Page 40 of Irresistible
“Well, in that case, I could try to broker something for you,” Gil said affably. “Is that what you want to shoot?”
“Yes.” Dougal turned his head to Jess. In the glistening sunlight, the blue of her eyes made the sea pale in comparison. “I think you should shoot the simple flintlock since it’s your first time.”
“Whatever you think is best, my stag.” She beamed up at him and pressed into his side.
God, she could completely distract him. The feel of her against him was a heady temptation. He could think of many things he’d much rather do on this fine afternoon than shoot.
“Do you mind showing us your skill?” Dougal asked. He was curious as to the man’s abilities. One would think they would be excellent given his collection of firearms.
“Not at all. Allow me to demonstrate with the rifle first.” Gil plucked up the gun on the far edge of the table. “I loaded it before you arrived,” he explained, moving a few feet in front of the table, where he took careful aim.
“Which target do you mean to hit?”
Gil glanced toward him, a smile lifting his mouth. “Would you care to wager?”
“Not at all.” Dougal wanted to know how good the man was—hitting one of those targets wasn’t as difficult as saying which one he meant to hit.
“Third from the left,” Gil said, indicating one of the smaller targets. A moment later, he squeezed the trigger. The wood splintered apart.
Mary clapped her hands. “Bravo, my knight!”
Gil turned and gave them a sweeping bow. “One more barrel, my pigeon. Your turn.”
At the word pigeon, Jess gripped Dougal’s arm and pressed her lips together. He watched her jaw quiver, and knew she was fighting back a laugh just as he was.
Taking the rifle from her husband, Mary offered up her cheek, which he kissed soundly. And lingeringly. Then he whispered something in her ear, and her lips turned up.
She took a similar position to her husband and stated, “Second from the right.” This was larger than the one her husband had taken out. After a moment’s concentration, she destroyed the target.
“Bien fait!” Gil called out. He rushed forward to take the rifle from her and handed it to one of the footmen. Then he swept Mary around in a circle before setting her down and dropping a kiss on her lips. Their casual display of affection would have turned every head in London.
“My goodness, that was excellent,” Jess said. “Do you always shoot that accurately?”
“How can we answer that without appearing immodest?” Mary asked with a laugh.
“Yes, we always shoot that accurately,” Gil affirmed. He grinned at his wife. “Mon coeurworked very hard to improve her skill. It does pay to practice every week.” They exchanged adoring looks.
While both shots could have been flukes, Dougal was inclined to believe them, that they were both that good. Was it really just a pastime, however, or had they been trained to shoot like that? The fact that Gil had a gun fashioned after one in Napoleon’s private collection lodged in Dougal’s mind.
“Your turn,” Mary said to Jess.
She laughed nervously, and Dougal wondered if that was real or improvised. “Oh no, I shall let my accomplished husband go first. I don’t even know how to hold a pistol.”
Gil picked up the double-barreled French pistol and handed it to Dougal. “It’s already loaded.”
Dougal took his hand from Jess’s waist and transferred the pistol to it. He could shoot from either hand but preferred his right. Moving to where the Chesmores had fired from, he held up the pistol to test its weight. Should he choose a larger, easier target? That depended on whether he wanted to display his true skill or if he preferred Gil to think he wasn’t as accomplished as he was.
“First on the right of the center post,” he said. Taking aim, he fired and shot the clay disc apart.
“Well done!” Mary said, applauding once more.
“C’est magnifique!” Gil exclaimed.
“I think I would like one of these,” Dougal said in appreciation. “If you could procure one for me, I’d be delighted.”
Gil flashed a brief and perhaps slightly insincere smile. “Of course.” He quickly turned to Jess. “And now your turn, madame.”
Dougal had to wonder if the man realized how he might appear to others with his French speaking, French brandy, and French pistol procured under secretive circumstances. These things might be seen as unremarkable, but Dougal also knew they wrote coded letters and crept onto the beach late at night. While their investigation was by no means concluded, Dougal was inclined to believe they were, in fact, spies. But did they have a specific goal? Or were they biding their time until the next conflict inevitably broke out?
