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So in the glade he’d waited until she’d ar
rived. Jeremy couldn’t have just sat in the grass. He would’ve looked a tremendous sap, so he had shot arrows to fill the time while he waited for her to show up. With as little focus as possible. But with Georgina to help him, hopefully standing very close so he could breathe in her lovely scent some more, his bowman skills might take a swift turn for the better.
All in all, Jeremy would say that things were working out rather well. Today was the first time he’d seen Georgina cheerful and light. And Jeremy quickly decided that a smiling, happy Georgina was well worth any effort on his part.
“Two dozen fills a quiver, and not a hit among them!” she sang back at him.
The laugh Georgina had been suppressing up until now came forth with a clear burst into the autumn air of the glade. Jeremy could tell she had been trying to hold back from laughing outright at him, for she was a lady after all, but the happy sound of her was so lovely, Jeremy felt grateful to have been the person responsible for making it happen. Suddenly struck with the notion that her laughter was a gift, he paused for a moment. Strange. He shook off the sensation and kept retrieving arrows.
“Miss Georgina, I believe you are finding my lack of accuracy to be a great source of merriment. And actually, I did make a hit, but the arrow did not stick. It came off from the target.”
“Ah, well, there’s a name for a point that does that. It’s called a—”
“Let me guess!” Jeremy blurted, holding up a hand to stop her. “You call it a bounder.”
“No, not a bounder.” Georgina shook her head slightly.
“A jumper then.”
“Wrong again, Mr. Greymont.” Her lips twitched.
“A springer? Tell me it’s called a springer, Miss Georgina.” Jeremy was enjoying himself too much to stop.
“Well, you are certainly full of creative ideas, I’ll give you that, Mr. Greymont, but I am afraid you are still incorrect. The proper term is ‘bouncer.’”
“Ah, bouncer. Right. Bouncer makes good sense, for the arrow bounces off the target without holding fast. Very good.”
Georgina gave him what could only be described as a tolerant look. “So, if we were to assess your performance thus far, we could say you had one bouncer and the all rest were a miss.”
I’m here alone with you, and I’d call that a direct hit. “But you won’t tell on me, will you?” Jeremy said knowingly, loving the fact that they could share in another secret.
“No. I will not expose you as I’ve already said.” Her eyes swept down to the grass.
“Why won’t you?” Not understanding why he asked her such a thing, Jeremy just knew he wanted something from her. A gesture on his behalf. What? He couldn’t really say, and the question left his lips as easily as a spot of fluff pulled by the wind.
Georgina blushed beautifully before answering. “Because, I think you are—”
She paused and lifted her eyes to meet his. Jeremy felt his body tense in anticipation of what she would say of him. The snapping sound of leaves rocked by the wind filled the silence.
“—in great need of my help, Mr. Greymont!”
And then the beautiful Georgina laughed. A sound not loud or boastful, but soft and sweet and gentle, like a caress down his neck that travelled straight to his heart and warmed it, spreading slowly from the inside out.
You have that right, Miss Georgina Russell. I desperately need your help.
Jeremy bowed with a flourish before stepping forward to hand over the last collected arrow. “That’s the last, and I am ready for my lesson.”
He made sure to get a brush of her hand with his as he passed her the arrow. The place where their hands touched tingled under his leather glove. And as Jeremy gave himself over to her for archery basics, he truly felt some goodness, some enjoyment, a blast of happiness, some delight—whatever the hell it was—it felt nice. Jeremy felt damn wonderful for the first time in a long, long while.
Chapter Six
What reinforcement we may gain from hope;
If not, what resolution from despair.
—John Milton, Paradise Lost (1667)
One week and innumerable wicked fantasies later, Jeremy’s card game suffered abominably due to distraction. His attempts to sleep at night during that same week hadn’t fared much better, what with his wicked imaginings getting the better of him when he was alone.
