Instinctively, Audrey adjusted her stance in preparation for a confrontation. Her estimation of Lord Marksman had proved correct. The gentleman was quite comfortable with a sword. Where she held hers before her in defense, his lordship stood casually, holding Caroline’s sword pointing towards the floor at his side.
“I am no lady, Lord Marksman,” she declared while claiming a spot in the room’s center to defend.
“I beg to differ,” he said with equal casualness to his stance.
“You shall learn that a true lady does not prefer a battle of swordsover a battle of wills,” she countered. As if they performed another previously choreographed form, he joined her in the room’s middle, where he bowed and she half curtseyed. “Shall we dance again, my lord?” Audrey asked with a nod of recognition of their situation.
Lord Marksman smiled easily, and she would admit, if only to herself, the smile made him handsomer than she recalled his being, assuredly nothing to compare to Lord Beaufort’s countenance, but more than passable, nevertheless. “I imagine you and I will often share the floor together, my dear, only minus the swords.” They were close enough for him to tap the end of her sword with the tip of his. “I await your first move, my lady.”
Audrey suspected he meant to taunt her with the repetition of the words “my lady.” Yet, he would soon discover she did not enjoy being teased. She quickly circled her sword over his and knocked his momentarily to the side, but he recovered faster than she had expected and prevented her blade from landing the first strike.
“Nicely done,” he said as he prepared to attack her. The moves he executed were ones she recognized as the type a fencing master might use against a novice, but Lord Marksman would soon learn she was no beginner.
They sidestepped, moving together in a circle of sorts, each keeping himself or herself at a distance from the other. Audrey was glad she had earlier donned the boys’ style drawstring trousers beneath her gown while she climbed on chairs and tables to clean the light sconces. It would be more ideal if she did not have a skirt over the drawers, but the dress was full enough and short enough for a certain freedom of movement. They periodically made maneuvers with their swords to test the other’s alertness.
After the fourth time, their swords struck harder than she expected, and Audrey realized she had moved too close. She could hear the sailors who had long ago taught her to use a sword say,“Ye’ve gots to keep a safe distance. Test yer opponent, gel, without puttin’ yerself in danger.”
The two swords caught the flickering light of the candle providing a brief moment of a silvery rainbow arching over them. She prayed that such was to indicate a good sign for her success.
Lord Marksman feinted to the left, attempting to elicit a response from her, but Audrey prided herself on being wise enough not to fall for those particular tactics. His lordship had learned from a proper master, whereas she had learned from the more adventurous and cutthroat sailors on the ship her uncle had captained in those early years of traveling the world with her Uncle Jacobi and Caroline. Her technique was not as polished as that of Lord Marksman, but it could be equally as lethal, if his lordship provided her the opportunity she sought.
They separated, slowly circling as before. Catching their breaths. Testing. Analyzing. “Formidable,” Lord Marksman remarked. “You are quite formidable. Whoever taught you, taught you well.”
“I could say the same of you, but I shall not,” she retorted.
Lord Marksman laughed. “I adore your spirit,my lady.”
Audrey paused briefly, looking at him, attempting to draw a bit of his measure, before resuming her stance. “Shall we begin again,my lord,or do you require more time to reclaim your breath?”
He grinned, and Audrey briefly returned to the idea of how exceedingly handsome he was when he smiled. With a nod of agreement, he again extended the arm holding his weapon. “As you wish, my dear.”
Once more, their rapiers clicked and tapped out a rhythm as both she and Lord Marksman executed a variety of moves, but none provided either him or her the advantage. With a maneuver she had learned at the hands of Thomas Riley, a man who had once served as her uncle’s closest ally, she managed to send his lordship staggering backwards—off balance—a whole pace and a half, but before she could claim the advantage, Lord Marksman pulled himself together, using his height and weight to overshadow any skill she possessed.
She managed to avoid his attempt to catch her arm and wrench away her sword, and they fell apart yet another time. His lordship’s expression had changed: Some admiration remained, but frustration dominated. Yet again, they circled—around and around—now more aware of each other’s defenses.
It was then she noticed it. A trickle of blood marked his cuff. “You are injured, my lord,” she declared, not in triumph, but rather in concern.
He glanced to the nick marring his broken skin. “It is nothing. It is not important if I do not win your trust.”
Her eyes remained on the cut as the first drop of blood hit the floor. “Tell me why,” she demanded. Audrey had never actually injured another, even by accident. She could not seem to pull her eyes away from where his blood dripped from his body. “Tell me why,” she repeated, but this time she spoke in a whisper.
Lord Marksman lowered his sword. “Promise me, you will not prevent me from sharing the full story.”
She took several steps back. “I promise.”
Beaufort had, quiteliterally, spent the day at the Lyon’s Den. After a meeting at the Home Office, he had told Duncan, “If I am required for an important vote in the Lords this evening, send someone for me. Otherwise, I will be poring over the stacks of banknotes set aside as being suspicious by Miss Li-Na at the Lyon’s Den or taking my turn at watching Amgen House.”
“Should I send someone to assist you?” Duncan asked in tones of concern. “You appear quite exhausted.”
“Not sleeping well of late,” Navan admitted. “Two hours here.Three hours there.”
“Hartley can take a turn or two at the watch house,” Duncan assured. “Hell, so can I, especially as we are only watching a single woman who has been ordered not to leave the house.”
Navan would not wish to miss those few precious hours he had spent each night with Miss Moreau. Those hours had been the only time in longer than he cared to consider that he knew hope to be a reality. After all, even a man of his nature, one who looked forever at the negative side of every issue, had to know happiness in life if one in Miss Moreau’s situation wished the world a sprinkle of magical fairy dust.
“I am well. I had nearly five hours of sleep last evening. The house on Amgen Street is quiet with Honfleur’s absence.”
Three quarters of an hour later found him entering the back of the Lyon’s Den through what was known as the musicians’ entrance. Casually, he made his way across the gaming room. There were only a few patrons in the hall at this time of day, and he simply observed how those working the tables were handling the cash passing through their fingers. This was the third time he had been asked to observe and refresh his lessons on how to spot a forged note.
