She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with his praise. He glanced down at her notes. “So how many codes have you translated so far?”
“Six. But none of them contain anything useful about your friend Kit, I’m afraid.”
He shrugged. “I didn’t really expect them to. Come on. You’ve been cooped up here all day. It’s time for some brawn instead of brains.”
Chapter 20
Heloise followed Raven out into the gardens. When they were some distance from the house he drew one of the pistols from his back and offered it to her, butt first.
“It’s time you learned how to defend yourself. Your mind might be a weapon, but when a man’s about to kill you, a pistol is better.”
The gun was beautiful, with scrolling tendrils engraved on the silver metal parts and a cross-hatched pattern on the wooden grip. It looked expensive; she was almost afraid to touch it.
“I don’t need to learn to shoot.”
“You do. I want to know that you can pull the trigger if you have to.” His tone brooked no argument and Heloise sighed inwardly. It was pointless trying to change his mind. She’d just have to humor him.
“Fine. Give it here, then.”
He stepped behind her and placed the butt of the pistol in her right hand. His arms enclosed her as he molded her left hand over her right, forcing her to grip the gun’s handle, then pushed her arms straight out in front of her. The handle was still warm from his body and Heloise was horribly aware of his chest pressed against her back, his cheek so close to hers.
“What am I aiming for?”
He pointed. “There. Shoot that squirrel.”
The small rodent was snuffling in blissful ignorance at the base of a nearby tree.
Heloise glared at Raven as if he’d just suggested infanticide. “I’m not shooting a squirrel!”
“Why not? They’re just rats with bushy tails.”
“They’re sweet! I’m not shooting anything sweet.”
He gave an exaggerated sigh and glanced upward. “All right. What about a crow?”
“I will not kill an innocent creature.”
“You can’t just shoot things that deserve it. I’d suggest something repulsive, like a cockroach or an earthworm, but even with a pair of Manton’s finest—which is what these are, by the way—you won’t manage much smaller than a squirrel.Imight be able to hit a cockroach, but I’m a damn good shot.”
She set her mouth into a stubborn line.
He rolled his eyes. “Fine. Something inanimate, then. Seeing as you’re so squeamish.” He scanned the garden and pointed at a marble statue positioned on a plinth halfway down one of the walks. “That statue over there. See it?”
Cupid had been depicted in his traditional pose. The chubby cherub balanced improbably on one foot, a quiver of arrows on his back and his bow outstretched, ready to fire at some poor unsuspecting mortal.
“I can’t shoot that! It’s an antique!”
Raven slid her a smug, patronizing smile. “You won’t even hit it, trust me.”
Heloise clenched her jaw. Arrogant idiot. She might not be able to swim, but she certainly knew how to shoot. She’d stolen her father’s pistols plenty of times and sneaked off to practice in the woods.
Raven’s cheek brushed hers and her stomach fluttered. It was hard not to notice the conflicting textures of their skin—his faintly scratchy, like fine sandpaper, hers soft and smooth. He smelled ridiculously good, too, like wood smoke, leather, and man. Ugh.
“Just aim straight down the barrel and pull the trigger.”
Heloise closed one eye, aimed, and squeezed her finger. The gun exploded with a loudcrack.Her hand kicked back at the recoil and the acrid scent of gunpowder filled her nose as the cloud of blue-gray smoke floated away on the breeze.
Raven strode forward to inspect the statue and she squinted to see if her aim had been true. When she heard him curse she bit back a smile of triumph.