“Nicked it, ’e did!” came one of the boys’ shouts. “Lord Aveline. Near dead center.”
The boy looking at Stratford’s target just shrugged.
Liliana felt her face spread in a relieved smile. She closed her eyes, ridiculously proud of herself.
The results were quickly verified, and an appreciative cheer went up. Choruses of “Nice shot, Aveline” were heard mostly, but an occasional “Well done, Miss Claremont” peppered the murmurings as the majority of the crowd dispersed.
Liliana looked to Stratford. She found him staring right at her, his eyes narrowed. Not with anger, she thought, but something altogether more dangerous to her—
“Yes, well done, Miss Claremont.” Lord Aveline’s smiling face appeared before her, blocking her view. He handed the spent weapon over to Holbrook. “Usually, I aim a little low, but I put my faith in you and aimed right for the center. She fired so fast!” He grinned. “Now, you must tell me how you did it.”
“Chemistry,” Liliana answered, moving her head to look around Aveline at Stratford, but he’d disappeared. Where had he gone? She returned her attention to her champion. “I simply sped up the reaction, which propelled the ball out of the barrel at a faster rate.”
Aveline squinted his eyes and pulled his head back a touch, giving her the male version of Penelope’s “drop the scholarly tone and speak plain English, please” look. “Yes, but how? What did you add to the powder?”
Liliana laughed. “Sugar.”
“Sugar? As in tea and milk and all that?”
She nodded. “Yes. Gunpowder is generally a mix of charcoal, sulfur and saltpeter or niter, in very precise mixtures. Charcoal is the fuel, and saltpeter the oxidizing agent.”
Aveline nodded. “Yes, I know that, but where does the sugar come in?”
Liliana glanced around once more. Where was Stratford? Winning didn’t seem nearly as satisfying if one couldn’t flaunt one’s victory a little.
Still, several people had gathered around them, listening. A mixture of pride and unexpected stage fright swirled around in Liliana’s middle.
“Sugar is a carbon, much like charcoal. I simply altered the mixture a smidge, giving the powder more fuel. Since the fire caught quicker and burned hotter, the gases expanded more rapidly, increasing the speed and force with which the ball left the gun.”
“Ah,” said someone.
“Brilliant,” said another.
Liliana’s chest swelled.
Aveline chuckled. “Splendid. I shall have to add a lump or two to my powder from here on.”
A chorus of gentlemen’s laughter went round.
Liliana’s smile froze. “Ah,” she drew out. “I wouldn’t recommend that, my lord.”
Aveline’s brows drew down in confusion. “Whyever not?”
“There are too many variants that can affect the stability of the ratio,” Liliana explained. “Take moisture, for example. I knew the humidity was right today for a positive outcome, but if it had been damp, it may not have worked as intended. There are many other such things you’d need to take into consideration if you wanted to try it again.”
“Ah,” Aveline said, lifting one shoulder. “There goes my advantage. Nevertheless, it was my honor to be your champion.”
Liliana returned his smile. “My savior, more like.” Of her pride and, what’s more, from the fate of two weeks stuck by Stratford’s side.
She glanced around for Stratford one last time and caught a flash of his tall frame slipping through the hedgerow. It seemed she’d annoyed him so greatly he couldn’t even bring himself to congratulate her. Liliana let out a puff of breath. At least she’d seen the last of him, but…She blinked. Was that disappointment she felt? Oh my, it was! What had gotten into her?
Aveline pulled a watch from his vest pocket and glanced at it, drawing her attention back to him. “As much as I hate to leave, Miss Claremont, I must get back home if I’m to have time to dress and return as your escort tonight.”
“Home?” If Aveline was leaving, she’d have the rest of the afternoon free. “You’re not a guest at Somerton Park?”
Aveline shook his head. “My family estate borders Stratford’s land to the east. I can enjoy the festivities here by day and still sleep in my own bed at night.”
Liliana smiled. If Aveline wasn’t staying at the house, he’d likely have to return home every afternoon to dress for dinner, giving her at least some time to search. If she used it efficiently, she could still find what she came for.
Aveline tucked the timepiece back into his waistcoat. “You realize, of course, that I have no intention of holding you to the wager.”
“You don’t?”
Her elation must have shown on her face, because he said, “You needn’t look so happy about it.” But he grinned, so Liliana didn’t feel too guilty. “They were ridiculous terms anyway, made in the heat of masculine bartering. I have no desire to bind a woman to me who would rather be elsewhere.”
Brilliant! That had been almost too easy. Still, if she didn’t at least protest, Aveline might take it as insult. “My lord, that’s not—”
“You needn’t flatter me, Miss Claremont.” Aveline laughed. “We’ve only just met. However, I reserve the right to try to convince you that I have more to offer than just my steady aim.”
Was Aveline flirting? The wink he tossed her way certainly suggested so. How novel. Nonetheless, she wasn’t interested. The only thing she wanted was to discover who killed her father and why so that she could see justice done.
And fortune smiled upon her. Not only had she won the wager, but she’d been freed of the terms. No doubt she’d find what she was looking for in no time.
Geoffrey trailed his mother’s quick gait through the family hall, with Uncle Joss shuffling close behind. The countess threw open the door to her private parlor. Like most of the house, the room had been completely redone after Geoffrey’s father’s death. What he remembered as a warm, if somewhat plain room now boasted a screen of Corinthian columns and red flocked paper on the walls. The plasterwork had been picked with gilt and a bold pattern of reds and blacks wove through the Axminster carpet. It was an aggressive room, much like his mother.
Right now, she reminded him of an angry terrier—compact, bristling with pent-up energy and ready to snap at unsuspecting passersby. Which was why he’d agreed to follow her off the tournament field rather than stay to congratulate Liliana and Aveline as a gentleman should have. He didn’t need Mother’s fuming tirade to add to the gossip that would inevitably result from his and Liliana’s ill-conceived wager. It would be bad enough as it was.
The countess whirled on him as soon as Uncle Joss snicked the door closed.
“I demand you send that little upstart packing.” Mother’s voice pitched high, and her eyes glittered with hostility in her thin face.
“Miss Claremont, you mean?” Geoffrey put as much nonchalance into his voice as he could. He crossed his arms and leaned a negligent shoulder against the doorjamb. “Whyever would I do that? I quite like her.” A bit of a stretch, perhaps. An odd mixture of irritation, interest and now admiration—in ever-changing order—seemed to characterize his feelings for Liliana.