His eyes drifted to her lips. He watched them part.
She lifted her chin, her eyes alight, and it was her breath now that fluttered over his flesh. “Tis not fear that stays my blade—tis mercy. I would spare thee the shame of defeat.”
Suddenly she retreated and lifted her blade, placing the tip on his chest, forcing him back. “But since thou dost beg so sweetly for humiliation, I shall not be the one to deny thee.” She placed the tip of her rapier just below his chin. “Let it never be said that I am unkind or without mercy to those who wish to kneel before me.”
Her wrist flicked, forcing him to take another step back or risk being marked.
“Thou art swift, I grant thee that. But tell me, milady—what wager dost thou set? If I best thee, shall I claim that which mine heart and body doth most desire?”
“Which is?”
“That I shall not tell thee.”
“I think I can guess.”
“Wilt thou risk it?”
“And if I best thee?”
“Thou shalt have whatever thou dost more desire. Dost thou knowest what thou most desires?”
“I do. And unlike you, I’m not afraid to say it. Hear me well, Sir Clarke, should I best thee, I shall demand something far greater than you do. Should I triumph, thou shalt kneel before me, not as knight, but as conquered man. Dost thou still wish to wager, knowing the price of defeat? Or dost thou fear to kneel?”
Tapping the flat of his sword against his shoulder, his eyes locked on hers.
“Ladies first.”
She lunged forward with a probing attack—a straight thrust to his shoulder. But he deflected her blade, twisting his aside at the last second. Without hesitation, she aimed for his wrist but he lifted his arm just in time to dodge her touch. He sidestepped and countered with a flick to her exposed forearm, but she saw it coming and pulled back, evading him.
They circled each other until he lunged. His attack was quick, but her response was quicker. She eluded him, her blade sliding against his. She responded, going for his shoulder but he twisted just in time, deflecting her strike and stepping back.
After a moment’s pause, she made a move, aiming high for his shoulder, but then quickly changed course, striking low and going for his thigh. He barely escaped, countering with a lightning-fast thrust to her wrist. But once again, she confounded him. Pressing her advantage, she forced him back. He took a swift glance over his shoulder to see he was not far from the wall.
When he met her gaze, she was smirking.
You think you’re going to put my back up against this wall.
He was close, and he could tell by that glint in her eye she knew it. He lowered his sword.
She placed the tip of her blade at his heart.
“What wouldst thou have me do with thee now?” she asked.
He hesitated, but just for a fraction of a moment. “I beg thee, show mercy. Let thy blow be true, and aim for my heart.”
Clearly startled by his response, she lowered her sword and seemed to forget the game they were playing. “Why did you say that? What do you mean by it?”
“A man who would say such a thing and reveal that much to a woman would never answer such a question.”
“Why? Because he’s afraid of what his answer would reveal about him?”
“Perhaps. Or maybe because he’d like to think he’d delivered the line to the right woman.”
“What does that mean? Who would qualify as the right woman?”
“A woman who understood what he meant. A woman who would require no further explanation.”
She stood so still he could almost imagine she wasn’t breathing. He tilted his head at the sword by her side. “Your blade, milady.”
