The third man, broad in both width and height and easily the largest of the three, stepped forward. “Porthos at your service, fair maiden.”
She looked at each of them in turn. “I can hardly dance with all of you at the same time.”
The men turned to one another, nodding gravely, as if this complication had only now occurred to them.
“Well,” said Athos, “given I was the first to request the honor and the pleasure, I shall be the first to partake of both.”
Aramis placed his hand on Athos’s shoulder. “I believe I should take the lead. A dance with Aramis is a thrill not only for the body but for the soul.” He turned to her and grinned. “I can promise you, milady, it will be nothing short of a religious experience.”
“Pray tell, Aramis,” said Athos, “is it Byron or the story of Joseph and Potiphar’s Wife from the Old Testament you intend to recite to the fair lady as you gavotte about the dance floor?”
“My dear, sir. The gavotte wasn’t invented until 1690. By that time, if by the will of God, you and I are still alive, we shall be fortunate if we can manage to walk without any assistance from one end of the dance floor to the other. And as for Byron, I know not of this fellow, given I was born around the year 1600 and he was not to arrive until 1788.”
Porthos, booming with laughter, shoved them both aside with enough force to make them stumble. “Gentlemen! I believe the honor should be mine. A dance with Porthos guarantees merriment, and an experience the lady shall not forget!”
“Indeed,” said Athos, “if she were a sack of potatoes that must be hastily transported from one side of the room to the other. Unfortunately, your penchant for maximum momentum and stepping on a lady’s toes, while an experience the lady shall not forget, is one she would soon forget if only she could.”
“True,” said Aramis, “but an experience in direct opposition to an overly energetic one is hardly to be sought after either, Athos. It is possible to be too composed in one’s comportment.” He turned to Ceci. “With Aramis, milady, you will find the experience neither boring nor trying. Trust me when I tell you, I am neither too hot or cold, neither too soft”—he paused, winking—“or too hard.”
Athos slapped Aramis’s shoulder with his leather glove. “Invoking the Goldilocks principle? Come, my good man, you are not a bowl of porridge!”
“Indeed,” boomed Porthos. “Although there is that matter of a bed in the fairy tale, is there not?”
Now both Athos and Aramis turned on Porthos.
“Sir!” Aramis cried, “Are you impugning the lady’s honor? I demand you take that back.”
“Indeed,” Athos replied, “or you shall meet my blade!”
All three pulled their swords from their sheaths.
Ceci raised her rifle. “Gentlemen, do not force me to use this.”
The Three Musketeers turned and stared at her.
Athos’s eyes gleamed. “Well, is this not an interesting turn? I know not of any occasion in which a musketeer has dueled with a lady. But it is a most intriguing and tempting prospect.”
Ceci cocked her ear to her shoulder. “Need I remind you that you are outgunned? Your swords are hardly a match for this. A bullet will pierce your skin before the tip of your swords can brush even one lock of my hair.”
Grinning, Clarke tried to suppress a chuckle but failed.
She swung around.
He was grateful for the mask. It covered his entire face in iron, leaving only two slits for his eyes and one for his mouth.
He peered into her eyes. He’d never seen them up close. Whenever he was in her presence, she always made him so uncomfortable he fixedhis eyes on his feet. When he did get the chance to gaze at them from a distance, they were sparkly and bright, no matter the room or the time of day. They were a blue that fizzed and bubbled like fine champagne, and that’s what he expected to see. But he didn’t. They were more gray than blue.
She was staring back at him, clearly waiting for him to say something.
Remember the mask. She doesn’t know it’s you.
“I suspect your aim will need to be precise to stop any of these three,” he said, extending his arm in the direction of the men.
Ceci lifted one shoulder, tilting her head. “Well, then it’s fortunate I’m a good shot. Just name your target. I could hit north of the equator and blow their brains out. Though it’s unclear whether or not I would impart any real damage in doing so.”
Clarke grinned. “Gentlemen, it appears the lady needs neither rifle nor sword.” He turned his attention back to her. “A hit, milady, acknowledged. And might I add, very good.”
She smiled.
