The Marquess Who Loved Me - By Sara Ramsey Page 0,56
where Ellie was not. And Ellie had never lost control of herself like that before.
Ellie drew a deep, shuddering breath, raw and rasping, glad her anger had been covered by the crowd congratulating Percy on two perfect shots. “I apologize, your grace,” she said, when some of the red had faded to grey. “That was poorly done of me. I appreciate your offer, but I do not require help.”
Madeleine looked like she wanted to argue, but Ellie’s outburst had shattered her innocence. She sounded wary when she said, “Very well. Just…don’t forget we exist if you need us.”
That was like asking a soldier not to forget that other people were unharmed when he, in a moment of terrible luck, had lost a leg. Madeleine meant to be kind — was kind — but Ellie, in all her unfamiliar pain, couldn’t accept it.
Still, there was no sense insulting her again. So Ellie put on her best smile, nodded, and shifted the conversation to a discussion of which amusements to pursue that evening.
And while they talked, she breathed. She let the pain go with every exhale. She used every inhale to rebuild her shields. If she couldn’t heal her heart, she could at least ensure that no one — not her friends, not Nick, and certainly not herself — could touch it again.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Half an hour later, it was Ellie’s turn at the targets. Her guests would grow bored soon. She could read it in the way they had broken off into little groups, paying more attention to their own gossip than to those who chose to shoot. She could read the swirls and eddies in a social setting like an expert gamekeeper tracking his herds and flocks. And she was already prepared for the next phase of the afternoon. Even now, servants would be setting out a cold collation in the saloon downstairs — food and drink would keep her guests entertained, and not thinking of her, for another hour at least.
But as she picked up her bow, she sensed a different movement in the currents behind her. She didn’t turn around, but she heard the whispers. She nocked the arrow, pulled back, stared down the shaft, and released the string.
It struck the heart of the target. Her father hadn’t allowed hysterics, but it didn’t matter — she had always found more satisfaction in a perfectly-placed arrow than a crying fit.
She could have shot again, trying to match Percy’s record. But she heard a slow, loud clap add itself to the tumult of praise, and she wasn’t sure her nerves allowed for another attempt. She handed her weapon to the footman, a slender blond with pretty, even features who looked like Eros as he held the bow.
This wasn’t the time to think of painting her footmen. She turned back to her guests. But she only saw Nick. He stood slightly apart, near the door he had just entered, watching her with eyes that tracked over her skin like Greek fire. His hair was windblown and his cheeks were red with cold. But his voice was pure heat as he congratulated her.
“Tremendous shot, Lady Folkestone,” he said, in a voice that silenced the masses. “Odysseus himself couldn’t have done better.”
She blushed. She never blushed. But she saw him, again, in the painting she’d made of him, with Ellie as Circe and Nick as the man who waited to do her bidding. “You’re more of an Odysseus than I am, my lord — back from your wanderings and all that. Do you care to shoot? The rest of the party is just finished.”
He didn’t glance at any of them. “I’m no archer. It’s not a popular pastime in the East End.”
The silence turned uncomfortable. No one had mentioned his antecedents, at least not to her, but he wouldn’t let them forget it. Ellie smoothed it over with a little laugh. “Of course. We can always try another diversion. Have you a scheme to entertain us?”
“I always have a scheme for you, my lady.”
He sounded lightly flirtatious, in a way that made the women sigh. If he were always like this, the combination of his charm and his title would more than cover the sins of his background. He could melt all their hearts with little effort.
But there was nothing light or flirtatious about Nick’s face. His eyes locked onto hers. His grin turned devastating, the grin of a man who was supremely confident that he could take what he wanted.