Her focused expression caused her delicate eyebrows to draw together. The sunlight glinted off her raven hair; it was so deeply black that it shone with blue hues. He changed his mind about leaving. Thoroughly. With her fiery temperament and determination, she was likely a great archer, and he looked forward to seeing her shoot.
He strode across the field and stopped in front of her. “Angeline. I’m pleased to see you again.”
Her frown deepened. “Royston.” She dropped the quickest and shallowest curtsy in history. She must have beaten a record in curtsying speed.
“You are going to participate in the archery competition,” he said.
“I am. Does that bother you?”
“Not at all. Is something the matter?”
Her frown didn’t relax. “No. Everything is fine.”
He selected a bow and a set of arrows. “I’m looking forward to competing with you.”
A gentleman walked over to them and picked up a bow. He cast a glance at Angeline. “Miss, you should leave now before you get hurt.”
“I was about to say the same thing to you, sir,” she said to the man.
Royston chuckled. The gentleman had to lack a sense of humour because he strode away.
A heated glint flashed in her gaze. Perhaps she was more competitive than he thought. Never mind. It was actually better that way. He loved a fierce competitor and a passionate lady.
As the crowd gathered around the field for the competition, he watched Angeline choose her bow. She selected a relatively small one, surely perfect for her height and arm’s length. She tried it, acquiring a good shooting pose.
He chose a recurve bow made of walnut wood. “I see I’m going to have a serious competitor.”
She flushed. “What makes you think that?”
“You obviously know how to handle a bow.”
“I do.” Staring at him, she plucked out her gloves.
His gaze dipped to the scar marring her creamy skin. The scar tissue was lighter than the surrounding skin and with bumps like large blisters and indentations. Her stare dared him to make a comment, but if she feared that, he ought to reassure her.
He offered her his hand. “May I?”
Her confident expression wavered, and her breathing quickened when she slid her scarred hand into his.
He lowered his head and kissed her knuckles, which was a big mistake in retrospect. Not because the marred skin repulsed him, but because he didn’t want to let her hand go. And because everyone must have seen what he’d done. So much for being more careful.
Every time she was close, his logic deserted him. She drew in a breath that could mean anything from outrage to pleasant surprise.
He released her hand quickly. “Apologies.”
She muttered, “Don’t worry,” so low he barely caught it.
Mrs. Haywood stood under the shade of a tree, seemingly not bothered by the fact an unmarried man had kissed her daughter’s hand. He wouldn’t consider himself an expert inetiquette. , but as a former footman, he’d been around ladies and gentlemen for enough time to understand what behaviours were considered appropriate.
Mrs. Haywood gave him a graceful nod of her head. He reluctantly returned it.
Doubts about Mrs. Haywood bothered him. He still couldn’t believe she could be so callous as to exploit unfortunate women. He needed to see Mrs. Walsh.
Havisham strode to the middle of the field and spread out his arms. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re about to begin the first elimination round. Two archers will take turns with one target, so you’ll need to swap places. Thank you everyone for being here. Your participation is much appreciated.”
Royston gave Angeline an encouraging smile for no particular reason. She returned it this time, but it was strained.
“May I ask why you’re so upset today?” he asked. “I saw North at the rowing race. Did he bother you again? If he did, tell me what I can do to help you.”
