He parried and lunged, moving back and forth across the forest clearing, then pressed forward, driving Somerton back with a lightning-fast series of blows. When the other man stumbled over a tree root, he lifted his blade and stepped back, panting.
Somerton regained his balance and acknowledged the defeat with a wry smile.
“You’re certainly back to fighting fitness, Cashell,” he laughed, breathing heavily. “Do you want to go again?”
James’s lazy smile made Kitty’s stomach flip.
“No, that’s enough for today. But thank you. I needed that.”
He stalked to the edge of the clearing and her eyes widened as he caught the back of his shirt and stripped it off in one smooth movement. Dappled sunlight revealed a broad expanse of tanned back, and arms corded with muscle.
Her mouth went dry.
Turning partly towards her, he used the discarded shirt to wipe his face and the front of his chest—which drew her gaze down, over a set of perfectly defined pectorals and an abdomen rippled with intriguing ridges and furrows, like the patterns left in the sand at low tide.
Kitty couldn’t seem to draw air into her lungs. He was lean and taut, sleek and dangerous. He certainly didn’t look like a man who’d been confined to his sick bed only a month ago.
But then he turned to the side, and she sucked in a breath as the full scale of his injuries was revealed. A wicked-looking scar stretched from his ribs almost to his hip bone. It had clearly been stitched—the ragged edges had healed pale pink against the darker tan of the rest of his skin.
She grimaced in sympathy.
Dear God, that must have hurt.
He pulled a fresh linen shirt over his head, bringing her shameful ogling to an end, and she let out a silent sigh of disappointment. She’d always known James was well-built, but nothing could have prepared her for the sheer masculine beauty of the man.
Life was so unfair. Why couldn’t she have fallen in love with someone who returned the sentiment?
Unfortunately, it had happened so gradually she hadn’t realized she was falling in love with him until it was too late. What had started as childish hero-worship for her older brother’s friend had deepened into a far stronger regard without either her knowledge or her permission, and by the time she’d turned seventeen she’d been dismally certain it was love.
Unrequited love, at that.
Ugh. The worst.
James had never given her any indication that he returned her feelings. He’d treated her with the same slightly sardonic, amused disdain as ever. While she’d held her breath when he asked her to dance, and almost swooned at the sensation of being in his arms, he’d never shown any hint that he saw her as anything other than his best friend’s annoying little sister; someone to protect, humor, and tease at every opportunity.
She’d hoped it was a temporary infatuation. An adolescent pining for a handsome, charming acquaintance. She told herself she’d find someone equally dashing to love, and look back on her embarrassing fascination and laugh.
It hadn’t done a bit of good. Her stubborn heart had remained fixed on James, and none of the other men she tried so desperately to fall in love with had measured up.
As a Viscount, and possessed of darkly handsome good looks, he’d never been at a loss for female company. His name had been associated with some of the most beautiful—and eligible—ladies in London, and Kitty’s heart had shriveled in her chest each time she’d watched him smile at another. The gossips were forever hinting that he might be about to ask some fortunate girl to be his Viscountess, but he’d defied the expectations of matchmaking mamas for years.
Kitty just wished he’d hurry up and choose someone and have done with it. Every season he remained unwed was yet another season she’d have to stamp down the ridiculous flicker of hope that he might finally see her as a desirable, marriageable woman.
She was twenty-one now; well on the way to becoming an old maid. It was high time she accepted the truth: whoever James chose to marry, it wouldn’t be her.
The sound of the two men conversing jolted her back from her daydreaming.
She had to escape before they detected her presence.
She started to crawl backwards, but to her horror she heard the crunch of footsteps approaching her hiding spot. In sudden panic, she dropped flat onto her stomach and pressed down into the grass and wildflowers.
Over her rapid breathing, she thought she heard the faintest echo of feminine laughter again—as if someone were amused by her predicament. A playful breeze rippled through the undergrowth, ruffling her hair, and swaying the dandelion that bobbed perilously close to her face.
Kitty watched in horror as the tiny white puffs holding the seeds broke free and floated toward her. One landed on her nose.
A terrible desire to sneeze seized her. She wiggled her nose, tried to blow them away, but the tickle persisted.
“Atchoo!”
