Devonmont said. “You were eating partridges at supper last night. How can you quibble about shooting birds?”
“If she doesn’t want to go, let her stay,” Gabe put in.
“It’s not shooting birds she has an objection to,” Mr. Pinter said in a taunting voice. “Her ladyship just can’t hit a moving target.”
She bit back a hot retort. Don’t scare off the suitors.
“That’s ridiculous, Pinter,” Gabe said. “I’ve seen Celia—ow! What the devil, Oliver? You stepped on my foot!”
“Sorry, old chap, you were in the way,” Oliver said as he went to the table. “I think Pinter’s right, though. Celia can’t hit a moving target.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she protested, “I most certainly can hit a moving target! Just because I choose not to for the sake of the poor, helpless birds—”
“Convenient, isn’t it, her sudden dislike of shooting ‘poor, helpless birds’?” Mr. Pinter said with a smug glance at Lord Devonmont.
“Convenient, indeed,” Lord Devonmont agreed. “But not surprising. Women don’t have the same ability to follow a bird in flight that a man—”
“That’s nonsense, and you know it!” Celia jumped to her feet. “I can shoot a pigeon or a grouse on the wing as well as any man here.”
“Sounds like a challenge to me,” Oliver said. “What do you think, Pinter?”
“A definite challenge, sir.” Mr. Pinter was staring at her with what looked like satisfaction.
Blast it all, had that been his purpose—to goad her into it?
Oh, what did it matter? She couldn’t let a claim like his or Lord Devonmont’s stand. “Fine. I’ll join you gentlemen for the shooting.”
“Then I propose that whoever bags the most birds gets to kiss the lady,” Lord Devonmont said with a gleam in his eye.
“That’s not much of a prize for me, ” Gabe grumbled.
She planted her hands on her hips. “And what if I bag the most birds?”
“Then you get to shoot whomever you wish,” Mr. Pinter drawled.
As the others laughed, Celia glared at him. He was certainly enjoying himself, the wretch. “I’d be careful if I were you, Mr. Pinter. That person would most likely be you. ”
“Oho, man, you’ve really got her dander up this time,” Gabe exclaimed. “What on earth did you do?”
Mr. Pinter’s gaze met hers, glinting with an unholy amusement. “I confiscated her pistol.”
As Gabe gasped, Oliver shook his head. “You’ll learn soon enough—never take away one of Celia’s guns. Not if you want to live.”
“I’m not that bad,” Celia grumbled as the duke and the viscount eyed her with a twinge of alarm, though Lord Devonmont’s grin broadened. “I’ve never shot a person in my life.”
“There’s always a first time,” Gabe teased.
“Oh, for pity’s sake.” She regarded them all stoutly. “I promise not to shoot any of you. How about this? If I win, you gentlemen owe me a rifle. Between the five of you, I’m sure you can afford a decent one.”
“Five?” Mr. Pinter said. “Don’t I get a part in this little game?”
She stared him down. “I thought you had certain duties to attend to.” He should be investigating her suitors.
“Whatever duties he has for me will keep, Celia,” Oliver said. “Do come with us, Pinter. I want to see how well you handle a fowling piece.”
Mr. Pinter smiled at her. “I’d be honored, my lord. As long as her ladyship doesn’t mind.”
Of course she minded. But if she tried to cut him out, they’d say she was afraid he would beat her.
“Not in the least,” she said. “Just be prepared to contribute your part for my rifle.”
But as she headed for the door, it wasn’t the rifle she was worried about. It was that blasted kiss. Because if he won …
Well, she’d just have to make sure he didn’t.
Chapter Eight
T aking aim as the grouse rose, Jackson fired, bringing down another one. He moved forward with the others as the dogs raced off to pick up the birds. The six men and Celia
“If she doesn’t want to go, let her stay,” Gabe put in.
“It’s not shooting birds she has an objection to,” Mr. Pinter said in a taunting voice. “Her ladyship just can’t hit a moving target.”
She bit back a hot retort. Don’t scare off the suitors.
“That’s ridiculous, Pinter,” Gabe said. “I’ve seen Celia—ow! What the devil, Oliver? You stepped on my foot!”
“Sorry, old chap, you were in the way,” Oliver said as he went to the table. “I think Pinter’s right, though. Celia can’t hit a moving target.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she protested, “I most certainly can hit a moving target! Just because I choose not to for the sake of the poor, helpless birds—”
“Convenient, isn’t it, her sudden dislike of shooting ‘poor, helpless birds’?” Mr. Pinter said with a smug glance at Lord Devonmont.
“Convenient, indeed,” Lord Devonmont agreed. “But not surprising. Women don’t have the same ability to follow a bird in flight that a man—”
“That’s nonsense, and you know it!” Celia jumped to her feet. “I can shoot a pigeon or a grouse on the wing as well as any man here.”
“Sounds like a challenge to me,” Oliver said. “What do you think, Pinter?”
“A definite challenge, sir.” Mr. Pinter was staring at her with what looked like satisfaction.
Blast it all, had that been his purpose—to goad her into it?
Oh, what did it matter? She couldn’t let a claim like his or Lord Devonmont’s stand. “Fine. I’ll join you gentlemen for the shooting.”
“Then I propose that whoever bags the most birds gets to kiss the lady,” Lord Devonmont said with a gleam in his eye.
“That’s not much of a prize for me, ” Gabe grumbled.
She planted her hands on her hips. “And what if I bag the most birds?”
“Then you get to shoot whomever you wish,” Mr. Pinter drawled.
As the others laughed, Celia glared at him. He was certainly enjoying himself, the wretch. “I’d be careful if I were you, Mr. Pinter. That person would most likely be you. ”
“Oho, man, you’ve really got her dander up this time,” Gabe exclaimed. “What on earth did you do?”
Mr. Pinter’s gaze met hers, glinting with an unholy amusement. “I confiscated her pistol.”
As Gabe gasped, Oliver shook his head. “You’ll learn soon enough—never take away one of Celia’s guns. Not if you want to live.”
“I’m not that bad,” Celia grumbled as the duke and the viscount eyed her with a twinge of alarm, though Lord Devonmont’s grin broadened. “I’ve never shot a person in my life.”
“There’s always a first time,” Gabe teased.
“Oh, for pity’s sake.” She regarded them all stoutly. “I promise not to shoot any of you. How about this? If I win, you gentlemen owe me a rifle. Between the five of you, I’m sure you can afford a decent one.”
“Five?” Mr. Pinter said. “Don’t I get a part in this little game?”
She stared him down. “I thought you had certain duties to attend to.” He should be investigating her suitors.
“Whatever duties he has for me will keep, Celia,” Oliver said. “Do come with us, Pinter. I want to see how well you handle a fowling piece.”
Mr. Pinter smiled at her. “I’d be honored, my lord. As long as her ladyship doesn’t mind.”
Of course she minded. But if she tried to cut him out, they’d say she was afraid he would beat her.
“Not in the least,” she said. “Just be prepared to contribute your part for my rifle.”
But as she headed for the door, it wasn’t the rifle she was worried about. It was that blasted kiss. Because if he won …
Well, she’d just have to make sure he didn’t.
Chapter Eight
T aking aim as the grouse rose, Jackson fired, bringing down another one. He moved forward with the others as the dogs raced off to pick up the birds. The six men and Celia
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