Rowan laughed loudly, highly pleased by her bravery. He turned to the waiting footman.
"Bring Her Grace a rifle," Rowan ordered smoothly. "The lighter one."
The footman quickly brought over a smaller, polished hunting rifle. He handed it carefully to Delaney. She took the weapon. It was slightly heavy, but she held it firmly, testing the weight against her shoulder.
Rowan stepped directly behind her.
He was unwilling to give up his physical closeness. He pressed his chest flush against her back. He reached his long arms out, wrapping them around her to help her hold the rifle.
"Keep your left hand exactly here," Rowan murmured softly, placing his large, warm hand directly over her small fingers on the wooden barrel. His deep voice vibrated right through her back. "Keep the stock pressed very tightly against your shoulder, or the recoil will bruise your soft skin. I absolutely do not want you bruised."
