“I was afraid I had killed you,” confided Miss Challoner.
He grinned. “You’re not a good enough shot, my dear.” He struggled into his coat, and then pulled a chair to the fire. “Sit down,” he said. She hesitated and he drew one of his own pistols from his pocket and gave it to her. “Shoot me with that next time,” he recommended. “You’ll find it easier.”
She sat down, but though she smiled, her voice was serious when she answered. “If I shoot again, it had better be myself,” she said.
He leaned forward and took the pistol away from her. “In that case, I’ll keep it.” He looked at her frowningly. “You had better explain,” he said abruptly. “I’ve a notion I was right in my first reading of your character.”
“What was that, sir?”
“I thought you were devilish strait-laced.”
She nodded. “Yes, my lord,” she said simply.
“Then in God’s name, girl, what possessed you to play this hoyden’s trick on me?”
She clasped her hands in her lap. “If I tell you, my lord, I fear it will make you very angry.”
“You can’t make me more angry than you’ve done already,” he said. “I want the truth now. Let me have it, if you please!”