Once, twice, and thrice, she thrusted her foil. There was no strategy behind it—all madness—but I found my way around her jabs all the same. She knew the basics. She knew to keep her head back and intimidate me with surprise movements. She had seen a tutor before.
I liked it all a little too much.
We watched each other from behind the X of our locked foils. Her chest heaved from exertion. Mine heaved from another feeling entirely.
“You are very good,” she said between breaths. The fire crackled beside us. “You’ve studied longer than my brother.”
“All my life,” I told her. “Every morning.”
“Do you regret what you said about women and fencing?”
A slow smile crept upon my lips. I could play this one of two ways—concede and satisfy her, or deny and incite herwrath. I tried for a middle ground. “Your footwork needs direction.”
She stepped back, and our foils fell. “My footwork was never in question. Once more,” she directed, finding her footing. “Pret.”
I fought my humor, mirroring her again. “Allez.”
This time, she was quick. Her focus was on my foil, matching me parry for parry. This was no “sitting on the settee with her needlepoint” sort of girl. No. Georgiana had been raised in the country alongside her brother, and as polished and proper as she was, there was fire in her.
And I was battling more than just a foil. Devil take it, she had me in pieces. I started to parry harder just to see what she could take. I stepped forward, and she moved back. Back. Back. Her forehead scrunched in concentration, lips parted as she focused.
I let her have a few wins. Then I lunged.
She parried.
I lunged again a full step. Then another.
Her breaths came faster. I’d backed her almost entirely to a wall.
“Enough,” I breathed, thoroughly amused. “You are decent ... for a woman.”
She widened her stance, but her back foot hit the wall. “Believe it or not, I know the difference between parry and lunge,” she said. Then under her breath, “T’es relou!”
Annoying, hmm? I grinned at her French. Her perfect accent. “Je t’ai coince.”I have you cornered.
She answered by lunging, but I’d expected that. Our foils crossed, and I stepped forward, well and truly cornering her.
“I can see you know the difference well.”
Her eyes locked on mine. Her little hand buried within my old, worn glove pleased me far more than it should. Her breaths labored. Then her eyes dropped to my lips.
My heart flew to my throat. Dash it all, it would be heaven to kiss her.
She swallowed hard. “You are distracting me from my book, Your Grace.”
Your Grace?My humor faded. I did not like that at all.Marlow, even, did not seem quite familiar enough. “Lucas, please. And to be fair, you were distracting me first.”
“What?” Her brows lifted high, whether from the intimacy of my given name or the fact I’d called her a distraction. Either way, I dared her to call me out. Our foils lowered, but only just, and she took the bait. “May I ask howIhave distractedyou?”
I pressed my lips together. Everything about her had become a distraction. “When you read, you get this serious look on your face. You gnaw your lower lip. Drives a man a little mad, Georgiana.”
Her forehead scrunched. I could see thoughts racing behind her eyes, softening them. Then she frowned. “You cannot say such things. This is not how friends speak to each other.”
She pressed the X of our foils to my chest, releasing her grip, and I grabbed it as she turned away.
“You asked me, did you not?”
She tugged off my glove and tossed it on a chair. “I shouldn’t have. I’m to bed.”
