His Favorite Mistress (11 page)

At my mercy indeed,
she scoffed with silent mirth. Given he had half the room at his back, he knew as well as she that he could step free of his “capture” any time had he wished.

“There are a number of other weapons on the walls,” she invited. “Choose one.”

He tilted his head with arrogant refusal. “I prefer my own. I’m used to the grip on my rapier, you see.”

Realizing he was right, she lowered the sword. “Fine. I shall choose one for myself, then.” Flipping the weapon neatly in her grasp, she offered him the hilt.

He made her a small bow as he accepted. “My thanks, Miss Gabriella.”

Moving toward the far wall, she began to inspect the swords. Behind her, she felt him watching.

“Surely you are not serious about this?” he asked after a moment.

“Of course I am,” she returned. “I haven’t had a chance to fence with a worthy partner in ages.”

“All the more reason why you should not do so today. You are out of practice.”

“A bout with you will help me refresh my technique. What do you think of that one?” Stretching out a finger, she pointed toward a likely sword.

“It appears to have good balance, but the rapier Ethan was using is better, particularly since its tip is already blunted.”

“And which sword might that be, pray?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “The answer scarcely matters, since we are not proceeding with this plan of yours.”

Spinning to face him, she planted her knuckles on her hips. “Do you doubt my ability?”

“Not at all.” In a sweeping motion, he raked her with his gaze. “Still, even you must admit you are hardly dressed for such exertions. You’ll trip over yourself in that gown.”

She shrugged aside his doubts. “I’ve learned to do more in a dress than you might imagine possible, so not to worry. Come on, Wyvern, fight me. Unless you’re afraid of being bested by a girl,” she added, hoping the taunt would ruffle his male pride enough for him to agree.

A laugh rippled from his throat. “You, my dear, have a very droll wit. No, the only thing of which I might possibly be afraid is for your reputation should we happen to be observed.”

“But all of us here are family and friends. No one will mind.”

He gave her a skeptical look. “I am not so sure of that. It’s doubtful, for one, that Rafe would approve.”

“Oh, surely he’s not so stuffy as all that. But even if he is, why are you worried? After all, if I am not alarmed at the prospect of incurring his displeasure, then why should you be? Or do you only do the things of which my uncle approves?”

His smile widened. “Hardly, as well you know. I do as I see fit in accordance to my own rules and none other. Now, enough of your baiting, hoyden.”

“But I am only longing to have a little fun,” she implored, inwardly conceding the futility of her previous persuasion tactics. “Where can the harm be in that? It is not as if we are doing anything so very scandalous, is it?”

When he said nothing further, she continued. “Besides, who is to know, with everyone occupied elsewhere? My uncle and most of the men aren’t even in the house, and the ladies are buried in their painting. Please, just fifteen minutes with the rapiers. No one will know but us,” she finished, showing him her most winsome smile.

Like a star in a night darkened sky, a twinkle winked deep within his intense blue gaze. “You do not lack for persistence, I will say that much.” Unbending, he gave a nod. “Very well, we shall have a bout.”

Clapping her hands, she let out a small squeal and leapt up and down on her toes.

“But ten minutes only, not fifteen,” he warned.

“Yes, Your Grace. Ten minutes and not a second more.” She flashed him a mischievous grin. “Despite the limitation, that should give me more than enough time to defeat you.”

He laughed again. “Outrageous minx!”

“Would you do me the favor of retrieving the sword Lord Vessey used?” she added in a light tone.

“But, of course,” he agreed with a gallant sweep of his hand.

Once he had gone to find the correct sword, she moved to a nearby chair and dropped down onto the seat.

As he strode across the room, Tony shook his head, wondering what had possessed him to give in to her entreaties. Usually he had no difficulties resisting such feminine wiles, especially when they came from naïve little innocents. But as he was beginning to realize, Gabriella St. George was a genuine original. Of all the women he knew—and there were literally hundreds—he could think of none so daring and unconventional that they would challenge him to a fencing bout. He knew a great many men who didn’t have the nerve to do so—not even for a practice round, since he was considered one of Society’s most deadly swordsmen—but then she could hardly be expected to know that fact. But like a tiger indulging an adventurous cub, he would let her have her fun. As she said, what harm could come from a few minutes’ sparring?

With Vessey’s rapier in hand, he turned around—and nearly lost his hold on the sword. Lips parting, he stared wide-eyed with the sort of surprise he couldn’t recall experiencing in a very long while. “Good heavens, your legs are bare!”

Glancing up, she tossed her skirts off her knees, the material instantly blocking the all-too-brief view he’d had of her beautifully turned knees and calves. Yet that single glimpse was enough to send his blood flowing faster inside his veins, and set his palms itching with the desire to uncover all that satiny-soft, alabaster flesh again so that his hands might go a-wandering. Such an interlude, he knew, would be nothing short of exquisite.

Down, boy,
he reprimanded himself.
This is Gabriella, remember? Your friend’s niece, who is strictly out of bounds.
Though even if she weren’t Rafe’s niece, she would still be out of bounds for all the usual reasons. Giving himself a firm mental shake, he pushed aside the fantasy.
Treat her like a sister,
he silently advised. Yet even as he focused on the thought, he realized the absurdity of it, a derisive laugh rising to his lips followed by an inaudible groan.

Plainly unaware of being the cause of any consternation, Gabriella tucked her stockings inside her slippers, then placed her footwear neatly beneath her chair. “This,” she explained with a wiggle of her toes, “is one of the little tricks I’ve learned in order to compensate for dueling in a dress. Otherwise I really would stumble and do myself an injury.” Springing to her feet—her very bare, very lovely feet—she padded toward him. “Ready to proceed?”

Swallowing down another groan at the sight of her loveliness, he passed her the sword with its protective, wood-covered tip. “Of course. I shall leave it up to you to begin.”

He didn’t have long to wait as she resumed the proper stance and brought her blade upward. He did the same.

“En garde,” she called.

He let her make the first move and the first strike, the rapiers sliding against each other in a high-pitched whining of honed metal. With an easy, single maneuver, she knocked his sword to one side, then stopped.

“What was that, Wyvern? You’re barely trying.”

“I am allowing you to warm up. You said it’s been a while since your last bout.”

“A while, yes, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten everything I ever learned. Now, don’t baby me. I want a real match.”

He arched a brow. “Very well, I shall endeavor to do better.” She gave a nod, then moved to once again assume the proper stance.

This time when she came at him, he countered with a bit more force. Still, he was careful to hold back, far too aware of his superior strength and the fact that it would take very little effort on his part to overpower her. Meeting a trio of her parries and thrusts, he allowed her to take the point.

“That was still too easy. Quit protecting me,” she complained.

“And quit asking me to fight you as I would a man. You are
not
a man and when it comes to a contest of sheer strength, I will beat you every time.”

“Perhaps that is true, but fencing isn’t only about strength, it is also about cunning. Show me the courtesy of displaying more of your true ability and let us see how cunning I can be.”

He considered her statement. Maybe he was mollycoddling her, and by doing so depriving her of the chance to actually test herself and her skills. He’d promised to give her a bout, but so far he’d done little more than condescend. “All right, Gabriella. You want the real me, then prepare yourself.”

Lifting his rapier, he waited for her to move into position.

This time when they began, he didn’t restrain himself—at least not too much. Moving with lightning speed, he lunged forward, their blades clashing in a series of parries that she valiantly struggled to meet.

One-two-three,
their swords beat against each other.

Four-five-six,
he waited for an opening in her defenses, quickly darting inside to tap her harmlessly on the hip and again on the shoulder.

Moving his sword out of harm’s way, he stepped back. “Better?” he questioned.

Breath panted between her lips, her pretty eyes wider than usual. “Much.”

“So? Do you wish to continue?” He waited, expecting her to concede defeat.

“Yes.” Collecting herself, despite clearly having been shaken by the previous set, she lifted her rapier again.

On a nod, he moved again into place. “En garde,” he declared.

Instead of assuming an aggressive tack by immediately engaging him, Tony noticed that she let him set the pace while she tried to study and anticipate each of his moves so she might have some hope of countering. The outcome was predetermined, of course, and took him scarcely longer than the first, but she held her own far more effectively than he might ever have expected.

“Not bad,” he told her, genuinely meaning the words. Not only was she brave, he decided, she had talent—raw and in need of refining, but talent nonetheless. Mayhap that was the reason her first teacher, Monsieur Montague, had taken the effort to indulge her whims and teach a girl the rudiments of the art.

“Had enough?” he asked.

With a stubborn shake of her head, she moved into place once more. “Again,” she ordered.

Having obviously been paying attention, she was able to hold him at bay for a few additional seconds before he once again slipped through her guard. “How do you do that?” she demanded the instant they disengaged.

“By waiting for you to leave me an opening. You drop your arm on the follow-through every time. Keep a tighter rein on yourself before you attempt a lunge, and don’t make the move unless you know I cannot counter it.”

“But you
always
counter it!”

“That’s because you also need to be quicker.” He tossed her a smile. “And you need to relax. Your stance is too tight.”

Delicate, adorable little lines settled between her brows. “I don’t feel as if it’s too tight.”

“Well, it is. Stop worrying and let your muscles do the work.”

“That’s what I thought I was doing.”

“Only in half-measures. Your technique is a little rusty, but you know your form. Use it and have confidence, and stop overthinking matters. So, how are the kittens?”

She blinked, obviously nonplussed at his new query. “The kittens are fine—excellent, in fact.”

“Playing well? Eating well?”

“Very well. They zip around like furry little balls of energy.”

“No difficulties with the sleeping arrangements then?”

A sunny smile came over her lips. “Not a bit, if you don’t count the dead mice Aggie brings me and the sandy paw prints Mama and babies are leaving on the carpet. The maids have been complaining about the mess, and since the weather has grown warmer, I’ve agreed to move the whole family down to a cozy spot in the stillroom tomorrow. That way they’ll be able to run in and out of the garden at will.”

“A most excellent plan.” Suddenly he raised his sword. “En garde, Gabriella. Let’s see what you can do.”

Giving her only enough time to set her rapier in place, he came forward. This set she met him stroke for stroke, taking and repelling each of his moves. And when he dipped his blade in hopes of luring her into his usual trap, she held firm, maintaining her defenses like a seasoned warrior. Of course he won the point regardless, but unlike their earlier rounds, he had to actually work a little to achieve success.

“Well done!” he cheered once they broke off combat. “Wonderful improvement. Could you feel the difference? The control you gained by trusting yourself and relaxing?”

“I did!” she said with excitement. “I let my instincts lead me, just as you said. And I was careful not to drop my arm at the wrong moment. I held you off for a short while, anyway.”

He grinned. “That you did.”

Hurrying to resume the appropriate stance, she waited for him to do the same.

“Unfortunately,” he continued, lowering his blade toward the floor, “I believe our ten minutes has expired.”

Her sword dipped with disappointment. “No, we cannot quit now!” she protested. “Not when I’m just getting into the thick of it. Surely you cannot be so cruel.”

“Is that what I’m being?” he queried, his tone rife with amusement. “Cruel?”

“Yes. Only an ogre would stop without giving me the opportunity to score at least a single point.”

“Not to boast too highly of my own prowess, but we could be here a very long while if that is your criterion. Mayhap we might resume another day.”

“But there won’t be another day, not like this one. Please, Wyvern, three more tries. Just three and then I’ll stop no matter the outcome.”

Meeting her gaze, he saw the passionate entreaty shining within her eyes, strong emotion deepening their lush hue to an even more improbable shade of violet. The strength of her will hit him like a golden beam of sun-light, his resolve melting beneath the power of her youthful, heartfelt appeal.

“All right, three,” he said in a voice that sounded as low and rough as gravel. “Then, win or lose, you’ll cease without further complaint.”

She held up a hand. “You have my most solemn word of honor.”

The promise surprised him, since women didn’t generally swear on their honor—that being the purview of men in their society. Yet somehow with Gabriella, the statement seemed fitting, both in light of the circumstances and of the girl herself.