Page 8 of A Swirl of Shadows
“You’re not very accurate at this distance,” drawled a familiar voice.
Of all the dratted luck, thought Arianna. It was the one gentleman in the world she didnotwish to encounter.
“My aim was good enough when it mattered—a fact for which you ought to be extremely grateful.” She kept her voice even, but the recollection of that terrible night, when she was forced to shoot a dangerous enemy, sent a shiver down her spine. He had been a vicious brute and a traitor, but taking a life had shaken her to the bone.
“I was,” replied Grentham. “Even though it required a great deal of explaining to avoid alienating a very important ally.”
“Yes, well, the alternative would have been even more unpleasant.” Had the late Prince Orlov and his co-conspirators succeeded in their plan, Tsar Alexander and the Duke of Wellington would be dead.
Grentham acknowledged her words with a sardonic smile. Rather than return to his side of the range, he came to stand next to Arianna and peered at her target.
“Have any of her Ladyship’s shots hit within six inches of the center circle?” he called to the attendant manning her shooting station.
“No, Milord,” came the answer.
“Step aside.” The minister cocked his pistol and waited for the fellow to move to safety, then took quick aim and fired.
“Clipped the outer edge of the center circle, Milord!”
“A small draft must have blown in through the eaves,” murmured Grentham.
Gritting her teeth, Arianna held out her hand. “My weapon, if you please, Thomas.” She knew that she shouldn’t react to the minister’s needling, but she couldn’t help herself.
Perhaps the fire in my blood is not completely burned out.
Taking careful aim, she squeezed off a shot.
“Only an inch or two outside the center circle,” called the attendant.
“Tsk, tsk.” Grentham reloaded his own pistol with practiced speed. “An inch or two can mean the difference between life and death.”
“Insufferable arse,” muttered Arianna.
His face turning white with shock, Thomas nearly dropped the bullet he was about to ram down the barrel of her weapon. Grentham was the most feared man in London, and few people were daft enough to deliberately insult him.
However, a spark of unholy amusement flashed in the minister’s eyes as he cocked the hammer of his pistol.
Bang!
“Just a hair’s breadth from the center of the inner circle, Milord!” announced the attendant.
“Another gust of air?” she asked snidely.
The rumbled sound in Grentham’s throat may or may not have been a laugh.
Her initial annoyance giving way to steely resolve, Arianna took her re-loaded pistol from the shell-shocked Thomas. “Kindly step back, Milord. I wouldn’t want your breath to blow my bullet off course.”
He did as she asked.
Turning back to the target, Arianna raised her arm, slowly exhaled, and squeezed the trigger.
Wisps of smoke swirled around her face as a booming echo reverberated through the range. She waited.
The attendant hurried to inspect the target.
Grentham set a hand on his hip. “Well?” he called.
“Blimey . . .” The fellow sounded slightly dazed. “Dead center!”
