“You never left it?”
He shook his head, feeling the walls closing in on him, hearing the locks hit home.
“For how long at a time?”
He shrugged, released her and slipped his hands into his pockets, shrugging forward. “A week or two.” Christ, he knew how bad that sounded. “She felt guilty afterward, and by the time I was fifteen, I’d proven an indispensable tool in keeping peace about the place. Between her and father, between John and Daniel. She didn’t lock me up after that.”
“I hate her.”
He stopped. “You… you don’t have to. You shouldn’t. She was welcoming to every other soul.” Not a detail that had ever made her dislike of him easier to live with. Made it harder, actually.
“I do have to. I cannot help but hate her for treating you that way.” Something of a stamped foot in her voice.
He hugged her to his side once more. She’d abandoned the pity. Nothing left in her voice but fire now, and it was more of a balm than the other. It meant she cared. For him. Passionately.
Kissing the top of her head, he said, “Forget it. I’ll keep the peace now, too. It’s what I’m good at. Daniel will be out of the county before John and Evie sayI do.”
She settled into his side, but as they approached the back of the house, she pulled away from him with a laugh. “Archery!”
“Yes,” he said, catching up to her. “I know they’re competing at Slopevale today, and I know, as well, how much you enjoy a bit of competition. I hate to deprive you. We could have played with the others today, but then”—he hooked an arm around her waist, pulled her snug against him—“I couldn’t touch you like this.”
She curled her fingers into his jacket and tugged him down for a kiss. “I’d ratherthisthan arrows. But now I can have both. That is empirically better. Thank you.”
He was dizzy. From her easy affection, from his success in making her happy, fromher. What would he do when this was over? How could he keep it from ending? He didn’t want to have to hide the tentativewethey had created. He wanted to tug her right in front of Peterson and kiss her soundly, show the baron and all else that she was his. For good.
But maybe not for good. Hearts hidden couldn’t thrive, and she had no desire to bare theirs to the sunlight.
She left him to choose her bow and attached the arm brace and three-fingered glove. He took the remaining one and stepped back to watch her line up with the target in the distance.
“You are about to lose, Richard Clark. You may not know this, but I belong to the London Amazonian Society.”
“Can’t say I find that surprising at all.” He leaned over her, dropped a kiss on her neck where she smelled of soap and honey. “You are the amazon-iest of all Amazons.”
“Flattery will not save you, Clark.”
“Never does, sweetheart. Don’t want to be saved.” He stepped back. “Go on, then. Take your shot.”
She did. And got damn near close to the bull’s-eye. “Your turn.” She was gloating. Didn’t even try to hide it.
He stepped up to the target, aimed, hit it. But not well. Not nearly as well as her. Nowhere near the bull’s-eye.
“I win!” She threw her arms around his neck.
He kissed her, then said, “Again?”
“Mm.” She took another shot, and her arrow landed a little farther from the center.
He hit the center. When he faced her, she was scowling, fists on her hips. “You don’t like to lose, Bea?” He knew she didn’t.
“I do not like being tricked. You hit the center easy.”
He shrugged. “I’m no Amazonian. But I’m not without skill. I simply needed a warm-up shot. Now, what boon will you give me for my win?”
“You never said the winner would receive a prize. I won the first round. You’re too sly.”
He caught her round the waist, dropping the bow to hold her close with both arms. He needed all the muscle he possessed to keep a woman like her—all passion and hunger and sharp wit.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, palms pushing slightly at his chest.