AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Also not his concern.
He reclaimed the foil and faced Juno. “En garde, Miss Bell!”
Gazes holding, they put up their swords. The blades crossed, slid down each other’s length with a shriek of metal on metal.
“Why the interest in swordplay?” Leo asked, cross-stepping around the small space. She mirrored his movements. “Are you turning pirate? Or have you a score to settle tomorrow at dawn?”
“I’m inspired to paint a scene with a sword fight.” She danced backward and swept her blade through the air, the spectators leaning away like a row of trees in a gale. “My tutor in Florence insisted that an artist should adopt the pose of the subject, to portray them from the inside out.” She came to a pause before Leo. “So St. Blaise sent for blades and offered his tutelage, and here we are. He says I have a natural talent for it.”
He lowered his foil, resting its tip on the rug. “You have many natural talents, but you seem to have confused fencing with dancing.”
“Surely the whole point of fencing is to give men an excuse to dance with each other.”
“It’s more about men trying to stab each other.”
“Then I shall just have to stab you,” she said, and extended the foil straight at him.
Chuckling, Leo spread his arms wide in invitation, ready to flick the blade out of her hand. “Try it. I’ll easily disarm you first.”
“Leo, you disarmed me years ago.”
The words startled him into stillness. Memory of another duel flashed, a decade ago, flowers and a kiss and—
Juno lunged. The blunt tip of her blade stopped a hair’s breadth from the gleaming green birds embroidered on his waistcoat. Then, with that strong and steady arm, she closed the gap, pressed the tip against his sternum as gently as a finger’s touch. The foil’s blade arched up between them like a rainbow.
Their eyes met. Her triumphant smile faltered, then reasserted itself rebelliously.
“I win!” she cried. “The duke is slain!”
* * *
The blades were soon packed awayand the furniture restored to its usual position. Juno trotted down the stairs with St. Blaise and her other callers, then returned to the parlor where Leo lingered.
He was still in his shirtsleeves, hands clasped behind his back as he studied her painting of Pandora.
She tangled her fingers together to keep from grabbing his elbow and yanking him away. He could not possibly know of the secret compartment in that frame, nor could he ever guess the nature of the papers hidden in that compartment. But she greatly misliked his attention on it all the same.
Although, if she were to grab his elbow, well, she’d get a fine handful of linen and … arm. It was her first-ever sighting of Leo without his coat. What a revelation, to at last see clearly the shape of his shoulders, the tapering of his ribs and waist, the leanness of his hips. And what a revelation to watch him wield the foil with such effortless grace and strength.
How she had longed to touch him, to experience the sensation of his warm skin and firm muscle under linen and silk. Perhaps that was why she had stabbed him with the foil, as a proxy for touch.
Be careful, she warned herself. It was unwise to get ideas about touching Leo, because if she were to act on such ideas, he would be appalled and then she’d never see him again.
“It’s lovely to see you again so soon,” she said.
“And yet you ruthlessly stabbed my waistcoat.”
“Oh, hush. ’Tis only your fifth-favorite waistcoat. Had it been your favorite, or even your second favorite, I might be moved to remorse.” She laughed, suddenly delighted. “Don’t feel too badly about it. I was training with that foil for a whole fifteen minutes. ’Tis no wonder I gained such mastery.”
“I shall take comfort in that as I lie in my grave.”
His gaze flickered away from her, then back again. Silence fell. It felt strange and new, this silence, as though barbed with unspoken words. He looked at her differently now, she thought, his expression searching yet wary. All during dinner the night before, she had noticed him stealing covert glances at her, and she was just vain enough to suspect he had been admiring her in her evening gown.
It was that mermaid drawing, she thought. Something had changed since he saw it yesterday. Perhaps the artwork’s passion made him see her anew.
“There is a matter I wish to discuss with you,” he said.
“Will you finally tell me your secrets?” she teased. “I do hope so. A man of your caliber must have the most opulent secrets.”
