She kicked toward his head.
He ducked, and moving behind her, thumped the pommel of his sword against her booted ankle.
Sparks shot out from the back of her heel. Alex laughed, delighted. (And also winced as a spark burned into his breastbone.) Charlotte somersaulted midair then spun about, rapier sweeping toward him. But he met it with his sword, and as metal cried out, the rapier fell from her hand.
“Ow,” she said, shaking her hand and glaring at him in indignation. He tossed his sword aside, grasped her shirt, and pulled her down toward him. She was still floating as their mouths met. They kissed with such force, Charlotte’s magic flared, and in the next moment Alex was rising off the ground along with her. He clutched her head; she dug fingernails into his back. Their coats billowed as the rain around them sizzled from magical energy.
“Just surrender,” Alex growled between kisses.
“You first.” Tipping her head back, she offered her throat. He dragged his tongue up it, pressed lips against her pulse—tasting soap, rain, the heat of aroused blood. He very nearly spoke then to yield all his heart and will to her, but old, barbed instincts stopped him in the nick of time. He could almost hear a voice, still sharp despite being two decades past, calling him a bloody fool. He flinched as if a fist boxed his ear.
At his sudden movement, the magic unbalanced, and they dropped to the ground. Charlotte immediately turned away but he caught her, pulling her back against him, trapping her within the compass of his arm. Although he couldn’t see the expression on her face, he could imagine its fury, and he grinned.
“I dare you,” he said in her ear, hot and tempting. “Step on me with those vicious boots of yours.”
She tried to tug herself free. “Brigand!”
“Virago.”
“Excuse me.”
They turned their heads in surprise.
“I beg your pardon,” said a gentleman standing placidly in the rain. He wore enormous galoshes, and on his head a cap bristled with hooks. A fishing rod lay propped against one shoulder. As Alex and Charlotte stared at him, he smiled beneath his thin, crooked mustache. “I say, have you by any chance spotted a pike gudgeon?”
Charlotte blinked dumbly. Alex narrowed his eyes. “Is that some kind of weapon?” he asked.
The man laughed. “Good heavens no, my dear chap. Fish.” He waved at the lake as if this explained all.
Charlotte and Alex turned their heads toward the lake, then back to the man. “Can’t say I have,” Alex said. “You, darling?”
“No,” Charlotte replied. “And if you call me darling again, I’ll bite you.”
He grinned. “Promise?”
“Well, bother,” the newcomer continued in a blithe tone, despite the rain and the two strangers paused mid-struggle before him. “I’m sure it’s in there. Only one in the whole district, you see, imported especially for our little contest, and it’d be a dratted shame if Peddick got it before me. And will you look at this! Someone’s left a sword just lying around. Not safe, that. A person could stub their toe on it.”
Alex shifted slightly, adjusting his hold on Charlotte. “Can I ask, sir—”
“Hooper.” He offered a hand to shake and then—noticing the knives strapped to Alex’s thigh, and the long dagger extending out of his boot, not to mention the sword scabbard—made a little wave instead. “Arthur Hooper, three times Dagenham district champion angler (bait form) and butler to Sir Rufus over at Rothbury House, at your service. Well, at Sir Rufus’s service, but you know what I mean.”
“Mr. Smith,” Alex replied. “And this is my sister, Miss Smith.”
The man’s eyebrows raised with astonishment. “I’m guessing you are northerners, for I’ve never seen anyone around here kiss their sister quite so vigorously. It almost looked like you were jumping off the ground, ha ha.”
“Did I say sister?” Alex shook his head. “I meant wife. She’s my wife. Mrs. Smith. On account of me being Mr.—”
“Shut up,” Charlotte said. “Mr. Hooper, would you kindly direct us toward some shelter, please?”
“Shelter?”
“From the rain.”
He blinked up at the gray deluge. “Oh, you mean this mizzle? You could go to the Angler’s Retreat. Local pub. Just on the other side of the lake there.” He pointed with his fishing rod.
“Thank you.”
“Right you are,” he said, smiling and rocking on his heels as if intending to stay and watch whatever remained of their show. They stared at him with expressions like drawn swords, and an awkward laugh fell from his mouth. “Well then. No pike gudgeon. Right ho, I’ll be just on my... um... tah-rah, then.”
