My Lord Eternity (Immortal Rogues #2)(25)

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.