Page 70 of A Single Thread of Moonlight

He was probably right. I took my stance on the spot. I was a good shot, but to beat him, I would have to hit the target dead centre, a hair’s breadth to the left of his own effort.

I lined up the shot.

“It’s not too late to call it off, you know,” Nick called, smugness lacing his voice.

I breathed in, and then released a long, slow breath. Then I squeezed the trigger.

I turned to Nick, the sound of the gunshot still ringing in my ears. Our eyes met, and for a moment I thought he would take me in his arms.

“It seems that I owe you a forfeit,” he murmured instead.

I didn’t even need to look at the target.

I was my father’s daughter, after all.

And my father never missed.

Part Three

Kent

October, 1899

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

It was late by the time the household began to stir the next morning. I was sure I would have missed breakfast, but actually found myself to be one of the earlier risers.

The party had carried on well into the early hours of the morning, and I knew that more than a few people would be feeling fragile. I, on the other hand, felt curiously invigorated. The shooting contest with Nick the night before had taken my mind off my troubles. I’d had fun. Fun. For the first time in a long time, uncomplicated fun.

When we returned to the party my spirits had been soaring and I had had no problem dancing and laughing the rest of the night away. I even felt optimistic about my own investigation. If I could trust Cassie, and I thought I could, then she could help me. I had thought of a way to get my hands on a copy of my father’s will.

I arrived at the breakfast room in a cheerful frame of mind. Only Stefan was there and he was stooped over, helping one of the maids to pick up some broken crockery.

“Ah! Good morning, Miss Fox,” he said, straightening up. “I’m afraid we have had a bit of an accident.”

The maid blushed pink and cast her eyes down at the ground. Could there be many princes who would bother to help a nervous maid to clean up?

“Please,” he said, stepping over and placing his hand on the small of my back. “Let me pull out a chair for you and I will fix you a plate of breakfast myself while…” He trailed off, looking questioningly at the maid.

“Lottie,” she managed. “Sir. I mean, Your Highness, sir!”

“Thank you.” Stefan smiled at her. “I will fix your breakfast while Lottie here finishes clearing up. And if Lady Scott-Holland should ask, we will tell her that it was I who dropped the milk jug.” He gave Lottie a tiny wink, and she bobbed a curtsey and hurried out of the room, no doubt to share the news of His Highness’s attention with the rest of the staff.

“That was kind of you,” I said.

“Oh.” Stefan waved his hand dismissively. He began pouring my coffee. “I think people probably believe me to be as stuffy as your own royal family. In fact, we are a small kingdom and I have known all the staff at my grandmother’s palace since I was a boy. We are much less formal than you English. I find it strange that you would see a person who worked for you every day and make no effort to know them – not even their name!”

“I feel exactly the same way,” I said, taking my seat.

“We’re always so much in agreement.” Stefan wandered over to the sideboard. “It’s a very harmonious way of living, isn’t it?”

The implication hung in the air – ours would be a harmonious match. The scene playing out now could easily have been one between husband and wife.

“As I recall, you are fond of the potted ham, Miss Fox?” Stefan asked, and I tried not to laugh.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” I said instead. “I am indeed.”

“I really do think that, when we are alone at least, you should call me Stefan,” he said, placing the plate of food in front of me with a flourish. “All this Your Highness business is such a mouthful. I think – at least, I hope – that we are friends now, Miss Fox?”