Page 32

Excellent.

Flynn came forward. He raised his blade. “Then, I will show you a few moves, Your Grace.” He responded as pleasantly as she’d asked him, and Juliet’s smile deepened.

“Oh, truly? I am infinitely grateful for the instruction,” she said, barely managing to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

She glanced at the duke out of the corner of her eye, only to find him patting Eloise on the head and asking his daughter questions she couldn’t hear. He was barely even looking her way.

Annoyance snaked through her at the sight. He truly did not think she stood a chance, did he? Was he going to keep dismissing her like this? Juliet’s lips pressed into a thin line at the thought.

Flynn’s voice dragged her attention back to him. “Point forward,” he was saying, “Arm extended. Do not let your shoulder drop.”

She extended her arm and held the position. “Like this?”

He looked at her elbow. “Higher, Your Grace. You are carrying a blade, not shelving books.” She immediately adjusted her form.

When he showed her the engagement again, she moved with him, and the point tracked cleanly to his center.

He paused, his brows flying high in shock at her quick wit. She saw his gaze flick again towards the duke, but Juliet didn’t follow the gesture. She was going to make him regret dismissing her so quickly. She fully intended to show her husband that she was not going to fail.

“Ahem.” Flynn cleared his throat. “Now, the parry. This is where blade meets blade at the middle third. Not the tip.”

“Why not the tip?”

“Because the tip bends and you lose the line.” He demonstrated as he said it. “Again.”

Flynn’s blade came at her from the right. She brought her wrist up and across, the blades meeting with a short, hard ring, and his point swung wide of her shoulder.

They circled each other again, Juliet’s attention fully on the man in front of her. Flynn himself was just as engrossed.

“Impressive,” he said, and Juliet was tempted to look toward where she knew the duke was.

She didn’t know if he was watching yet, but at least she should have his attention now.

Flynn’s blade came forward without warning, and she barely deflected it; the contact rattled up to her wrist and brought her point across toward his shoulder.

“No.” He stepped back. “You are swinging. A riposte is not a swing. The deflection opens the line, and you must follow the line.” He demonstrated the angle in slow motion, his blade barely moving.

She looked at where his point ended, noticing that the angle was smaller than the one she had used.

“Again.” Flynn reset, watching her differently now, the mild amusement fully gone from his face. Now, he attacked from the left.

“Do not retreat…” he started to say, but she had already rotated her wrist and come back at him off the deflection before he’d finished the sentence.

He disengaged, stepping back before he caught himself, and circled. Juliet circled with him, blade steady between them, her weight on her back foot.

“You have done this before,” he said, his tone almost accusatory.

“A little.” Juliet smiled.

“More than a little.” He raised his foil, tilting his head to the side. “One more.”

He threw the beat attack: a sharp knock to drive her point offline. She absorbed the force, redirected it, stepped inside the lunge before his arm had fully extended, and placed her blade flat across his chest.

Flynn lowered his foil.

Adam had been thoroughly ready to be gracious about it.

He had imagined a polite attempt, two or three corrected forms, and a well-mannered admission that it was harder than it looked. He had been well prepared to say something kind and not draw attention to how inevitable it was.