Page 7 of The Misfortune of Lady Lucianna

Concentrating on the set of her feet, she knew a match could be won—or just as easily lost—because of footwork.

Luci cross-stepped, bringing her farther from his dominant hand, but he was too quick and had anticipated the novice move, bringing his foil around. She was forced into a passata sotto, twisting and lowering herself under his weapon and holding herself balanced with her free hand upon the ground. She moved to attempt an upward thrust with her own foil, hoping to catch her opponent off guard; however, he’d deftly accomplished a riposte and outmaneuvered her point.

He was a worthy opponent, indeed.

Recovering quickly, she prepared her next move.

It had been many months since she’d located a fencer with half the skill she possessed.

But his retreat gave her ample time to reset and contemplate her next move.

She must think two steps ahead. She quickly advanced with a straight extension, knowing any decent opponent would parry, and she’d be forced to disengage, twisting her foil. But she expertly changed tactic to an expulsion, successfully opening the man’s defenses. Before he knew her course, the tip of her foil was aimed directly at his heart. Victory surged through her. The thrashing of her heart as she allowed herself several deep inhales and exhales, echoed through her head.

She expected him to enact some practiced maneuver, removing the tip from his breast, but instead, he chuckled and flipped up his mask.

Luci was not fool enough to think her opponent had no other moves planned, and she kept her tip trained on him until he lowered his foil in surrender.

She had the oddest sense it was not a move of defeat but one of promise for another time.

She narrowed her glare on him, her irritation only growing. The man had not shown her his true capabilities on the strip, but had only seen the match as spirited fun. Luci did not have the same opinion, and she wished to slash her foil before his face to remove his smug grin.

“To whom do I owe the honor of my first loss in too many years to count?” he asked, his blue eyes sparkling. A nagging sensation of recognition filled her. He completely removed his mask, revealing hair of the darkest black—so deep, Luci thought she saw hints of blue. It was a shade darker than hers, which Luci hadn’t thought possible. His locks were midnight obsidian, while his eyes were as clear as the blue sea. “Come now, lad. You are certainly skilled and deserve to be commended.”

She studied the set of his jaw, his extreme height, and commanding presence. Where had she seen the man before?

Her rule was to never, ever remove her mask while on the strip. Never reveal that she was a lady. And, under no circumstances, allow any man the opportunity to go soft on her during a match based on her femininity. She entered Bentley’s prepared to fence and only removed her mask when she’d once again gained the safety of her carriage. Bentley’s proprietor had never betrayed her confidence, which she suspected had more to do with her father’s money as opposed to any loyalty to Luci.

However, a piece of her needed to show the arrogant man that a mere woman had bested him. Longed to show the haughty lord that no matter his superior demeanor, he was no competition for her…

Slowly, she pushed her mask up and completely off her head. A tumble of dark waves cascaded down her back and over her shoulders. Luci flipped her head as she tucked her gear under her arm, sending her long tresses out of her face.

His mouth gaped, and his brow rose in question.

Luci knew well the sight he beheld: ebony waves of hair, piercing, intense green eyes, and sun-kissed skin. She was tall in stature, and every inch the lady many women envied—just as every woman had envied Luci’s mother in her day. This man now took in her regal stare and supple curves in her masculine garb—though it was tailored to hug every inch of her body.

From the lust in his open stare, he had noted every womanly curve he’d only moments ago attributed to the form of a young lad.

It was Luci’s turn to smirk.

And smile she did. “You may show proper honor to my skill by collecting your senses and closing your gaping mouth, or I will think you find it offensive to be bested by a woman.” Luci outright grinned, pride swelling inside her to finally have the nerve to expose her face to one of her defeated opponents. “You may issue your accolades whenever you are ready…and it is my lady, not my lord.”

He stalled for a moment before speaking. “I must say, the only thing to overshadow your skill with a foil is your beauty, my lady.” He bowed slowly, his eyes traveling the length of her as he did.

Luci could feel the heat of his stare as it took in her form for the second time.

She’d never had occasion to overthink her preferred fencing attire, that of her male counterparts, to be scandalous or revealing in any overt manner. But his intense scrutiny scorched her from her face, down to her toes, and back up again. It was not hard to imagine her face blossoming with heat, as well. She would give him due credit for his eyes only lingered at her bosom—barely noticeable under her tightly bound cloth wrap—a brief moment before returning to her face.

However, his inspection gave her time to look closer at him. He was as tall as she’d suspected, and just as broad, his fencing attire not adding to his size as hers did. His hair hung nearly to his shoulders in a way far less gentlemanly than was preferred in London’s premier ballrooms. But it was his eyes that attracted her notice most. Their blue depths held something she couldn’t quite place her finger on. Hurt? Anger? Betrayal?

What could this lordly arrogant man know of these things?

His examination of her person sent a shiver down Luci’s spine, and all her defenses, bred through years of dealing with her father and competing in fencing, jumped into action. She should pivot, turn and flee Bentley’s immediately; instead, she asked, “Your name, kind lord? I wish to add it to my extensive list of conquests.”

She would never allow him to know of his appeal. When a man was given the upper hand in any situation, it was Luci’s experience that they used it to exploit others and gain exactly what they searched for. Though there couldn’t be anything the dark-haired lord sought from Luci. Only a moment before, he’d had no notion whom he sparred against, let alone that she was the eldest daughter of the Marquis of Camden.

His grin only widened when he snorted with laughter.

Was the man overly familiar with such blasé commentary from the women he associated with?