Chapter 8
“Good shot!” Adam called as Luke lowered the gun and looked across the field another time.
He and Adam were not the only ones who had gathered for the shooting that day. Many men had come out for the event on the outskirts of London, with beaters running forward with their hounds to stir up the pheasants from the trees, who would then fly into the air like panicked pigeons.
Luke was glad for the distraction that day and the chance to think of something else other than ladies, scandals, and Miss Storey. He was here to win, after all, and to shoot more than any other.
“Remember our deal,” Luke called to Adam. “If I win today, then you pay for dinner.”
“It is a deal, and if I win, you tell me a secret.”
“What secret?” Luke said, pausing and looking up at Adam from the gun.
“You’ll find out if I win.”
Luke turned back to the pheasants and walked forward, feeling the blood pumping through his body with the anticipation of the hunt. This is what he loved about a shooting day, the chance to forget everything else. He didn’t particularly need Adam talking of secrets and things in his ear.
“What did you make of the ball then?” Adam asked as Luke cocked the gun, letting the cartridges drop out to the grassy earth, where his footman hurried on behind him, collecting them again.
All the way home the night before, his sister had quizzed him on why he had felt the need to dance with Miss Storey again. He had explained quite plainly that he had no answer, nothing more than to say that he had wanted to. That answer had clearly not satisfied his sister.
It seemed Adam would now not be satisfied either without more information.
“The finest event I have ever been to,” Luke said drily, earning a glare from Adam before he lifted his own gun.
Think only of the shoot!
He lifted the gun again and eyed the pheasants leaping into the sky, hoping that would be the end of the conversation.
“Ha! Are you ever able to be serious?”
“Hardly ever.” Luke sighed as he put more cartridges into his own gun. “The conversation was sparkling, the wit free-flowing like champagne and the company as delightful as any I have ever seen.”
“Enough with the dryness. You’ll make me parched,” Adam’s own wit made Luke laugh a little more. “If you dislike these events so much, why do you go?”
“Because my sister asks me to go, and I would not turn her down. Not for the world.” Luke lifted his gun as more pheasants were stirred into the air. He took his shots, clipping a couple of wings, so that the pheasants fell to the earth where they were recovered by the hounds that ran forward, barking madly into the shrubs and trees that banked the nearest hill. “Ha! I warrant you won’t beat that shot, Adam. Come on, it is your turn.”
“I’ll shoot when you properly answer my question.”
“Jemima does not have many acquaintances in London. When she returns to the country, I will attend them less, but for now, I will do what I can to make her happy.”
It was what Luke always did. Jemima may have been older than him by a few years, but that had never stopped his protectiveness toward her, just as she was protective of him. They looked out for each other, and since the days of her scandal, Luke’s desire to shield her from the woes and struggles of the world had only become greater.
“You cannot wrap her in linens and blankets to keep her from the world, Luke. She has to live in it too,” Adam pointed out as he popped his own gun.
“You’re starting to sound like her husband,” Luke said as he repeated the action with his own gun. “I know she has to live in it, but I can still shield her from the worst of it. Even if that means going to insufferable affairs such as the one last night.”
“How odd, for I was convinced you were enjoying last night’s affair. At least enjoying one part of it,” Adam said with a laugh as a horn was blown out across the field. It was an agreed signal for a break.
Luke was frustrated, his hands itching around the gun. He didn’t want to stop the shoot, not now.
The pheasants would be allowed to settle once again, and the men turned away. Adam reached for the hip flask his footman proffered, and Luke took a flask of small beer, sipping small amounts. He wanted a clear head for shooting.
“What part of the night?” he asked Adam, intrigued by the words.
“Your attentions to Miss Storey grow greater,” Adam pointed out. “If the whispers are to be believed, you are courting.”
“C-courting?” Luke choked on his beer and spat it back out, practically having to wrench to expel the beer from his lungs. Adam lowered his gun over his forearm and clapped Luke on the back, helping him to breathe clearly once again.