It was decidedly maddening.
"I am trying," she muttered.
"Concentrate upon the target."
His fingers brushed over her arms left bare by her blue muslin gown. Jocelyn gritted her teeth at the sharp pleasure that flowed through her.
Concentrate? When he was so close that she could feel the very heat of him searing her skin?
"I see the target," she retorted in tart tones.
"No, concentrate upon it until there is nothing else," he corrected her in that dark, honey voice. "Now breathe steadily."
Knowing that it was impossible to concentrate upon anything but the gentleman pressed so intimately against her, Jocelyn heaved a sigh.
"Surely it cannot be so difficult to fly an arrow toward a target?"
"Do you wish to learn the proper technique or not?"
"I suppose."
"Then, concentrate." Keeping his hands upon her arms to help her aim, he waited until she had managed to steady her swift breaths. "Now."
At his command, Jocelyn abruptly let the arrow fly, thoroughly astonished when it actually managed to head in the proper direction, and even caught the bottom of the target. It promptly bounced to the ground, but she did not care.
"I hit it." Grinning broadly at her success, Jocelyn spun about to confront Lucien. "Did you see?"
An indulgent expression spread across the delicately chiseled countenance.
"Yes, I did see. But you allowed your arm to dip when you released the arrow. Would you care to try again?"
"Good gads, no," she retorted with sincere weariness. "I shall be stiff for the next fortnight as it is."
The golden eyes sparkled at her blunt confession. "Very well."
Realizing that she was standing much closer than propriety allowed, Jocelyn reluctantly stepped from his tall form. It was far too easy to forget propriety when she was with this gentleman, she acknowledged ruefully.
Not that she particularly cared about the rigid rules of society any longer. She had already lost that battle. But, she was still a lady, and she would not allow herself to behave as a common tart. Her honor was all she had left.
"Perhaps we should return," she forced herself to murmur. "Meg will begin to fret if we are gone too long. She can be rather protective of me."
His smile was rueful at her vast understatement. "So I had noticed. Still, it does seem a pity.
It is a beautiful day to be away from the clutter of town." Jocelyn lifted her face up toward the golden sun-shine. It was beautiful. She had nearly forgotten how lovely the English countryside could be. Sur-rounded by the dark, grim streets of London, it was easy to become lost in its depressing gloom.
Now she allowed herself to breathe deeply of the sweetly scented air.
"Yes, it is," she whispered, allowing the peace to soothe her troubled soul. "I forget how quiet it can be."
His golden gaze lingered upon her upturned countenance. "Quiet enough to hear the beat of a heart."
Jocelyn abruptly stilled at his odd words.
No. It was simply not possible. She could not hear, and certainly she could not feel, the beat of his heart. It was absurd. Mad. And yet... there was the oddest sensation within her. As if she were connected with this man in a manner that defied logic.
"I..."
"What is it?" he demanded.
"Just for a moment. . . no, nothing. It is ridiculous."
Almost as if sensing her strange confusion, Lucien stepped closer, his fingers reaching up to gently cup her chin.
"Do not turn from the truth, my dove."
She frowned into the countenance that was becoming so terrifyingly familiar. "What truth?"
"That we are becoming entwined in both heart and soul," he said softly.
She should have laughed at his words. Two people did not become entwined. They lusted, they loved, and, on the rare occasion, they even liked each other. But they did not share thoughts and feelings as if they were one.
Still, she did not laugh.
Not when she felt her entire being was consumed by such an intimate awareness of Lucien.
"No," she whispered.
His fingers tightened upon her chin, his expression relentless as he held her wary gaze.
"You can sense it as well as I, Jocelyn," he whispered in mesmerizing tones. "The beat of our hearts, the joining of our minds, the desire that binds us together."
She could sense it. She could sense it pulsing through her blood and seeping deep into her soul.
A flare of near panic struck her heart. This was not supposed to be happening. Her life was meant to be calm, predictable, and devoted to others.
Wetting her dry lips, she gave a shake of her head. "Lucien, I cannot do this."
"Why?" His gaze stabbed deep into her wide eyes. "What do you fear?"
"Betrayal," she said before she could halt the revealing word.
The golden eyes darkened as his fingers tenderly moved to stroke her pale cheek.
"Never, my dove. You can believe in me."
A tremor shook her body. He could not possibly understand. No one understood.
"I think we should go," she breathed.
There was a strained silence, as if he battled the urge to force her to accept his pledge. Then his lips twisted with rueful humor.
"As you wish. Our time will come. Eventually."
Taking the bow from her hands, Lucien moved to retrieve the arrows, and then with exquisite care he helped her to the carriage he had rented for the day.
Jocelyn settled herself on the leather seat with a hint of regret.
When Lucien had first suggested they spend the day out of the city, she had hesitated. She was all too aware of the danger of spending such a vast amount of time alone with this gentleman. He was too achingly handsome, too charming, too sensually compelling not to be a danger to any maiden.
But the desire to be away from the cramped house and dark streets had proved to be irresistible.
She did not want to spend the day brooding on yet another murdered maiden or on the strange fear that she was being ruthlessly hunted. Just for a few hours she wanted to feel young and unfettered and happy.
And she had.
The day had been filled with laughter and the sort of lighthearted teasing that she had not enjoyed in far too long.
Now it was time to return to her home and the ever-present duty of the life she had chosen. A life that until Lucien's arrival had been quite enough to fill her with satisfaction.
Sternly telling herself that she was still quite satisfied with her chosen existence, Jocelyn devotedly attempted to ignore the pleasure of just being seated so closely beside him as they retraced the narrow path to London. She could not, however, entirely prevent her renegade gaze from occasionally straying to admire the purity of his profile.
Blast it all, he was so utterly beautiful. The chiseled perfection of his features. The faint bronze of his skin. The tawny satin of his long hair. The pure gold of his eyes.
And above it all, the shimmering appreciation for life that crackled about him with an irresistible force.
It seemed rather unfair that one gentleman should be so blessed.
Especially for those poor, unsuspecting females who happened to stray across his path.
Intent on her thoughts, Jocelyn paid little heed to the fact that they had reached the outskirts of London, not even when they strayed through the more elegant squares as they lazily made their way back toward her small home. Had she had her wits about her, she would have been properly on guard. As it was, she had no warning when she heard a startled male voice call out her name.
Abruptly turning her head, Jocelyn felt a chill inch down her spine at the sight of the elegantly at-tired dandy who angled his mount directly toward the carriage.
It had been nearly three years since she had last laid eyes upon Lord Patten. He had not changed. His dark hair was still artfully tousled about his narrow face, and the dark eyes still burned with a restless boredom. With the wisdom of age, however, Jocelyn now could see the faint petulant turn of those full lips and the weakness in the rounded chin. A pity she had not been so observant before, she ruefully acknowledged.
Bracing herself for the inevitable encounter, Jocelyn felt Lucien slow the carriage as Lord Patten bore down upon them. She would not allow this gentleman to know just what it cost her to face him with her chin held high.
"Jocelyn." The dandy brought his flashy mare to a halt as he allowed his gaze to openly survey her modest gown and hair pulled into a stern knot. "Good heavens, it is you."
Somehow she kept her smile intact despite the obvious insult in his tone. She was well aware she no longer resembled the giddy, overly naive debutante he had known. And in truth, she was far more content with the mature woman she had become. At least she was now too wise to be deceived by shallow charm and the lies of a practiced seducer.
"Good afternoon, Lord Patten."
The dark brows lifted at the chill in her tone. "I did not realize you had returned to London. I have not seen you about."
Jocelyn shrugged. "I have been far too occupied to attend the usual events."
Predictably the foul dandy turned his head to glance speculatively at the silent Lucien at her side, a mocking smile abruptly curving his mouth.
