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“Too heavy?”

“No.”

“Your arm is tiring.”

“I have scarcely begun.”

“You need not impress me.”

“That is fortunate. I was hoping to impress myself.”

His laugh moved against the loose hair near her ear. She forgot the next instruction completely.

“Lady Lydia?”

“I am listening.” She was not, entirely.

Her pulse had become another thing to manage. Attention fixed on the sight line and the weight dragging at her arms, she found her attention returning to the warmth behind her and the low sound of his voice near her ear. She had wanted to fire a gun and still did. That she also wanted him not to move felt far less innocent.

“What did I say?”

She risked a sideways glance. “That I need not impress you.”

“Before that.”

“I may require the instruction again.”

He repeated it without moving away. This time she made herself attend. The shot cracked through the trees, startling a flock of birds into flight. The recoil slammed into her shoulder, sending her stumbling back against Tristan. His supporting hand closed more firmly over hers, steadying her before she could lose her balance. “All right?”

She stared at the bank. “I do not think I hit anything.”

“The bank is difficult to miss.” He sounded grave, and she knew he was not.

“You know what I meant.”

Before she could turn toward him, Tristan took the gun from her. She laughed, shocked by the sound and by the bright, unreasonable wish to do it again. “I had not expected it to be so loud.”

“It seldom improves on acquaintance.” He turned the gun in his hands to check the lock.

Once the gun was safe, he called to the groom. Lydia rubbed her shoulder through her sleeve, testing the new soreness as proof of something she had chosen. Tristan noticed. “Have I bruised you?”

“No. Thank you for letting me try.”

He handed the gun to the groom and asked him to take the horses on. Once the man had gone, he returned Lydia’s sketchbook and case. She accepted them quickly. During the lesson she had tried to concentrate on the gun and the bank. Facing him afterward, she remembered only his hand over hers and the laugh against her hair. She tucked the case beneath her arm before her expression could confess any of it. “I ought to find my mother.”

“I will show you the path.”

“I can see it now.” She could, and it was farther than she liked.

She stepped around the stump, and her foot found a root hidden beneath the leaves. Her ankle turned and the ground tilted hard beneath her. Tristan caught her around the waist before she fell, pulling her against him. For one startled instant, she was aware only of his arms around her. Then the pain arrived, sharp enough to drive everything else from her mind, and she clutched his sleeve.

“Steady.”

“I am.”

She tried to put her foot down, and pain cut the breath from her. Tristan took her weight and kept it off the foot. “Your ankle?”

“I stepped badly.”