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And that was another thing. He’d given up searching for Persephone since meeting Ria. Before then, that need had consumed him and driven his every action. He’d since transferred that obsession to Ria. What the hell was the matter with him?
Which brought him back to her. He once again thought about her behavior. Did she fear for her safety? Who would try to harm her, and why?
He didn’t know, but he knew someone who could find out and resolved to contact him immediately.
At that moment, he heard his name called. Devon was walking toward him, a broad smile on his face. “How was luncheon with your beauteous widow?”
Even his friend was doing it. Using the possessive. “She is not mine.”
“Then you will not mind if I try my hand—”
His could not help himself—the ferocious glare he gave his best friend was instinctive. It was enough to make Devon stop in midsentence, clasp his hand to his chest, and say, “If looks could wound, my friend, I’d be sending for the doctor.”
“She’s your cousin!”
Devon laughed. “At least fourth removed. Hardly an impediment. Though it’s interesting you should think it is. You really have a problem.” His lips twitched slightly as he added, “I’m not complaining, mind you. I hope it keeps up, seeing as you are adding to my stable quite nicely. First it was the gray for information, then the black just to stay away at luncheon. But if she is not yours, then it seems to me a bit cork-brained.”
As they walked toward the inn’s stable, the expression in his golden-brown eyes became serious. “I’ve never seen you like this before—you’re usually more casual and relaxed about your paramours. I merely smiled at her, and you were ready to go for my throat.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
Devon shook his head, and his tawny hair lifted slightly at the movement. “You didn’t see your face. I hope you know what you are doing, my friend.”
No, Luc hadn’t seen his face, but he did know how he felt. Just what was happening to him?
Was he even more like his father than he feared?
11
Ria’s hand holding the pistol trembled. She had in her hand something designed to kill. Ruthlessly suppressing that thought, she did her best to concentrate on Luc’s instructions.
“Stand still, slightly side on.” He reached up to adjust her waist. “That’s it.”
His warm hand on her waist brought back the memory of when they danced together and how right it had felt.
Just like at the masquerade, his scent reached out to her. At first there was the freshness of lemon and apple and then the enticing, warm, dark undertone of clove.
They were so close that each time she breathed out she could see her breath turn white, coil its way around his, and then their two breaths merged in the cold air until she could no longer tell them apart.
Shaking her head, she focused her attention on the lesson by concentrating on Luc’s voice just in time to hear him say, “Now look at the target. See the circle in the middle? That’s what you’re aiming for.”
Ria looked at the distant target, partially obscured by the late morning mist that hadn’t completely lifted. Beyond the target were leafless silver birch trees, tall, dark skeletons swathed in white gauze.
“Hold your arm out straight,” the earl instructed. “Think of the weapon as an extension of your arm. When you fire the gun, there will be recoil, and it will push back. I’ll stand behind you and support you this first time.”
He moved, and Ria was conscious of his chest at her back. He was so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body.
As the warmth brought back more memories of the masquerade, her arm holding the pistol began to droop. When he reached around her to readjust her stance, he seemed to linger, his gloved fingers lightly brushing the back of her hand before dropping down to the small of her back.
A delicious river of excitement spread from the spot where he’d touched her. It rippled up and down her spine. Ria shifted her legs restlessly, trying to relieve the pressure.
Looking at the target, she made every effort to concentrate. This was important. It could mean the difference between life and death.
Eyeing the circle in the center, she braced herself against the expected kick and tentatively squeezed the trigger. The gun jumped in her hand. As the smoke reached her face, she wrinkled her nose at the acrid smell.
She wrinkled it again when she saw how bad her shot was. She hadn’t hit the target at all, let alone come anywhere near the circle!
She listened intently to the earl’s instructions about how to reload the pistol. Once he had shown her, he made her fire the pistol and then reload it herself over and over again.
