Page 77 of The Dueling Duchess

Actually, he probably knew more than Cecile. At least he had younger sisters. Cecile had never been around children—not even when she’d been a child herself. She’d spent her days in her father’s workshop, learning the rudiments of gunsmithing from the time she could walk and talk.

The evening before had been something of a revelation when it came to children. It had astounded her that such a small child could converse so easily. The more she’d spoken, the more Cat’s accent had changed from a street urchin’s to that of a little girl whose parents must have taught their daughter to speak properly.

Though Cecile did not believe that Cat was the child of a princess and knight protector, she wouldn’t have been surprised if Cat’s mother and father were educated servants or tradespeople.

Cecile knew all too well how people of a certain status could become easily lost and forgotten in a city like London. Although she’d been years older than Cat when her own father had died, she’d faced a whole new world with strangers who spoke a different language.

She’d had her cousin to take her in, of course, so she’d not had to sleep on the street or forage for food like Cat, but Curtis had caused her other problems soon enough.

Cecile pushed those unpleasant memories away and thought instead about Guy’s stunned face this morning. She couldn’t help smiling; it was bad to tease him, but it was so amusing. He was so big and strong and yet there was something about him that was so—so innocent—although she knew well enough that he wasn’t the least bit innocent.

But when it came to understanding how harsh the world could be, Guy was naïve. He had led a charmed life.

Until recently.

Beneath the anger, humiliation, and pain that he’d caused her, Cecile actually felt sorry for his recent losses.

He loved his sisters and mother and had an unshakeable sense of duty when it came to his responsibilities toward the dukedom. He’d been prepared to sacrifice his personal desires by marrying for money.

Or perhaps he had fallen in love with his heiress?

Cecile scowled at the unwanted thought. But as little as she cared for it, perhaps it was true. She suspected that—given his scores of lovers—he was the sort of man who loved lightly and often.

But then, what did she know about love? She’d never loved at all, even though she’d had more than a few lovers herself, several of whom had begged her to marry them.

But none of those offers had been compelling enough to sacrifice her freedom.

Would she have said yes to Guy if he’d—

Cecile made a noise of disgust and shoved back her chair, giving up on her unending paperwork for the time being.

Instead, she loaded her pistols, strapped on her holsters, and headed for the stage, which, according to the rehearsal schedule, was available.

Employees waylaid her often to ask questions, but she didn’t mind the interruptions. She was happier operating the Fayre than she’d ever been in her life.

Except for those weeks in the caravan with Guy.

Cecile ignored the insidious thought and pushed open the stage door, grateful to be able to shoot something.

She shoved the straw bales out onto the stage and wedged the heavy slate and wood barrier between them.

Thanks to the combination of the straw, the six-inch barrier, and the small caliber of her pistols, she could fire indoors without having to worry about damaging the building.

She clipped several playing cards into a wire spring-holder and set it bobbing wildly before taking her position behind the mark.

As always when she practiced, she thought about nothing except hitting her target.

Once the first batch of playing cards were nothing but confetti, she reloaded, and attached more cards to a wheel and gave it a spin.

She’d reloaded three times more and had just fired the last shot when the sound of clapping made her turn.

Guy was standing with Cat and George.

“You are so good!” Cat said. “You hardly missed at all—only once.”

“I shouldn’t have missed that one either,” Cecile groused. She glanced at Guy, who was watching her with the amused glint that always made her want to slap him or kiss him.

“How did you get so good?” Cat asked.