Bishop knew it, too.
“That’s hardly my business.” Seth finished his lemonade and placed it on the tray when the footman came back around. Wiping his gloves on his chest to dry his hands, his fingers pressed against the smallmetallic cylinder underneath, warmed by his body heat. Wait. Targets ready, both men aimed their rifles downrange and waited for Mr. Edgars whistle.
“She has changed, less talkative. At dinner she hardly made a sound.” Bishop’s voice slithered as he asked, “Is she quiet in the bedchamber, too?”
Mr. Edgars sounded the whistle.
Seth’s finger jerked against the trigger, his slick grip caused the rifle to crash into his shoulder with bruising force. He slammed his rifle onto the display table and turned to Bishop with a snarl.
“Youdare—!”
“You don’tknow!” Bishop said incredulously. “All of those long country nights, not a chaperon to be seen, and you didn’t sample the goodsonce?”
“Don’t insult her,” Seth snapped. “She isn’t like that.”
“They’realllike that, and the desperate ones are worse.” Bishop sneered. “I’d like to know what she’d do for a sterling. I bet I could—”
“Stay the hell away from her.”
A low and cruel laugh escaped Bishop’s lips, and Seth’s desire to connect his fist to it was on the brink of overpowering. Blood rushed into his ears, melding with the persistent ringing until the sounds bled together in a single, deafening tone. Seth repeated the first rule of the contest in his mind:Violence of any kind will be grounds for immediate disqualification.
“Youdohave an interest.” Bishop smirked. “I have an interest too. Give it a month and she’ll be begging to be my mistress. I wonder how else I can make herbeg.”
Seth’s fists formed. He wanted to take that perfect face and mangle it beneath his hands, as he was mangled because of Bishop’s negligence.
“Are you going to strike me, Mr. Reeves?” Bishop taunted, “Pleasedo, so I can have you thrown in jail and be done with you. A hangman’s noose is better than you deserve.”
Five thousand pounds,he reminded himself,a house by a river, an oak tree in the backyard, endless fields, open sky.
But Cassandra’s safety outweighed all of his dreams.
“Another three way tie! No less than to be expected from our country’s finest! Are you ready for a real show? At His Grace’s request, the targets will be moved to three hundred andfiftyyards!”
“Shall we make a wager?” Bishop’s tone was unaffected as he loaded his round into the barrel of his rifle. “Whoever makes this shot gets the rights to bed Cassandra Cooper.”
“The other will stay the hell away from her,” Seth added as he took off his gloves and thrust his hand between them. “Deal?”
“Deal,” Bishop spat. He shook Seth’s hand for a second before dropping it.
With targets moved, Mr. Edgars prepared to give his cue.
From his pocket, Seth pulled out a metallic tube. Hardly larger than his finger, made from a combination of steel, brass, and aluminum metals housing glass lenses that allowed him to peer far into the distance. A miniature telescope. Experimental, not cheap or easy to craft, but effective, and perhaps the only reason that they were here. The tool snapped into a slot on the top of the rifle with aclick. He could make the shot without it, but why risk it?
With hands bare, Seth adjusted his view through the glass until it lined up with the center of the target. Bishop protested as Seth settled his finger on the trigger, and Mr. Edgars blew the whistle a final time. Seth ignored everything around him, took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and squeezed the trigger.
Bishop cursed and aimed, shooting haphazardly at his target. With unnecessary force, he set his gun down and ground his teeth together. A crowd approached and clamored around the contestants as the finaltargets were brought back for inspection. Mr. Nott hadn’t hit his target at all, while Bishop’s hit the white border on the edges of the target. Seth shot through the bullseye, but a half-inch off center. Berating himself, Seth bit back a curse. He should have made that dead on. The rush of competition fading, Seth felt the hurt in his shoulder from the earlier uncontrolled kick.
Bishophadgotten to him, but Seth had done better.
I won.
“You cheated,” Bishop growled. A blue vein on his forehead bulged as he struggled to restrain himself.
“No.” Seth shook his head and quoted the rule book. “Rule number six: all accompaniments must be approved of before use. Mr. Edgars approved it at the start of the shoot. I won.”
“Consider the wager forfeit,” Bishop said in a quiet voice that only Seth could hear. “I’ll do whatever the hell I please to Cassandra Cooper, and she’llletme.”
“Viscount Cooper’s rifle has won this round, but there are three more challenges that await!”Mr. Edgars continued speaking, but Seth couldn’t hear him. In seconds, a thunderous amount of noise surrounded him. A swarm of suits rushed forward to shake his hand and pat him on the back, boxing him in.
