Page 56 of Only Scandal Will Do

He scored a hit to her arm early on, despite her first bold attack. Then, not a minute later she managed to penetrate his guard and land her first blow on his shoulder.

“A hit,” he acknowledged, his eyes lighting up, as if a flame had been ignited there. The warm approval in his voice bespoke his admiration of her skill, leaving her so elated she took her mind off the match.

At which point he planted the foil firmly in her chest.

“Oh, dear,” was all she could manage, looking down at the bowed weapon pressed against her clothing. She would have a bruise there tomorrow. As Dalbury withdrew the blade, she forced herself to focus and made ready to continue.

The match resumed, even though the ending was inevitable. Dalbury outclassed her through and through, both in technique and stamina. After ten minutes, she was gasping in short, sharp breaths. Perspiration drenched her skin. She should have been practicing daily instead of attending soirees and paying calls. The result would have been much more satisfying.

Dalbury, however, seemed unaffected, the wretch, though he hadn’t been practicing either. Briefly she hated him all over again, for purely sporting reasons.

She retreated down the ballroom, but he pursued. Their blades slithered together, clattered insistently as she fought for another touch. She parried a thrust to her exposed right knee. Lord, but she wanted to learn that disarm badly.

Her strength flagged; not an ounce of energy seemed left in her body. Dalbury lunged, threatening her stomach, and his foot snagged on the freshly sanded floor. The momentary distraction allowed her to score another hit, this time to his torso. She broke into a broad smile as he stood up.

“Touche, my lord.”

“You state the obvious, madam.” His smile accompanied a low chuckle. They resumed their stance to begin the final attack of the match. Two seconds later, her foil went sailing and clattered to the floor some eight feet to her right. Chest heaving, she put her hands on her hips and glared at her husband. Her undefended body then suffered a light tap to her left shoulder and the match was over.

Katarina sighed, then stepped forward, hand outstretched to congratulate him. To her amazement, Dalbury raised it to his lips. “As always, you prove a worthy opponent, Lady Dalbury.”

She scarcely heard his words of praise. Her skin seemed aflame at his touch. The sensation commanded all her attention.

“Perhaps our third foray will see you finally the victor,” he said. “But for now, I will be honored to claim my forfeit.” With his words, something ignited in his eyes.

Her breath caught.

Somehow, in the excitement of the match, she had forgotten that the forfeit she was to pay was a kiss. Her body trembled as Dalbury drew her closer to him than she had been at any time since that day in the stable.

“Does that kiss not pay the forfeit, my lord?” she whispered, inclining her head toward the hand he had just grazed.

His eyelids lowered to seductive slits as he shook his head, a slow smile curving his full lips. Both arms encircling her waist, he pressed her against him until she would have sworn they were molded together, as of one flesh. His heartbeat pounded, and the vibrations coursed through her, as if it were beating in her own breast. The heat from his body raced through her, suffusing her with a wicked warmth that spread deep into her core. Time seemed to stop. Breath suspended in her lungs, she tipped her head and gazed up at him.

The damp and disheveled golden brown hair, the warm brown eyes almost liquid with an unspoken plea. And those hideous scars marring the swarthy complexion of his left cheek. Her handiwork. Moved to ease the hurt she’d inflicted, she stole a hand upward to caress the thin, purple streaks.

At her touch, he flinched violently backward, as though her hand was a red-hot ember.

Like a knife thrust, his response cut deep into her heart. Katarina hung her head, the heat of shame pouring into her face. She vividly recalled clawing his face, the great satisfaction, elation even, at wounding him. How could she have been so heartless? He would live the rest of his life with the evidence of her vengeance imprinted on his face for everyone to see. He did not deserve that. Could she ever look him in the face again and not feel his accusation?

Dalbury’s kindness and affection ever since their marriage were apparent. He was no longer the callous rake he had been. Perhaps he was right to recoil from her, to distrust her. Had she not proven over and over again she wanted to hurt him for his behavior? How could he trust her or forgive her malicious temper?

She tried to step away from him, but he clutched her even tighter to his chest, cupped the back of her head and urged her to rest it against his shoulder. The other hand held her waist in a vise-like grip, fitting her body into his.

“I am so sorry, my dear,” he whispered into her ear. “The wounds are healed, so I cannot imagine why I did that. You must know I trust you with my life, my lady, as you should trust me with yours.” He began a slow journey over her hair, smoothing it with a gentle touch.

Overcome by the memory of her shameful actions, she could no longer bear his touch. She squirmed against his chest, suffocated both by her feelings and by his arms around her. He continued to hold her for a moment then reluctantly let her go. Tears she did not want him to see filled her eyes. She wiped them away then looked up into his face.

What she saw there almost broke her heart.

He gazed down at her, the plea in the deep brown eyes more obvious than ever. He’d said he wanted their marriage to be based on respect and affection and trust. But did he in fact feel respect and affection for her? Did he trust her? His body said no. Had that unguarded moment of recoil been his true feeling?

Her despair deepened, for despite all her precautions, she now cared what his feelings were. She backed away several steps. “I fear that small kiss must suffice for your forfeit, my lord,” she said, fighting to contain the tears that threatened to spill. “I find I am suddenly unwell.

Perhaps it was the unaccustomed exercise that has made me ill. I do beg your pardon.” He strode toward her, concern clearly on his face. “Katarina, are you sure...” She gasped. He had not spoken her name since their wedding night.

Dalbury stopped dead and his face went white “I do beg your pardon, Lady Dalbury. My concern for your health made me careless in my address. Please forgive me. But you truly are not well?”

Kat shook her head and backed away. “I will retire to my rooms and lie down, my lord. Please make my excuses to Juliet this evening. I fear I will not be at dinner.” And before he could offer another word or gesture, she fled.