Till Dawn with the Devil (9 page)

“Move the target closer. Thirty yards will suffice,” he ordered the servant, who rushed to do the earl’s bidding. He left her clutching the bow with both hands while he selected an arrow from a quiver.

“Oh, no, you expect me to use a genuine arrow?” she asked, backing away. “Could we not start with a dull stick or something less deadly like the leg bone of a turkey?”

She could sense that Reign was struggling not to laugh.

“Sophia, a dull stick or a leg bone is likely to injure you more than an arrow.” He came up from behind, positioning himself indecently close to her. “You can trust me. I will not let anything happen to you.”

As if she were a doll that he could touch and pose her at whim, Reign slid his hand down her left arm, encouraging her to raise the bow. “Now turn and present your left side to the target. That’s a good girl!”

“I feel as if everyone is watching us.”

“We are alone,” he said soothingly into her ear. “No one will bother us. Let me help you.”

Reign adjusted her grip on the handle several
times until he was satisfied, then tilted the bow diagonally. With practiced movements, he slipped the arrow under the string and over the bow, using his thumb over hers to hold the arrow in place while, with his right hand, he fixed the arrow on the string.

“Relax your muscles. Stiffness will hinder your aim. Everything from your footing to the position of your head should be commanding and yet graceful,” he explained.

“At the Harpers’ ball, you called me a clumsy creature.”

Reign used his body to slightly alter her stance. “You found your balance quick enough,” he said drily. “Now pay attention. We will do this together.”

Without warning he pulled the string back until their right hands were level with her cheek. “Keep your left arm straight. Elbow turned out. String taut. Focus on the target, not the arrow in front of you if you want your aim to be true.”

“It is harder than you think,” she muttered under her breath as she concentrated on the target in the distance. The target was partially obscured by her unstable eyesight. She blinked and willed her vision to clear. “It is akin to aiming through tendrils of fog.”

“Hmm . . . reminds me of several dawn appointments in which I have participated,” he murmured against her right ear. “Aim . . . and release!”

At Reign’s command, Sophia’s fingers released the string and sent the arrow flying. She was keenly
aware that the earl had not stepped away. Instead he boldly placed his hand on her right hip to hold her in place as his gaze followed the arrow.

“Did I hit the target?” Sophia resisted the urge to jump up and down. She turned into Reign and stared up at his face.

His face was expressionless as their gazes met. “A solid hit. I promise you that the dirt did not suffer any pain.”

The dirt.
Sophia groaned and let the end of the bow touch the ground. “A total disgrace!” she said, disgusted by her efforts.

Reign gave her hip a playful squeeze. “It is rare for anyone to hit the target on their first attempt.” He returned to the table and grabbed another arrow. “Try again.”

As he had before, the earl fitted his body against hers and guided her through each step. He praised her for her natural abilities when the second arrow sprang from the bow.

It arced and landed six inches from the target.

“Better.” Reign reached for another arrow. “Again.”

For a ruthless taskmaster, the earl was a benevolent one. The third arrow landed to the right of the target. The fourth overshot it. The fifth went wild and almost hit the servant in the leg.

Sophia was ready to give up. Her arms were weary from her efforts, and her head was beginning to ache from the concentration. Reign insisted that she make one more attempt.

The sixth arrow struck the bottom of the target with an extremely gratifying
thud.

“I did it!” Sophia whirled about and impulsively embraced him. Horrified by her brazen behavior, she released Reign and took several steps backward. “Good heavens, I actually hit the target!”

“Do not sound so amazed,” Reign said, his eyes glittering with something more than indulgence. “I told you that you could do anything if you wanted it badly.”

“Sophia!”

Fanny rushed up to her friend. The two ladies embraced.

“Oh, Fanny, did you see?” Sophia gestured toward the target. “Reign—uh, Lord Rainecourt has been teaching me the finer points of archery.”

Fanny gave Reign an assessing glance. “Has he, indeed?” Her face softened with undisguised affection when her gaze shifted to Sophia. “Well done, Sophia. Do not fret, dear friend, I have not come to spoil your fun. When you have finished your archery lesson, I pray you will join me and my cousin in the music room.”

“I will,” Sophia said hastily. She felt Reign’s hand on the small of her back, and she found the gesture soothing.

If Fanny noticed the silent exchange between Sophia and Reign, she was too polite to call attention to it. “Until we meet again, Lord Rainecourt,” Fanny said as she curtsied.

“I am looking forward to it, Lady Frances,” murmured Reign.

Sophia frowned at her friend’s departing figure, wondering if there was an underlying meaning to Fanny’s final words.

Reign bided his time, knowing he and Lady Frances had unfinished business. Sin and his wife had arrived at Lady Wold’s fete, and if they were astounded by his presence, neither one mentioned it. He and Sin discussed neglected club business while the marquess’s wife, Juliana, was distracted by her mother’s arrival. Thirty minutes later, he discreetly observed Lady Wold as she introduced Juliana to Sophia after he had politely whispered the suggestion to their hostess. Lady Wold had been too flustered by his proximity to refuse or question his request.

Both ladies were attired in white muslin dresses, though Juliana had draped over her shoulders a sky-blue scarf that matched her gloves and kid sandals while Sophia’s dress had been trimmed in Pomona green satin just under her breasts and half sleeves with matching shoes. At first glance, one might have even mistaken the pair for cousins. However, a discerning eye would have noted that Juliana had green eyes and blond tresses with a golden cast whereas Sophia’s eyes were blue with a hint of green. Her hair was flaxen rather than gold, but there was no doubt that together they were striking beauties. Whenever a bold gent wandered too close to the ladies, Sin had warned
the scoundrel off with a hard look. Although he had no claim on Sophia, Reign could commiserate with his friend because he discovered, much to his astonishment, that his fingers itched to punch something every time the lady shyly smiled at a gentleman.

When Vane arrived with his matchmaking mother at his side, Reign and Sin parted ways. While Sin wandered off to greet their friend, Reign strolled in the opposite direction. Juliana and Sophia had joined Lady Wold and her small circle of friends. Lady Frances, on the other hand, had yet to rejoin her friend. Reign suspected that the lady would not be able to resist approaching him, now that he was alone.

Lady Frances did not disappoint him.

“Lord Rainecourt?”

Lady Frances was standing near one of the doors that led into the library. Her brown eyes betrayed her, revealing that his frightening reputation had preceded him. The lady was terrified, but she stood her ground.

His respect for Sophia’s friend increased.

“I was hoping that we would have another chance to talk.”

“I thought you might,” Reign said easily as he approached her. “Fortunately, I always have time to visit with a beautiful lady.”

The words were meant to flatter and put Lady Frances at ease. He rarely devoured a lady without first gaining her permission.

Lady Frances glanced down at the ribbons she
had been fingering at her waist. “I wish to speak to you about Sophia. However, you should be aware that she would not appreciate my interference.”

In the past, it might have amused him to prolong the lady’s discomfort, but Reign was aware that Lady Frances was concerned about her friend. “What do you wish to say to me, my lady?”

“Why are you interested in Sophia?” she asked, sending him a quick look to judge if she had offended him.

“I suspect half the
ton
is aflutter with speculation,” Reign conceded. “You, however, are the only soul brave enough to ask.”

“Because of the waltz.”

“Is that what Lady Sophia told you?”

Lady Frances nodded. “Sophia admitted that your first meeting was entirely by accident. You did not know that she was a Northam.”

How interesting. It was obvious that Lady Sophia had not told her dearest friend about the brief kiss she had shared with Reign on the terrace. Had Lady Sophia been appalled that she had been kissed by a Rainecourt—or was she trying to protect him?

Reign would have paid handsomely for the answer to his unspoken question. “True. It was only when Ravenshaw appeared and started bellowing threats that I learned Lady Sophia was his sister.” Reign crossed his arms and considered the dark-haired woman in front of him. “Come
now, Lady Frances, do not mince words with me. What troubles you?”

“I have heard rumors about you, and I am aware of the bad blood between you and Lord Ravenshaw.”

And yet, Sophia had kept their kiss a secret from her dearest friend.

Intrigued, he said, “Pray continue.”

“Whatever your differences with her brother, I beg you to leave Sophia out of it. She is not like her brothers. Sophia has lived a sheltered life at Northam Peak. Even knowing that you are the son of the man who murdered her parents, she harbors no ill will toward you. In fact, I would not be surprised if Sophia views you as a kindred spirit of sorts since you lost your father that night, too.”

“Kindred spirit,” Reign mused. “I have not viewed Lady Sophia in such a light.”

Lady Frances’s brown eyes narrowed. “You force me to be frank, Lord Rainecourt. I do not trust you any more than I trust Sophia’s brothers. None of you cares who gets hurt while you play your games, and I will not have it!”

“What do you plan to do, Lady Frances?” he asked silkily.

“I just wanted you to know that Sophia is not without friends,” she said stiffly. “Hurt her, and I will find a way to make you pay for it a thousandfold.”

Reign raised his brows. He had never been
threatened by a lady in such a fashion. It was a novel experience. “Lady Frances, do you honestly believe that you can keep me from Lady Sophia’s side?”

Lady Frances’s lips trembled. “No. Sophia likes you. The patience and kindness that you displayed this afternoon on her behalf would be touching if I did not suspect that you had less-than-noble reasons to seek her company.” She gestured helplessly. “She probably views you as some sort of angel—”

“And you and I both are aware that my lineage has more to do with the devil,” he finished for her.

Lady Frances sighed. “I just hope you are worthy of her esteem.” She curtsied and disappeared into the library.

Reign stirred, letting his arms drop to his sides. “An angel?” he scoffed, finding the description naive and oddly disarming.

Was that how Lady Sophia truly felt?

Lady Frances had been right to worry about his interest in her friend. Courting Lady Sophia would be just the thing to needle Ravenshaw, and provoke him into doing something reckless. If Reign was as calculating as most of the
ton
believed him to be, his next move would be to return to the lady’s side and begin his seduction.

Nevertheless, that was not what he was going to do.

His plans for the lady were slightly more complicated,
he decided, as he strolled toward his waiting friends.

Lady Sophia had no notion of the man he was. Her friend was right about that.

After their brief exchange, Reign feared Lady Frances would not be pleased once she deduced his true intentions toward Lady Sophia.

By then, it would be too late.

No, Lady Frances would not be pleased at all.

Sophia grinned as she brought the card to her nose, adjusting the proximity until her vision cleared. In a bold, almost savage handwriting, Reign had written on the back of his calling card.

“ ‘A steadfast arm and aim, has won this gentleman’s heart,’ ” she read aloud for the tenth time.

Along with the card, Reign had sent a small box. Inside was an oval cameo brooch mounted in silver. The blue jasper was sprigged with an image of a lady allowing a young Cupid to sit on her lap as he took aim at an unsuspecting gentleman. Sophia had laughed in delight when she saw it.

His archery lesson at Lady Wold’s had become a private joke between them. Each time she encountered Reign, and there had been four occasions so far, he always asked if she had been practicing her aim. She, in turn, vowed that she had, and then began to regale the earl with outrageous tales of firing her arrows into horses,
dogs, and hapless servants who wandered into her path.

The brooch was a thoughtful gift.

Sophia would treasure it always, and think of Reign if she had the courage to wear it. Stephan would never approve. If her brother learned of Reign’s gift, he would toss the brooch into the hearth.