Lara Temple - Lord Crayle's Secret World

She aimed at the centre of the dummy’s head and took her shot.

‘I like this one better,’ she said as she lowered the pistol.

‘It obviously likes you just as much,’ he responded, his eyes narrowing as he took in the damage to the dummy’s head. ‘I was intrigued to see just how good you were after your performance on the Heath.’

‘And...?’ she asked, raising her chin slightly. At least in this arena she knew her worth.

‘Passable.’ He shrugged.

‘Passable!’ she exclaimed, offended and annoyed, and he laughed, his face lightening.

‘You’re an excellent shot and you know it. You don’t need me to tell you that.’

She flushed in pleasure at the compliment.

‘May I try another?’ she asked diffidently. She did not want this particular session to end quite yet.

He hesitated, then shrugged.

‘Fine. But we need to correct your stance. You may not approve of duelling, but whoever taught you clearly did; that’s a duelling stance. Standing sideways makes you a smaller target, but it’s not always as effective for aiming, especially for long-distance shooting. Here, take this and come over here.’

Sari took the pistol he handed her and followed him to the second lane.

‘Now aim as usual.’

She raised the pistol and waited, trying to stay calm. She felt the warmth of his body behind her and flinched slightly when his hands grasped her shoulders, moving her so that her body faced more squarely down the lane.

‘I know this will feel strange to you,’ he said calmly. He was so close she could feel his breath warm against her nape. His hand moved to her upper arm, closing on it gently, urging it back.

‘Move your right foot forward just a bit and lean your shoulder back. Your arm should be at an angle to your body, like this.’

She obeyed, but she could feel her arm starting to shake, and she took a deep breath, trying to focus on nothing but the pistol.

‘Relax.’ His voice was soft and low, soothing. ‘Remember, this is easy for you.’ His hand moved down her arm slightly, steadying it. His hand felt warm through the thin fabric of her dress. He was mere inches behind her now and the contrast between the coolness of the underground cavern and the warmth radiating from his body was disorienting.

‘Breathe and take your shot.’

She closed her eyes briefly, trying to clear her mind. Then she sighted and shot. She wasn’t used to the stance and didn’t hold her ground as well as usual when the recoil propelled her back. She came up hard against the earl’s body and he steadied her, one hand on her waist and the other on her outstretched arm.

‘He only lost some hair,’ he said with a low laugh that flowed over her, mixing with her thudding pulse. ‘It will be easier next time. You need more weight on your lead foot.’

Sari didn’t respond and didn’t move. She knew she should say something. Or step away. Anything. She wet her lips and waited.

The silence stretched on for a moment, then his hand slid down her arm, brushing over her hand as he grasped the pistol and pulled it away. Then he stood back and turned away.

‘That should be enough for today. Do you remember how to get back upstairs?’

She nodded.

‘Thank you,’ she forced herself to say.

‘There is no need to thank me. Practise that stance until it feels natural.’

She nodded again and turned, heading for the stairs. She needed air.

* * *

Michael took out the gun-cleaning kit absently and began cleaning the pistols with the ease of many years of practice. At least he now had an answer of sorts to Antonelli’s questions. Training women was distinctly different to training men.

If he had needed any further proof of her lack of experience, he had found it in the unconscious way she had accepted his touch. A more experienced female would either have made a show of modestly demurring or made the most of the situation. He almost wished she had done one or the other.

In some respects, training her had been easier than he would have thought. As she had been with Antonelli, she had been attentive and immediately responsive to his corrections. It wasn’t until the recoil had knocked her back against him that he had realised he had been far too comfortable touching her.

With his hand on the warm curve of her waist there had been a moment when it had seemed natural to pull her back against him, lean in and follow the faint, exotic scent of jasmine he could detect beneath the acrid smell of gunpowder. It had only been for a moment, but long enough to convince him he had been right—she was trouble. The fact that she was innocent trouble only made it worse.

Chapter Eight

Towards the end of Sari’s second week at the Institute her muscles were protesting after the unaccustomed exercise of daily fencing practice and her mind was crammed with assorted chemical formulas, social dictums and political doctrines. But she didn’t regret a second of it. For the first time in her life she felt a real sense of purpose. She told herself it was ridiculous to feel as if she truly belonged in this strange environment after little more than a week, but she just did.

She could hardly believe that a few weeks ago she had been drowning in fear and poverty and now her life had taken on a whole new glow of hope and purpose. Every evening she, Mina and George would sit in the small parlour of their new lodgings off Wilton Street in Pimlico, revelling in its cosy warmth. She had even allowed herself to buy two new books. She loved seeing the pleasure Mina derived from her new sewing basket and the relaxed smile on George’s face as he watched his wife stitching, his newspaper in hand. She only wished Charlie could be there with them, but at least when the school holidays arrived they would have a safe, warm home waiting for him. Every now and again the amazed realisation would bubble up in her—for now her family was safe and cosy and content. She was so happy it was almost suspect.

The only faint cloud on her sunny horizon was one she would hardly allow herself to consider. Every day as she entered the Institute and reported to Penrose for her daily schedule, she indulged in the guilty hope of another summons to the shooting gallery. When none came she told herself firmly that it was better that way. She needed to be focused and confident, and as much as she enjoyed the shooting range, there was something about the earl that left her raw.

Other than that, she was increasingly comfortable with her instructors and their strange whims, but Antonelli and Deakins were still her clear favourites. Between her other assignments she spent every moment she could in the salle or in Deakins’s lab. Therefore in the break between her classes that Thursday she entered the salle as usual to see what Antonelli was doing. She almost withdrew when she realised Lord Crayle was fencing with O’Brien, one of the senior agents, while Antonelli and another agent, Morton, watched. The two men fencing didn’t notice her as she entered, but Antonelli smiled and motioned her to silence as she leaned back against the wall to watch.

They were both skilled, but Crayle was clearly a fencer of a higher order. His moves were economical but powerful and within the first few minutes it was clear O’Brien would lose the encounter. Antonelli kept well back, not making his usual comments.

Sari was enthralled by the grace of the game. It was obvious Crayle could end it when he wished, but he withdrew from each potential hit, allowing O’Brien to recover. His skill matched even Antonelli’s, who had been fencing for over thirty years. And yet there was something more dangerous in his swordplay, a contained force that threatened to break through with each riposte, all the more formidable for being held in check.