Chapter Twenty-Three
The commotion on the back lawn made small talk with the other ladies over afternoon tea on the terrace problematic. The tea long drunk and the balmy afternoon now definitely early evening and they were still at it while the ladies waited for them. Random gunfire followed by raucous shouting and laughter peppered the air while Seb’s name was mentioned many times. He was in the thick of it which was galling in the extreme. Knowing he was having fun while Clarissa was still fuming didn’t improve her mood.
‘Well, ladies, as it doesn’t look like the gentlemen will be joining us after all, I suggest we all retire to change for dinner.’ Penny stood, signalling the end of their interminable gathering and one by one the ladies drifted off. Clarissa lingered, waiting till she was all alone before vacating the chair which had become part of her backside and marching with purpose towards the furthest end of the garden. Surely the silly shooting match couldn’t go on much longer?
But when she rounded the shrubbery it was apparent it could, although seemingly nearing some kind of crescendo as only Seb and the Duke of Thetford were still armed. The others were all huddled together, watching intently as a pair of footmen heaved a target further away. Spotting her, Westbridge broke away from the pack and strode towards her.
‘You picked an excellent time to spectate. Thetford is about to issue that upstart his well-deserved comeuppance.’
‘Really?’ Of all the opponents Seb could be pitted against in the grand finale, it had to be his brother. That couldn’t be good, especially if Seb lost. ‘Who’s winning?’
‘It’s a tie so far, but Thetford is a crack shot.’
If he was one of the last two men standing so was Seb, although that fact didn’t surprise her. In his profession, his life and that of others probably depended on him being handy with a gun. His skill would have been honed out of necessity rather than picking off partridges and pigeons for fun. As if he sensed her, Seb’s eyes turned to where they were standing. His expression might be blank, but his eyes were shooting daggers. His free hand formed a fist where it hung at his side. To vex him she smiled at the Duke and saw those frozen eyes narrow to slits. ‘Penny sent me to remind you all that dinner is in less than two hours.’
‘I’m looking forward to dinner.’ Westbridge said this with the contrived smugness of a man who knew something she didn’t—or thought he did. It served as a timely reminder to check the seating arrangements with Penny in case she got saddled with him again. Now that there wasn’t a hope in hell she was going to marry the man, Clarissa would be damned if she would endure another one of his self-centred and self-aggrandising conversations. Nor would she suffer through another futile attempt at turning him down. If Westbridge didn’t listen that was his problem, not hers. Clarissa had enough of her own. And one in particular that was still glaring at her with a pistol in his hand.
‘Are you ready, gentlemen?’ The timely call from Lord Gaines saved her from Seb’s accusing stare—because itwasaccusatory, she now realised—despite now being focused on the target. What had got his hackles up?
His half-brother stepped forward, rotated his fat neck and aimed. The bullet hit the target, but it was hard to make out where because of the distance. The two footmen merged from the side, picked it up and jogged with it towards Lord Gaines, who seemed to be the referee.
‘A splendid shot! Bravo!’ Westbridge began to clap his hands next to her, then as an aside said, ‘He’s clipped the outer edge of the bull’s eye’, in case she was too stupid to have seen the gaping hole for herself.
Gaines pulled out a ruler and measured. ‘Two inches shy. Well done, your Grace.’
Thetford inclined his head regally as the other gentlemen cheered and then offered Seb a patronising smile, completely unaware that in doing so he had probably signed his death warrant. Seb wouldn’t allow himself to be beaten by a duke, especially when that Duke was the one he hated the most. The steely determination was written all over his face as the poor footmen did another dash to the furthest end of the garden and repositioned the target in the same spot. He stepped forward. The men immediately hushed when he aimed.
‘Millcroft lacks the finesse of his opponent.’ Westbridge practically bellowed his criticism into the silence, oblivious of his rudeness, but clearly intent on putting Seb off his shot. His dark head whipped around to glare, his eyes narrowed and then it whipped back. In that same moment he squeezed the trigger, barely taking aim. The musket ball whizzed through the air and exploded through the target. Then he dropped the pistol on the ground and stood arrogantly with his arms folded as the servants scurried to fetch it back.
‘Your plan backfired.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘You tried to give the Duke of Thetford the advantage. That was very unsporting, your Grace.’
‘I’m not sure what you mean?’ Westbridge had the nerve to look affronted at the suggestion.
‘Then let me say it plainly. If Lord Millcroft’s shot is off, then it will be as a direct result of your flagrant cheating on Thetford’s behalf.’ But she could already see that the Duke had failed. Seb’s bullet had gone clean through the centre of the bull’s eye. Lord Gaines pulled out his ruler for effect, then tossed it away.
‘I declare Lord Millcroft the winner!’
Seb was immediately surrounded by every gentleman accepting their hearty congratulations bar the two vile Dukes. In a shocking display of equally unsportsmanlike belligerence, Thetford turned on his heel and stormed off into the trees.
‘How dare you call me a cheat!’
‘I merely say it as I see it, your Grace. You timed your outburst to put Lord Millcroft off. It was a low blow and you should be ashamed of yourself.’ Out of the corner of her eye, Clarissa saw Seb striding across the lawn at a tangent towards the house. Any faster and he would break into a run. The dratted man intended to avoid her again and had plotted his course accordingly. ‘If you will excuse me.’ She picked up her skirts and followed him at pace, but her legs were no match for his significantly longer ones.
‘Lord Millcroft! Wait!’
He heard her, she saw, because he stiffened before he sped up, then darted out of sight behind the shrubbery. By the time Clarissa got there, there was no sign of him. She stopped dead and checked left and right, cursing him silently for his well-honed skills at blending into the shadows. Trust her to fall in love with a spy! And one who headed a group of men called the Invisibles! He was probably lurking in the bushes right now, watching her and biding his time until she gave up. ‘When I get my hands on you, I am going to strangle you!’
Silence.
‘I know you can hear me, Seb Leatham!’
Behind her a twig snapped and a boot emerged from the bushes. ‘Leatham?’ Her initial relief quickly turned to fear at the sight of the Duke of Thetford’s outraged face.‘SebastianLeatham?’
* * *
