Page 16 of Enticing the Devil

Anne was soon after joined by a couple of the other unattached ladies who were just as quickly swept off by their partners to discuss who would shoot first between them. Lily’s sister, Emma, and her husband, Mr. Bentley, also stopped to chat for a bit before moving on.

All the while, Anne kept glancing about for a sign of her partner. With his height and breadth, the man shouldn’t have been hard to spot amongst the small clusters of guests sprinkled over the expansive lawn, yet she didn’t catch a single glimpse of him.

She considered the possibility that after the debacle of yesterday’s opening event, he might have decided to withdraw after all. The thought threatened to trigger a rush of annoyance, but she held it down. If she ended up having to continue through the games on her own, she’d find a way to manage.

At least archery happened to be one of the very few physical activities her father had deemed appropriate for young ladies, so Anne wasn’t without some skill with a bow and arrow. There had been a couple years in her adolescence when she’d been quite committed to mastering the skill, sometimes spending hours a day practicing. It wasn’t as if she had a whole lot else to fill her time.

Since it had been a few years since she’d picked up a bow and arrow, she only hoped she’d retained enough skill not to embarrass herself.

Five tables were set up several paces from each other. A footman was on hand at each table to assist with the archery equipment. As there were ten teams and they could only go five at a time, the event was likely to last through much of the morning. The first five contestants, which included Bethany along with two other women and two gentlemen, were already getting set up.

As Anne made her way toward the side where the other competitors were waiting their turn, she gave one last glance around for Mr. Thomas. She saw him almost immediately, off to one side in the shade of a nearby oak, and realized it was possible he’d been standing there the whole time, his position blocked from her view by the thick trunk of the tree.

His hands were tucked casually in the pockets of his coat as he leaned one shoulder against the tree and watched the first round of archers preparing their shots. The casual stance made him look almost relaxed and, for a moment, he looked rather dashing. But then he shifted his focus and the full force of his dark gaze landed quite abruptly on her. Her nape tingled and toes curled. Just like last night, it felt as though he’d been waiting for her to appear.

Don’t be ridiculous, she admonished herself.

He wasn’t waiting for her. He just happened to have a very intense stare. One to which she was apparently rather sensitive. It would be best for her to get over that little issue.

Shaking off her momentary disquiet, Anne crossed the lawn to her partner. Though she’d have been fine keeping herself at a distance from the man who clearly wanted even less to do with her than she did with him, they needed to decide who would shoot first.

She didn’t realize just how removed his position was from the rest of the gathered participants until she reached his side and turned in place to look back toward the game. Even though there were well over two dozen people within sight, she suddenly felt quite alone with the brooding Welshman.

“Have you experience with a bow?” she blurted in her sudden discomfort.

There was a pause during which she forced herself not to glance at him. Best to keep her eyes trained forward.

“Some,” he finally replied. “And you?”

“Some,” she answered.

Why did it always seem so terribly difficult to converse with him?

Anne wasn’t a social butterfly by any means, and though she was somewhat reserved by nature, she wasn’t shy, either. She was well practiced in the art of small talk and knew the basics on how to set a person at ease, as anyone trained to be a good hostess would. She’d also encountered men with far more ill-tempered manners. Her father being a prime example.

So why couldn’t she seem to manage a proper bit of communication with Mr. Thomas?

Because he unsettles you, came her instant internal answer.

Yes, but why? she pressed.

There was no satisfactory answer forthcoming.

“Would you prefer to go first or second?” she asked, hating how stiff her tone had gotten.

“I’ve no preference.”

And then, because the first round was finishing and Anne felt a sharp need to get away from the large, dark man beside her, she volunteered, “Then I’ll go first.”

She walked away without waiting for his response, knowing he wouldn’t bother to argue.

A few minutes later, she took her place at one of the tables and found herself standing next to the Earl of Wright. The young Miss Claybourne was there, offering her half brother a bit of encouragement before she turned to Anne with a smile.

“Good luck, Lady Anne. I’ll be cheering you on.”

“Thank you,” she replied as the girl skipped away to join Lady Wright among the spectators.

Glancing to the earl, Anne marveled at how different he was from Mr. Thomas. Fair where Thomas was dark. Trim and athletic rather than broad and solid. Lord Wright was everything an earl should be—refined, proper, handsome, and though he sometimes seemed a bit standoffish, he was understatedly kind.