satisfied smirk, but how could she?

Claybourne’s lion of a grandson had already crossed to the wood stack to reposition what remained of the hapless pumpkin, without having offered one word of praise.

The moment Lord Thurgood rejoined them he broke into a lesson. “When push comes to shove, if you ever need to employ one of these things, there probably won’t be a convenient arm rest.” He gestured for Kitty to come toward him.

She obeyed, albeit with reluctance.

“Stand away from the barrel. Now aim.”

“Very well.”

Zeke moved close behind her, and her insides skittered like she’d had too much sugar. It must be the heat. Still, she scooted forward, putting a good foot of ground between them. Taking the pistol in both hands, she held it in front of her.

He closed the distance again. “Don’t let your arms droop like a couple of dead fish.” He wrapped his arms around her and encircled her wrists with warm, slightly calloused hands, lifting and pulling her arms until they stretched out straight from her shoulders.

The heady male scent of him, intensified by exertion and heat, enveloped her. The jittery sensation in her belly returned with a vengeance, bringing with it the oddest desire to turn her head and nuzzle the salty skin of his neck. Clenching her teeth, she tamped down a nervous giggle.

“Stay just like that,” he commanded, squeezing her wrists once for emphasis. He moved away from her, and only then did she realize her knees had gone wobbly. From the heat. Definitely the heat.

Get hold of yourself, Hastings. She closed one eye, setting up her shot, and prepared to fire.