Page 68 of A Single Thread of Moonlight

“As I recall,” he said finally, “two nights ago you challenged me to a shooting competition.”

They were the last words I expected, and I turned to him in surprise. “As I recall, it was you who challenged me.”

“Was it?” Nick mused. “I wonder what possessed me?”

“Ego, I should think.”

“Well?” Nick looked at me expectantly. “Shall we?”

“Shall we what?” I asked, confused.

“Shall we see who’s the better shot?”

I stared at him. “What, now?”

“Why not?” He smiled, a small, secret smile that was full of mischief. It did something to my insides, seeing him smile like that.

“Because it’s the middle of the night,” I replied. “Perhaps you can see in the dark – I wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn you were some sort of creature of the night – but I’m afraid you’d have the advantage over me.”

“Creature of the night? I quite like that.” His voice curled around me. “But the ability to see in the dark won’t be necessary. Come with me.”

With that he sauntered off into the grounds, and, of course, I followed him. He guided me through the footpaths that wound around the gardens, towards the large lawn where we usually played games, further from the house.

Finally, we emerged on to the lawn, and my breath caught.

The fine, silver light of the almost full moon cast a glow over the scene, aided by flaming torches arranged all around the lawn, along with hundreds of flickering candles in glass jars. There were even candles in paper lanterns hanging from the trees. The sheer number of them was overwhelming.

It was magical, a sudden blaze of light in the darkness, as if we were standing on our own star, as if we ourselves were a part of the night sky, floating through that velvet blackness.

At the far end of the lawn was a shooting target, the kind they used for contests – smaller and smaller circles leading to a bullseye, and where we were standing, a small table with a highly polished wooden box on top of it. Nick opened the box without fanfare and, nestled in the red velvet lining inside, were a pair of extremely fine silver duelling pistols.

He turned to look at me then. I felt the smile, spreading across my face unchecked, wide and unstoppable.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

I moved to his side, lifting one of the guns and checking it over.

“You know,” I said conversationally, “your grandmother said she’d be keeping an eye on me, making sure I didn’t slip off into the night with any young men.”

“Any young men aside from me,” Nick corrected me smoothly. “I have no doubt that my grandmother trusts my sense of honour implicitly.”

“I think it’s my honour she’s worried about,” I snorted. “She wants to know what my intentions are.”

“Your intentions?”

“I suppose she thinks the choice lies with me.”

“That choice would always lie with you,” he agreed easily.

I turned to face him. “And what would she think if she knew we were having a shooting competition on the back lawn?” I asked.

Nick tipped his head. “I’m sure she’d understand that it’s a matter of family pride. A man cannot simply turn down a challenge like this one. I owe something to my name.”

“I’ll remind you once again that you challenged me,” I put in here, biting back a smile.

“Now, that doesn’t sound terribly gentlemanly.”

“It certainly doesn’t.”