Page 28 of The Marquess’s Masked Archer

Dusk was falling by that point, making Sylvie’s efforts to find Mr. Kinsey more difficult. The electric lights spaced along the railing and the glowing sweep of lighthouse lamps from various points on the shore helped only a bit. Sylvie watched guests making their way around the deck, skimming faces until she locked eyes with Miles. He sipped at a glass of punch while listening to Mr. Nolan and another young man, the two of whom appeared embroiled in an intense discussion.

Miles raised his glass the slightest bit in her direction with the hint of a smile warming his eyes, and Sylvie could have melted into a puddle on the spot. Not one of the other gentlemen on the boat—or any that she’d ever met at a social gathering, for that matter—made her feel much of anything. And certainly nothing as irresponsible as believing she might be falling in love.

Sylvie darted away from the crowded deck, not caring in the least if she found Mr. Kinsey. It didn’t matter if he was writing the letters, or if it was Mr. Nolan, or anyone else. It wasn’t Miles, and she could no longer try to convince herself that she would accept whoever it was instead. If it wasn’t Miles, she didn’t want the man or his letters.

An explosion and burst of crackling light in the sky signaled the start of the fireworks. All the guests turned toward the Sandusky shore, oohs and ahhs of delight interspersed with the eruption of mortar after mortar in the dark. Usually Sylvie adored fireworks, but at that moment, all she wanted was to go home. The long, busy day was catching up with her. At least, that was what she would tell anyone who asked.

Weaving in between guests, Sylvie made her way to the back of the crowd. She claimed a spot away from everyone else and propped her hip against the deck railing. She’d only raised her face to watch the sky for a moment when Miles’s scent filled her senses. His lips brushed her ear, close enough she could hear his low words over the next blast. “Do you enjoy the fireworks, or are you the kind of lady who becomes agitated by the noise?”

Sylvie twisted her torso to look up and back to where he stood behind her left shoulder. He was so near that his jacket brushed the back of her dress. “I love them. There’s something so magical about the lights and colors against the dark sky.”

Silence fell, but their eyes remained locked on each other. Several more fireworks went off, but neither bothered to look. Sylvie hardly dared to breathe lest it break the spell of the moment. Miles smoothed back an errant lock of hair that had blown loose from her intricate hairstyle, and it was all Sylvie could do not to shudder at the light touch.

Distant strains of music from a band on the shore reached them, cheerful and buoyant. But the air between her and Miles hung heavy with all the things she wished could be. None of those things were possible, though. Sylvie’s choices had seen to that. Lucy would destroy everything Sylvie had worked so hard for if she attempted to make her errant dreams into reality.

But would it be any better to watch Miles marry Lucy? Staring into his eyes, watching them reflect the fireworks that filled the sky, Sylvie wondered what would happen if she told her mother what she’d been up to on her own terms. If she agreed to quit doing the archery show, would Mother hold it against Sylvie and use marriage as a punishment, anyway? Would she marry Sylvie off to any man except Miles out of spite?

It would take some mulling over to decide if she actually did have any way of getting out of this mess with her heart unscathed. But the fact remained that she wasn’t currently free to enjoy Miles’s attention. If she made a mistake based on emotion, Sylvie would be stuck forever longing to return to that brief moment of freedom.

Sylvie let her eyes drift shut and gave herself one more brief second to enjoy the feeling of his rough fingers skimming her cheek. Then she turned her head away, eyes still closed because she couldn’t bear to see hurt in his eyes.

“Sylvie, please, tell me why you won’t consider me as more than a friend. Why must it matter what your mother wants? What you want is all that’s important to me.”

Oh, such beautiful words. But it did matter what her mother wanted. It always mattered because Leticia Bryce got her way where her daughter was concerned. Sylvie was still determined to thwart her just once, on the issue of the most importance to her future—the man she married. And that meant he couldn’t be Miles. “I’m so sorry, Miles, but I can’t. Attempting to be friends might have been a bad idea.”

Deep in her chest, Sylvie’s heart started to fray at the edges as she waited for a response, hoping she wouldn’t lose his companionship altogether. Miles stepped back, dropping his hand, but he didn’t seem as upset as she’d imagined he might. Simply resigned. “No, it’s not. We both need someone to be ourselves with. We can continue as we have been. I’ll do a better job of restraining any impulse beyond that.”

His tone was formal but not angry. As the fireworks ended and they said good night, Sylvie clung to his words. She, more than anyone, needed a person she could be herself with. Most of her life was a disguise, even when she wasn’t dressed as the lady archer. If she couldn’t choose him as her partner for life, at least she could lean on his strength for the summer.

Several weeks flew by for Miles in a blur of work at the laboratory and archery shows with Sylvie. Those were the easy parts. The difficulty came during the time spent in the woods practicing and at social events. He could see Sylvie’s conflicted feelings about their relationship. While guilt over his part in all the secrets plagued him, perhaps her uncertainty would push her in the direction of accepting him as a suitor, despite her words.

However, since any hint of scandal would send Sylvie running in fear of her mother, he arranged for Mr. Miller to join their hidden practices. Miles would rather have had that time alone with Sylvie to attempt to persuade her—ideally with more kissing—but concern for her well-being far outweighed anything he wanted. And keeping that sterling reputation was the best thing for her.

On the morning when the lady archer would debut her new trick shot, Miles had already spent three hours at the laboratory. The previous Friday, he and the students had set out a series of bait traps for insects around the harbor, which he’d then collected early Monday morning. The weather conditions over the weekend had been ideal, providing a wide variety of specimens to analyze. And analyze he did, for hours. Bending over a microscope and focusing on such minute creatures was sometimes painful for his back and eyes, but it was one thing he was very good at.

About an hour before he needed to leave for that day’s archery show, he caught something he hoped wasn’t a mirage created by weary, blurry eyes. After scribbling down notes, Miles hastened across the large communal workroom to the waist-high desk where Henry examined his own specimens. “Henry, I’ve found something interesting, but I need another opinion on it. Do you have a moment to look at the slide?”

Henry agreed, stretching his back after sliding off his stool and then following Miles back to his station. Bending over the microscope, Henry fiddled with the lenses while asking, “What am I looking for? All I see is the wing of a house fly.”

Shaking his head, Miles wondered if he should have gone to one of the entomology students instead of a biologist. He leaned closer and tapped his notes. “Yes, it’s the wing of a Musca domestica. I’m nearly certain I saw a parasite on it, a spherical cyst. Do you see it too?”

Minutes passed with Henry examining the sample on the glass slide. He turned the magnification knob this way and that. He straightened long enough to crack his neck and blink a few times, then bent to look again. “I don’t know, Miles. I don’t see… Wait.”

Miles hardly breathed as Henry pushed his eye against the lens as if getting closer would give him more clarity. “I do see something.” Suddenly, he stepped away and aimed wide eyes at Miles. “You didn’t imagine anything. But what is that?”

“It’s an Entamoeba histolytica, a relatively common parasite.”

Henry’s brow wrinkled, as if he were trying to place the name. “Can that parasite be carried by house flies?”

“I’ve never been taught that they could. This might be completely new information.” The thrill of such a possibility sent tingles through Miles’s limbs. After years of interest, education, and practice, he’d made a discovery. Knowing that house flies might be carrying a parasite that caused dysentery could be instrumental in finding ways to stem the tide of the disease. And God might have used him to play a part, despite his rocky past.

His only wish was that he could share it with Sylvie.

While Henry returned to his work and Miles began recording every possible detail about his observations and hunting through the samples for more house flies, his thoughts kept coming back to that dream. It was all too easy to envision walking into a neat, cozy home that evening to find Sylvie waiting for him. He would tell her all about his discovery while she listened with rapt attention and then celebrated with him.

It was an impossible fantasy, of course, but a compelling one.

Once the image had entered his mind, it was impossible to rid himself of it. It accompanied him through the next hour and during his walk from the laboratory to the resort. It hung in the back of his mind while he donned the red satin tunic and mask. And it drove him to smile like a fool at Sylvie when she appeared in her lady archer garb.