Page 16 of The Dueling Duchess

She had also cut her rehearsals shorter and shorter, something that had attracted a comment or two from Barnabas, who’d had the temerity to ask if she wasn’t taking an unnecessary risk by skipping so much practice.

Not only that, but he’d also had the utter gall to force Cecile to get permission for the new part of her routine—the part with the blindfold.

“I am serious, Cecile,” Barnabas had barked when she had ignored him. “Shooting at my employees is one thing. Doing it blindfolded is another matter entirely, and I cannot force them to participate.”

Cecile hadn’t bothered to explain to Barnabas—yet again—why this was no more dangerous than anything else she did.

Barnabas Farnham was not a man to listen to other people—especially not women, something that was more than a little ironic given that he made a fine living off his all-female circus.

Still, plenty of men made their living off women’s labors, so his obstinacy and arrogance weren’t exactly unusual.

Just look at her wretched, thieving cousin Curtis, for example.

Don’t even start thinking about him, she chided herself.

It was good advice. If she wanted to think about unhappy things, she could think about asking the gorgeous Marquess of Carlisle for his permission to participate in the blindfolded portion of her routine. She hated the thought of asking him for anything—especially a favor.

“Why the heavy sigh?”

She jumped at the sound of his voice—which was so close she felt his hot breath on the crown of her head—and spun around.

“What are you doing creeping up on me so quietly?”

He gestured to his heavy boots. “Sweetheart, I couldn’t creep wearing these if I tried. You just didn’t hear me because you were off in your own world.”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped, turning back to her guns.

He walked around to her side and leaned against the table. “What has you in such a foul mood today?”

She ignored his question. “We will practice with the blindfold next.”

When he didn’t answer immediately, she risked a look at him.

His eyebrows had lowered and a deep notch had formed between them. “Blindfold?”

Cecile shoved the ramrod down the barrel of the pistol with unnecessary force. “Yes, it is a new part of my act that I wish to rehearse today. Do not worry, you will not need to learn anything challenging or difficult.”

He snorted at that.

“You will stand there and hold things for me to shoot, just like always. It is nothing new—except that I will wear a blindfold.”

He chuckled. “That’s actually quite new, darling.”

“Don’t call me that,” she said, the automatic words coming out with more heat than she liked.

Why it bothered her, she didn’t know—he said the same things to every female he spoke to. Maybe that was why she found it so irksome; maybe she didn’t care to be lumped in with the herd.

You’re infatuated with him.

She gritted her teeth at the internal taunting, put down the gun, and turned to him. “If you do not wish to do it, you—”

“No, no, I didn’t say that. I just want a few more details first.”

Cecile crossed her arms and glared up at him, even though what he was asking was reasonable. Even Basil, the most placid of men, had balked when she had first mentioned the blindfold.

“I will be able to see through it. A little,” she added reluctantly.

He just stared.