Olivia lifted the monkey to her face, meeting its eyes. “Now, Rallo, don’t you want to go visit your nice friend, Mr. Banks?” The monkey grinned and he looked almost ghoulish, like he was taunting Flynn. But he still did not let go of her thumb. “Lionel, can’t you tell Rallo to go to Flynn?”
Before Lionel answered, Flynn replied. “I don’t want him to come to me because he’s forced to. I want him to come to me because he wants to.”
“Honestly, Flynn, he’s a monkey.” Olivia sighed. “It’s not a personal affront.” But on the inside, it tickled her that it bothered Flynn so deeply. She’d thought nothing could annoy him more than pretending to have never seen one of his pictures. But Rallo’s ease with her—that really got Flynn’s goat. For some reason, she found it charming. He did, it seemed, have the capacity to care about something other than himself. It was evident that his jealousy came from a genuine affection for Rallo. That he and the monkey had formed a bond over several pictures together.
But it also made something else clear: She had the upper hand in this scheme. She already knew some of his vulnerable spots and how easily she could get a rise out of him. Maybe pretending to date Flynn Banks wouldn’t be so bad after all. Maybe it wouldn’t be risky to her heart and her sanity.
All she had to do, literally and metaphorically, was make sure the monkey liked her more.
Chapter 7
Flynn was still sulking and Olivia was cooing over Rallo when fencing master and top swordsman Fred Cavens walked onto set. Flynn quickly forgot the monkey’s easy betrayal, energized by the idea of getting a blade back in his hand.
“Freddie!” he bellowed, leaping to his feet in excitement.
Fred laughed, clearly delighted to see his old friend. He ran toward him, slapping Flynn on the back. “Banks, you old bastard, how’s it going?”
“Careful, Freddie, there are delicate ladies here today,” Flynn hissed in an exaggerated stage whisper, making sure Olivia overheard. She looked flustered and Flynn couldn’t help but grin. Finally she was the one on the back foot.
Rallo lifted his hands to his mouth and covered it, seemingly understanding something naughty had been said, which made Olivia laugh. Damn this monkey. He really was an easy mark for a pretty girl.
Cheered by Rallo’s antics, Olivia smiled in Fred’s direction. “That’s all right. You couldn’t possibly shock me more than Mr. Banks already has. Mister…?”
“Cavens. Fred Cavens. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss De Lesseps. I’m the fencing master and choreographer for Evets’s Studios. I’m here to get a feel for how well you handle ablade and to start teaching the moves for your and Banks’s big fight.”
“Fred taught me everything I know. About fencing, that is.” Flynn winked at Olivia, who seemed distinctly unimpressed by him.
“Nonsense, Flynn’s a natural,” added Fred good-naturedly.
Fred was being kind. Flynn had taken fencing as a boy in London. One could hardly be the second son of a viscount and not learn the finer points of swordsmanship. Having been born into the British aristocracy, there were certain things that were expected of him: learning horsemanship before he could walk, attending Oxford or Cambridge, and becoming an at least passable swordsman. But Flynn had never been terribly interested in fencing, and all of his instructors had been old and boring. His rotating cycle of governesses had been far more interesting…and instructive. When Harry Evets had asked if he could fence before casting Flynn in his first picture, Flynn had said yes. Because technically he could. Just not very well. Until he met Fred Cavens.
Cavens had been a fencing master in the Belgian Army before he emigrated to America. He could’ve opened a fencing school, but instead, he used his talents to teach Hollywood’s biggest stars how to believably duel on camera. He made Flynn a far better swordsman and enabled him to do his own stunts.
“Have you ever taken up a sword, Miss De Lesseps?” Cavens asked.
Olivia gave him a close-mouthed smile. “A few times.” Rallo had moved from his place in her arms back to her shoulder.
Flynn was surprised. He couldn’t imagine her setting aside her books to do something quite so athletic. She was lean and lithe, but from what he could tell, Olivia Blount was an insufferable know-it-all and a bluestocking. Not exactly who he’d peg asa swordswoman. “Come, now, don’t lie to Fred. He’s here to help you get up to speed.”
Olivia pointedly ignored Flynn’s comments and turned to face Fred. “Mr. Cavens, I’m eager to learn. As I said, I havesomeexperience, but I’m certain you can teach me a lot.”
“Good, then, that’s what’s most important.” Cavens had come in with an armful of weaponry, including a small sword and two flat-tipped épées, as well as an extremely tiny saber that didn’t even look big enough for a child. He handed one of the épées to Flynn and gave the other to Olivia. She fumbled, not wanting to displace Rallo.
Lionel stepped in, extending his arm. “Rallo, come.” Lionel made a series of clicking sounds that seemed to be some sort of command, and the monkey promptly hopped from Liv’s shoulder to Lionel’s forearm.
Cavens looked at the monkey. “Rallo, I didn’t forget you.” The monkey clapped his hands together excitedly as Cavens held out the tiny sword, with the hilt facing the monkey. Rallo looked back and forth between Lionel and the miniature saber, as if seeking approval. Lionel nodded and Rallo grabbed the sword, wrapping his little hands around the hilt.
Flynn smiled. No matter how many times he’d seen it, watching Rallo with a sword was always a delight.
Olivia giggled, the sound he’d imagine bubbles in champagne would make if you could hear them. Something unfurled in his chest. Her laugh was charming and girlish, disarming in a way he had yet to see any part of this woman be. Everything about her was on high alert, her walls built as high as Big Ben. But just now, a glimpse of the real Olivia had peeked through, a crack in her brick facade. He wanted it back.
Then Fred Cavens called his attention away from wondering how to make her laugh again.
“All right,” said the fencing master. “Now that everyone has their weapon, we’ll go through some basic positions—a thrust, a parry, a classical lunge. Then, if I’m satisfied with your form, we’ll work on some of the fight choreography.”
Flynn quickly stripped off the thick jumper he’d been wearing over his crisp, white polo shirt. He saw Olivia’s gaze dart to him as a small strip of his stomach was exposed, but then she merely rolled her eyes.
That crack in the wall was gone and had been hastily spackled up. Flynn held back a sigh. He didn’t take his sweater off for her benefit. He’d been chilly after his morning swim, but he always worked up a sweat fencing. He wanted the easiest range of motion with his épée.
