Page 39 of Irresistible
Clenching her teeth, Jess stared up at the bed hangings as she’d done when she’d awakened a short while ago. Only now, her body wasn’t nearing a blissful climax; her mind was traveling a terrible path on which suspicion and distrust were the guideposts.
She didn’t like those feelingsat all. She wanted to trust Dougal. She wanted to be his partner.
Actually, she was beginning to think she wanted to be his lover.
Chapter10
The sun was bright overhead as they finished their beach picnic. Dougal tossed back the last of his ale and watched his “wife” talk animatedly to Mary. If she hadn’t mentioned last night that she was beginning to like their hostess, he would have found her act utterly convincing.
Dougal couldn’t blame her. Mary was most amiable—eager to please, cheerful, and eminently positive. They were odd traits for a spy, probably because she appeared as a person without secrets. What she showed you was entirely who she was. Or so it seemed. Perhapsshewas the consummate actress.
Jess turned her head, and her eyes met his. One of her brows rose infinitesimally, as if she were asking why he was watching her.
Because I find you incredibly attractive. Because I can’t not watch you. Because this pretend marriage is far more enticing than I could ever have imagined.
He looked to Gil, who was reaching for more ale. “Time to shoot?”
“Definitely!” Gil refilled his tankard, then got to his feet and strode toward the shooting area that two of the footmen had set up. Dougal set his empty tankard down and followed him.
There was a table with an impressive selection of firearms—two rifles and four pistols. Thirty yards or so distant, the footmen had set up three posts with a rope joining them—perhaps twenty feet between the two outer posts, with the third in the center. Targets hung at intervals—pieces of wood or clay. Some were as large as ten inches across, while others were no bigger than four. It appeared as though Gil took his shooting very seriously. In any other situation, Dougal would have enjoyed this activity immensely—both the discussion of the weapons and the art of the sport. However, that was not the purpose of this endeavor.
Gil set his tankard on the table. “What do you like to shoot?”
“Anything, really.” Most of Dougal’s experience, of course, was shooting military weapons, which weren’t widely available. The army didn’t let you keep your gun.
“Did your father teach you?” Gil asked.
“He did, in fact.” Dougal typically relied on details from his own life rather than fabricate everything. It was easier to remember things that way. He thought of his father teaching him and Alistair to shoot. “I shot my first stag when I was eight.”
Gil’s shoulder twitched. “My father used to take me pheasant hunting. I’m afraid I never took to shooting animals, though I was quite good at it. I do enjoy the sport of hitting a target.”
The ladies joined them. Mary went to her husband and clasped his arm while pressing against him as she was wont to do. “Is my knight boring you with the details of his weaponry?” She smiled up at Gil, who quickly pressed his finger to her nose as if she were a kitten or a puppy.
“Not at all,” Dougal answered, sliding his arm around Jess’s waist as she came to his side. It was such a natural movement and felt so right that he could actually believe they were wed. He looked to Gil. “You’ve a nice collection here.” Dougal’s attention went immediately to what looked to be a French double-barreled flintlock. “Where did you get that?”
“Spectacular, isn’t it?” Gil said with obvious pride. “It is a copy of one in Napoleon’s private collection.”
“Do you suppose he was allowed to keep that?” Jess asked with a laugh.
Dougal tamped down his admiration for her question and waited to hear how their host would answer.
“I can’t imagine he was,” Gil responded. “Though I have to think he did try!” He laughed at this, and Mary joined him.
Smiling to go along with them, Dougal couldn’t make out Gil’s personal opinion, which would perhaps tell them where his affinity lay. Not that he expected the man to openly admit he was working for the French. “Are you a supporter of Napoleon?” Dougal asked.
“Goodness no,” Gil answered quickly, his expression horrified, as it should be as an Englishman. But was his reaction genuine? “I am passionate about many French things, however, including that gun in particular. I saw a sketch of it a couple of years ago, and it swept me off my feet.” He laughed and looked to his wife. “Not in the same way my mermaid did, however.”
Jess had joined in with their amusement, but now wrinkled her nose. “I’m glad Napoleon is back in exile.”
Mary nodded in agreement. “It is for the best.”
Dougal couldn’t tell if she believed that, but there had been no glances between her and Gil. They didn’t seem at all uneasy or anxious about the topic at hand. Later, he would compliment Jess on the question. It was innocuous and yet about a subject upon which it was beneficial to see their hosts’ reactions.
“How did you get it?” Dougal gave him a pleasant smile. “If you don’t mind my asking. It’s stunning.”
For the first time during their visit, Gil shifted his gaze and appeared uncomfortable. “It was a special favor. I’d rather not say as I don’t wish to cause trouble for the gentleman who procured it for me.”
Probably a smuggler. Now Dougal was doubly curious. “What if I want one of my own after shooting it?” he asked jovially.
