Page 9 of The Marquess’s Masked Archer

Mr. Greene, however, was never one to allow any bit of silence. “Miss Bryce, I’ve enjoyed your company over the last few weeks and thus have been intending to ask if I might⁠—”

A sudden coughing fit from Mr. Wentworth interrupted Mr. Greene. While she felt a bit bad to be happy over Mr. Wentworth’s discomfort, a break in the growing sense of impending doom was most welcome. The last thing she wanted was to allow Mr. Greene to bring up calling on her at home, which was likely what he’d intended. Trying not to sag in relief, Sylvie turned to Mr. Wentworth, who was still sputtering a bit. “Are you all right? Do you need a drink?”

Mr. Wentworth nodded with one fist pressed against his lips, and Sylvie rose to fetch him one. But rather than getting a moment to herself, she found him weaving through groups of chatting guests behind her. Stopping at the sideboard tucked into an empty corner, Sylvie dipped out a bit of punch from a crystal bowl and handed him the dainty glass. Before he’d even taken a sip, Mr. Wentworth regained his composure, looking as if nothing had happened. Sylvie narrowed her eyes. “Sir, was that entire episode a ruse?”

A devilish grin caught Sylvie by surprise, sending a spiral of warmth through her. “Would it upset you if it happened to be?”

Sylvie lost herself in his warm gaze for too long before realizing she was staring. He was so handsome with that roguish smile. “If you did it to save me from being forced by good manners to accept a caller I’m not interested in, then no, not one bit.”

She spoke with more candor than she would with anyone else except Matilda, but something about Mr. Wentworth made Sylvie relax. She wanted to be herself with him, not the well-trained society debutante she was used to being. It was odd.

Mr. Wentworth cleared his throat far more loudly than necessary and took another drink. Then he lowered his voice. “Is Mr. Greene occupied yet?”

Sylvie tipped her head to peer around Mr. Wentworth’s considerable shoulders. “Yes, Miss Howard took my spot and has engaged him in conversation.” Feeling more comfortable than she ever had with a gentleman, Sylvie looked up at Mr. Wentworth again. “Thank you for rescuing me. And for the attempt at dinner, as well. I’ll try not to make a habit of needing your assistance in the future.”

“And I’ll try not to hope you fail.” He went still, his eyes searching hers as they stood face to face. Sylvie wasn’t sure what he was trying to find, but the moment came too close to stealing her breath away.

Taking his empty cup and spinning around, Sylvie set it on the sideboard while pressing a hand to her fluttery stomach. She refused to get lost in his gaze again. “If we continue lurking in this corner, people will start to talk. Perhaps you’d like to join in one of the games?”

“I would not.” Against her better judgment, Sylvie’s eyes flew up to see what his face held. A smile. He wasn’t upset by her attempt to push him away. “Would it be appropriate for us to sit together somewhere other than a corner? I’d hate for you to be left alone to face your admirers without me.”

Warmth flooded Sylvie. She didn’t bother to unravel the feelings causing it. Too many assailed her at once. Irrational delight that he wanted to spend time with her. Hesitation because she didn’t want her mother to see them together. A thrill over the possibility that Lucy would see them together. And a significant amount of longing to stay in that corner alone with him all night. “I suppose that’s acceptable.”

Mr. Wentworth led the way toward two chairs near the door that opened to the hallway. It wasn’t as loud and lively there as it was on the opposite side of the room, where all the games took place. A few older women stood in clumps, watching the room and gossiping about everything they saw. Several ladies glanced in Sylvie’s direction, but thankfully, her mother wasn’t one of them.

Settling into a chair and arranging the folds of her cream gown, for once, Sylvie didn’t know what to say. She’d been trained since a young age to make polite small talk in the most awkward of situations. But now, faced with a gentleman whose company she didn’t abhor, all those lessons fled from her mind.

Clearing his throat—this time sounding more realistic—Mr. Wentworth leaned forward in his seat, then pressed back, as if unsure how to make himself comfortable in the awkward silence Sylvie had created. “Miss Bryce, do you have any interest in insects?”

It took Sylvie a moment to understand what he was asking. The question was so far from anything she imagined discussing with him that her mind needed to catch up to it. “I don’t believe I do.”

Even she heard the question in her voice. Mr. Wentworth wetted his lips before meeting her gaze again. “I suppose that’s an odd inquiry. I study insects. At the laboratory run by Ohio State University at Cedar Point.”

Ah, of course. She’d heard he was a scientist. “Entomology, is that the correct word for it?”

His genuine smile returned. “Yes, quite. But talking about my work would likely bore you. I’m not certain why I brought it up.”

Sylvie shook her head. “Not in the least. I would love to hear about why you chose that field, and what your work entails.”

“It’s all to do with illness, actually.”

Once again, Sylvie stared at him while attempting to follow the conversation. “You were ill? You don’t look any worse for it.”

A twinkle lit his eyes, and Sylvie had the distinct impression he was talking in riddles on purpose. But rather than feeling put out about it, an intoxicating lightness filled her chest, and an answering smile crept across her lips. Mr. Wentworth came to life when he spoke about his interests, and his obvious excitement made Sylvie desperate to keep him talking.

But a small corner of her heart reminded her that she couldn’t allow herself to get swept up in his charms. He was still a gentleman her mother was trying to push her way. Even if she were to give in and they started a courtship despite that, he wouldn’t be so different from other society men. He would still demand that she stop performing her archery show if he discovered it. No man wanted a wife who pursued something so outrageous.

She needed to pull herself together. Maybe one day, once she’d built something of her own and proven she had worth beyond her ability to do what was expected, Sylvie would consider marriage. But for now, her focus must stay fixed on more important things.

It remained to be seen if she could convince her traitorous heart to believe that.

Miles leaned forward, settling into his topic as the initial awkwardness of their conversation faded away. It was time to stop teasing Miss Bryce with outrageous answers spouted so he could see her eyes widen. “Though I appreciate your assessment, I wasn’t ill. Typhus hit the village on our estate when I was young, and while I wasn’t allowed anywhere near, the talk about it was unavoidable. It made me wonder how diseases spread and what could be done about them. So I started studying and learning and was led to the role of insects in disease. As I learned more about the different species, I became enamored with the study of them. And thus I ended up an entomologist.”

Miss Bryce’s lips parted as she listened. Her complete and utter attention on him was almost enough to take a man’s breath away. “What led you to this laboratory? Ohio isn’t exactly the most sought-after location for most people.”

“Ohio State runs a renowned program that has a reputation for producing solid research. Plus, my friend Alexander Lofton summers here on the island, so I had a place to stay aside from student housing. I don’t prefer the lifestyle of an English lord, but I do draw the line at living like a university student again.”

Miss Bryce chuckled. It was a lovely, light, genuine sound that lodged in Miles’s mind and heart. He didn’t usually find it easy to entertain people. He tended to be serious and didn’t think of witty comments until much later. But it was different with Miss Bryce, more natural to tease and laugh. If he could find a way to keep her giggling, he might be the happiest man alive.