Читать книгу Lord Crayle's Secret World - Lara Temple - Страница 14

Chapter Seven

Stepping out of Deakins’s class on the fourth day of her training, Sari was forced to admit the earl had been right about her and Deakins. He was her favourite instructor thus far, only after Antonelli. She loved his lab of chemicals, lock picks and trunks of disguises. There must be more of the lawbreaker in her than she cared to admit. She headed towards the clerk’s office, wondering what other training had been assigned for her that day.

Penrose glanced up as she entered his small room by the main door.

‘Ah, miss, follow me, if you please,’ he said pleasantly.

Sari followed. She knew part of her role in the Institute included not asking where she was being taken or what she was expected to do, but as Penrose led her through a door and down a set of winding stairs, she began to feel slightly uneasy. They descended farther and farther, and she had the slightly hysterical thought that perhaps they were going to dispose of her in some underground dungeon.

‘Almost there, miss,’ Penrose said as the stairs ended and they proceeded along a narrow corridor. Rather than echoing, his voice became peculiarly muted. Finally, they reached a broad door and he motioned her ahead of him.

She entered and her mouth opened in awe as she realised she was in an underground shooting gallery. Three long lanes stretched some thirty yards up to a well-lit wall where life-size dummies were propped up on posts.

‘Thank you, Penrose; you can return upstairs now.’

She whirled around in surprise. She hadn’t noticed before, but at the back of the room there were several tall cabinets, and Lord Crayle stood beside one, pulling a wooden case from one of the shelves.

Alone with the earl, Sari stood waiting uncertainly. He didn’t address her, just placed the case he held on a long table by the wall and opened it. Inside was small elegant pistol in dark wood and brass.

‘This was designed for the Cavalry, so it is light, easy to reload and not likely to go off if it’s jarred. Here, it’s loaded and cocked. Just try not to shoot at me this time,’ he added with a sardonic half smile as he handed it to her.

She took the pistol gingerly. She felt unusually nervous holding it. Perhaps it was because she had never been to a shooting gallery before. With Cavalcatti they had always practised outdoors. More likely it was because she suddenly felt painfully nervous around the earl without someone’s mediating presence. Their light-hearted interchange in the salle seemed very far away, almost as if it had taken place with someone else, and now here again was the same man who had faced her across the desk in his study. Hard and watchful and knowing.

She tried to ignore his presence at her back and concentrated on the pistol. It was light and smooth and the brass moulding on the handle was cold. She raised it and sighted the dummy at the end of the lane where she stood. Then she took a deep breath and let it out slowly as she aimed, just milking the trigger the way Cavalcatti had taught her. She took her shot. There was a muted explosion and the dummy jerked with a disconcertingly lifelike movement.

‘I thought it would be louder,’ she said, lowering the pistol.

The earl was looking towards the dummy with a slight smile.

‘Deakins designed special walls to absorb the noise. Right in the chest. Not bad for a new gun. So you did miss me on purpose that night; I was wondering.’

‘That was the first time I actually shot at someone,’ she said.

‘Lucky you. I hope you never have to do so again,’ he said lightly, but there was something in his voice that made her look up sharply.

‘Shall I clean and reload it?’ she asked to break the silence.

He nodded and watched as she skilfully cleaned and reloaded the pistol. Her next practice was speed-shooting at a target marked with various coloured circles. After each reload he stated a colour and she took her shot as quickly as possible. Lord Crayle watched without comment. Then, after five circles he took the pistol from her and handed her a different one.

‘Here, try this on the dummy. This is one of Joe Manton’s finest. It’s weighted at the tip so there is less recoil.’

‘Is this a duelling pistol?’ she asked, forgetting her nervousness slightly. He smiled, amused by her patent awe.

‘Similar. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but there aren’t many duels nowadays. Mostly it is just shooting at wafers.’

‘I’m not disappointed,’ she replied, returning his smile. She took the pistol from him. The barrel was longer and she could tell it was built for accuracy. ‘I never understood why men would consider honour worth risking their lives for. Shooting at wafers makes much more sense.’

She aimed at the centre of the dummy’s head and took her shot.

‘I like this one better,’ she said as she lowered the pistol.

‘It obviously likes you just as much,’ he responded, his eyes narrowing as he took in the damage to the dummy’s head. ‘I was intrigued to see just how good you were after your performance on the Heath.’

‘And...?’ she asked, raising her chin slightly. At least in this arena she knew her worth.

‘Passable.’ He shrugged.

‘Passable!’ she exclaimed, offended and annoyed, and he laughed, his face lightening.

‘You’re an excellent shot and you know it. You don’t need me to tell you that.’

She flushed in pleasure at the compliment.

‘May I try another?’ she asked diffidently. She did not want this particular session to end quite yet.

He hesitated, then shrugged.

‘Fine. But we need to correct your stance. You may not approve of duelling, but whoever taught you clearly did; that’s a duelling stance. Standing sideways makes you a smaller target, but it’s not always as effective for aiming, especially for long-distance shooting. Here, take this and come over here.’

Sari took the pistol he handed her and followed him to the second lane.

‘Now aim as usual.’

She raised the pistol and waited, trying to stay calm. She felt the warmth of his body behind her and flinched slightly when his hands grasped her shoulders, moving her so that her body faced more squarely down the lane.

‘I know this will feel strange to you,’ he said calmly. He was so close she could feel his breath warm against her nape. His hand moved to her upper arm, closing on it gently, urging it back.

‘Move your right foot forward just a bit and lean your shoulder back. Your arm should be at an angle to your body, like this.’

She obeyed, but she could feel her arm starting to shake, and she took a deep breath, trying to focus on nothing but the pistol.

‘Relax.’ His voice was soft and low, soothing. ‘Remember, this is easy for you.’ His hand moved down her arm slightly, steadying it. His hand felt warm through the thin fabric of her dress. He was mere inches behind her now and the contrast between the coolness of the underground cavern and the warmth radiating from his body was disorienting.

‘Breathe and take your shot.’

She closed her eyes briefly, trying to clear her mind. Then she sighted and shot. She wasn’t used to the stance and didn’t hold her ground as well as usual when the recoil propelled her back. She came up hard against the earl’s body and he steadied her, one hand on her waist and the other on her outstretched arm.

‘He only lost some hair,’ he said with a low laugh that flowed over her, mixing with her thudding pulse. ‘It will be easier next time. You need more weight on your lead foot.’

Sari didn’t respond and didn’t move. She knew she should say something. Or step away. Anything. She wet her lips and waited.

The silence stretched on for a moment, then his hand slid down her arm, brushing over her hand as he grasped the pistol and pulled it away. Then he stood back and turned away.

‘That should be enough for today. Do you remember how to get back upstairs?’

She nodded.

‘Thank you,’ she forced herself to say.

‘There is no need to thank me. Practise that stance until it feels natural.’

She nodded again and turned, heading for the stairs. She needed air.

* * *

Michael took out the gun-cleaning kit absently and began cleaning the pistols with the ease of many years of practice. At least he now had an answer of sorts to Antonelli’s questions. Training women was distinctly different to training men.

If he had needed any further proof of her lack of experience, he had found it in the unconscious way she had accepted his touch. A more experienced female would either have made a show of modestly demurring or made the most of the situation. He almost wished she had done one or the other.

In some respects, training her had been easier than he would have thought. As she had been with Antonelli, she had been attentive and immediately responsive to his corrections. It wasn’t until the recoil had knocked her back against him that he had realised he had been far too comfortable touching her.

With his hand on the warm curve of her waist there had been a moment when it had seemed natural to pull her back against him, lean in and follow the faint, exotic scent of jasmine he could detect beneath the acrid smell of gunpowder. It had only been for a moment, but long enough to convince him he had been right—she was trouble. The fact that she was innocent trouble only made it worse.