“Well done, sir,” Grey retorted but left no time for Colin to bask in his success.
Grey attacked again, and with the advantages of his height and using his left hand, went for a point at Colin’s shoulder.
Colin esquived again, but Grey’s blade swung high and landed a stinging blow to Colin’s cheek.
Burwood came racing down the terrace. “Enough! What are you two fools doing?!”
Grey dropped his épée and raised his hands in apology, his gaze locked on Colin. “Forgive me, my lord. That was unintentional.”
Colin managed a nod, and when he removed his hand from his burning cheek, blood tingedhis fingertips.
“First blood, sir. I concede the match.” Colin bowed. He would give Grey one thing: the man could fight. It would be good to have him as a friend rather than an opponent.
“Ashton!” Burwood called.
But his call was unnecessary; Ashton had already leapt from his seat on the terrace and was before Colin in a matter of moments.
He grasped Colin’s jaw and turned his head. “It appears superficial. I doubt you will need to be stitched, but let’s get you cleaned up so I can make a better determination.”
“Will it leave a scar?” Colin asked.
“Possibly. Again, it depends on how deep the wound is. From the amount of blood, I would say the chance is negligible.”
“Blast. I was hoping a scar would make me more dashing. Yours seems to attract the ladies, Grey.”
Ashton gave a sly grin. He sported his own silver scar on the side of his face. Perhaps they could all form a club.
Lord, the blow made him touched in the head. He plucked Lady Miranda’s pierced handkerchief from the ground.
His gaze following Colin’s movement, Grey reached for his discarded sword. “If you require a deeper wound, say the word.”
Cold shivers notched up Colin’s spine at Grey’s dangerous tone. “I’ll pass.” One humiliating failure in front of the woman he’d hoped to impress was enough.
“Let’s go inside, and I’ll clean the wound,” Ashton said.
When they reached the terrace, Honoria rushed forward. “Colin! What were you thinking? It’s a good thing Father isn’t here. He would have your head.”
“I’m fine. Ashton says it’s only a scratch.”
He stepped around his sister to Lady Miranda and handed her the handkerchief. “Apologies, my lady, for not keeping your precious gift safe. I shall purchase you another.”
“Think nothing of it,” she said. “It is Mr. Grey who is at fault.” She shot Grey a murderous glare, then dabbed at Colin’s face with the torn piece of linen.
He should have felt vindicated by Lady Miranda’s attention andsupport, but instead, his gaze drifted to the Elfin Menace, and his heart thumped hard at the concern in her blue eyes.
“If anyone sees my children, please tell them I’m fine.” With that, he followed Ashton into the house and to his room.
Ten minutes later, Ashton assured him the wound was shallow and most likely would heal without scarring. “It’s even stopped bleeding already. I’ll change the dressing tomorrow, but in a few days, you should be able to remove it entirely.”
Fitz stood by, wringing his hands as he waited until Ashton left them alone. “Sir, sir. What were you thinking?”
“My sister and His Grace have already lectured me, Fitz. I don’t need to hear it from my valet. Now, help me change my shirt. I have something important to attend to.”
Fresh shirt in his hands, Fitz raised a brow. “Oh? What might that be?”
“I’m going to find Lady Miranda and suggest we begin courting.”
“Lady Miranda? Are you certain, sir?”
