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Someone had preceded her to this clearing. Georgina slowed and moved forward cautiously, staying quiet and out of sight.
It was a man. And he was using her bow to shoot at the target Mr. Alberts had set out for her. Or attempting to try at least. The lack of hits could attest that the man was a terrible shot.
Drawing closer, Georgina was able to discern exactly who had horned in on her sport. Jeremy Greymont. There in his dark-gold jacket, a bright-green neck-cloth, his hair a bit tousled, standing out as a tall twist of contrasting light against the dun of the landscape. Georgina stilled herself so she could observe him in action. Watching Mr. Greymont sight up the bow, with possibly the worst form she’d ever seen, was amusing. So much so, it distracted her from questioning why he was even here at all. He should be off shooting with the other men, shouldn’t he?
“That’s not how you sight a bow,” she announced in a loud voice.
He snapped his head around, the blue of his eyes catching the light.
“You’re holding it wrong.” Georgina could see him flushed red in the face as she came forward.
“Am I?”
“Yes, you are. An English longbow should be held in tight to the shoulder, with your stance perpendicular, and a bracer employed to steady the bow arm.”
“I’ve had no proper instruction.” He dropped his head in greeting. “Miss Georgina, I deduce that you must have requested this equipment be made ready for your exercise today, and here I have intruded upon your arranged activity.” He gave a sheepish grin. “Forgive me. The thing is, I’ve always admired archery, but for myself never took it up or got taught the standard form…” He trailed off, his voice faltering a bit, the following silence awkward.
Georgina stayed quiet and took in the scene.
Mr. Greymont must have felt compelled to cover the silence because after a moment he went right back to justifying exactly why he was here and not off shooting at birds with the men. “My shotgun jammed. I thought to give up birding for the day, and upon my return came upon the glade here, saw the bow and target, and couldn’t help being curious. Before I knew it, I was—”
“Taking up my bow? Trying your hand?” Georgina answered for him. The strangest inclination to rescue Mr. Greymont from his own embarrassment surprised her. Why in the world should she care if he was embarrassed or not? But for whatever reason, it bothered her seeing him struggle to explain himself.
“Yes. You have well and caught me at it, Miss Georgina.”
Georgina stifled the urge to laugh at him. Mr. Greymont standing in the glade, arrows strewn everywhere but in the rings of the target, his slightly rumpled appearance in perfect harmony with the scene of destruction, reminded her of a child attempting to hide a stolen sweet, with the evidence smeared all over his face. The picture of him was too much. A smile cracked, and then a giggle escaped. Georgina had to cover her mouth to keep from losing control. She didn’t want to be rude.
“Ah, I amuse you.”
“In this instance, sir, I am afraid, yes.” Georgina bit the inside of her lip to still the persistent urge to laugh.
Mr. Greymont grinned back at her though, a naughty look that told her he wasn’t all that bothered by her amusement at his expense. “I s’pose I deserve it. I am, after all, a dreadful shot, the proof displayed for all to witness, my dismal talent with a bow.” He held out his arms wide. “I assure you, I can do much better with a gun.” He shook his head back and forth slowly and released another grin. “I plead mercy, Miss Georgina.”
“And mercy you shall have, Mr. Greymont. I’ll never disclose my knowledge of your…ah, skills, as a bowman.” Georgina cocked a brow at him. “But perhaps you’d better take a brief lesson in the basics of proper form, you know, should you find your curiosity getting the better of you again at some other house party you might attend in future.”
“Miss Georgina, I heartily accept your offer. How do we begin?” he asked, far too easily.
“You want me to instruct you, Mr. Greymont? What say you I am no better at hitting the mark than you are?”
“I would be honored to take any bits of wisdom you care to scatter my way, Miss Georgina. And I know you’re skilled because I remember you shooting at targets when you were just a girl. Your accuracy was true then, and you’ve had years and years to hone your talent. I’d bet my horse you’re a crack shot by now. At the very least, a Lady Paramount worthy of master status, or in your case, mistress.” He winked at her.
Mr. Greymont had a naughty streak. What was he playing at? Could an educated man really be so inept at a sport that must be compulsory for someone of his class? He knew enough to know that a “Lady Paramount” was the person appointed to preside at tournaments and had ultimate say. And he definitely looked a little too eager in Georgina’s opinion. Smiling at her, waiting on her answer, like he’d anticipated her offer before she’d made it. He held out his hand to her. The breeze rattled the leaves in the trees above them.
“No need to bet your magnificent Samson, Mr. Greymont. I’ll do it.”
Georgina deliberately clasped her hands behind her back, deciding that two could play at this game, whatever it was, and that sharing in some company could be no harm. It would even be a pleasant change to have a companion while she was out here shooting. Jeremy Greymont was safe.
* * * *
“Before we can start, all these arrows must be collected first,” she told him, her eyes missing nothing as she observed the scattered points. Jeremy caught another amused grin cracking from the corner of her mouth.
God, she was a delight to look at. With her hands clasped behind her back, the most pleasant result of lush breasts pushed forward as if in welcome was much admired. Today she was gowned in a rich brown velvet that wrapped around her lush curves like melted chocolate. He’d bet she tasted just as sweet as the decadent dessert if ever he could get his tongue anywhere onto her skin. The mere thought of tasting even a sliver of her sent the stuff behind the front flap of his kecks to throbbing. Whatever else was at issue between the two of them, Jeremy found himself hugely attracted to this woman. He wanted her.
“Mr. Greymont, I do believe you have emptied the quiver,” she teased as she bent down to gather up points.
I’d love to find my way into your quiver.
“Have I? How many arrows to a quiver?” Jeremy kept his face straight as he asked the question, even though he knew the answer. No, he was enjoying this playful banter with Georgina Russell too much to come clean about his archery skills not being quite so terrible as he intimated. Jeremy wasn’t being entirely truthful, but what harm was there in this? His gun had indeed jammed, and by chance he’d come upon her archery equipment laid at the ready. What better way to get to know Georgina than begging for help with his shooting technique?
