Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
“I’ve done well, haven’t I?” she asked, when she executed everything with easy aplomb.
“Too well,” he said under his breath.
“What?”
“I said you’re doing very well. Yes, I’m quite proud of your progress.”
“Can we duel now?” she asked.
“Yes, darling. I wouldn’t leave out your favorite part.”
His stubborn crosspatch loved taking him on at sword point, even though he easily bested her without using his full strength. It was the form and exercise that mattered. They squared up, swords raised, and circled one another, until she decided to make the first thrust.
He blocked it, impressed by her quickness. “A good start. It’s always shrewd to use the element of surprise.”
A lock of hair had escaped her braid, blowing sideways in the breeze as she grinned at him. “Were you really surprised, Jack?”
“Yes,” he lied, then threw his own surprising thrust. She parried it, barely, and centered herself, balancing her body’s weight. He began another attack, one she knew well, and she met it with gusto, setting up an impressive defense.
“Good,” he said, urging her to greater movement with his sword. “Remember to move with your sword, just like you’re dancing together.”
“What is this?” A familiar voice came from across the clearing. “Oh dear. They’ve progressed to weapons, then.”
He and Ophelia paused in their mock battle and turned to see his friends Lord Marlow and Lord Augustine walking toward them.
“By God, they are swashbuckling,” said August with a laugh.
Marlow raised a fist. “Spear him in the stones, Lady Wescott. That’ll take him down right fast.”
“For God’s sake, have a care for my wife’s sensibilities,” Wescott scolded.
“That’s all right. I know what ‘stones’ are now,” she called to Marlow. “My husband taught me.”
Wescott looked heavenward, praying for patience. To their credit, his friends had given them a full month of privacy, but as soon as they showed up again, they brought their chaotic bachelor energy. They must have taken their horses straight on the back path to the stables, or he’d have heard them coming sooner, not that it would have helped.
“Proceed with your skirmish, then,” Marlow said. “Don’t mind us. We’ll watch quietly, and not root for either side.”
“Actually, I believe I’ll root for your wife.” August sketched Ophelia a courtly bow. “Because she looks smashing in her fencing gear, and I’ll enjoy seeing the high and mighty Lord Wescott defeated by her sword.”
“I was going to root for her too,” said Marlow, “but since we’ve been Wescott’s friends for so long, I didn’t plan to announce it out loud.”
“Why not?” August turned on him. “You announce everything else out loud, like telling Ophelia to stab Wes in the balls.”
Marlow snorted, outraged. “Don’t say balls in front of a lady, especially your best friend’s wife.”
“Here, give me that sword,” August said to Wescott, “and I’ll stab Marlow right where he needs it.”
“Both of you sit down.” Wescott pointed with the tip of his rapier. “Just sit there and shut your dam—” He stopped himself from cursing in front of Ophelia just in time. “Shut your loud mouths so we can concentrate. She’s a capable student, but your yammering will be too much.”
His friends sat on the dry autumn grass with an air of chastened insult, leaning back on their arms. When he turned to Ophelia, her cheeks were pink from stifled laughter.
“Do not encourage them,” he said. “Their behavior will only grow worse.”
“They are silly, aren’t they?” She held up her sword, brandishing the tip. “So, will you let me win so they’ll be pleased?”
“Of course I won’t. You must win fair and square, if you want a true victory.”
She lunged at him, and he lunged back, amused by her cheek. In truth, teaching her swordplay had gone a long way to settling the fears that plagued her, just as bringing her to Wales had satisfied her craving for adventure. As he was mentally congratulating himself for those victories, Ophelia nearly disarmed him.
“You must concentrate,” she said with a grin. “That’s what you always tell me.”
“You’re not concentrating right now,” he shot back. “You’re gloating.”
He tested her on all the attacks he’d taught her thus far, and she parried every time. Her posture was improving, and her footwork was better than his had been after years of practice at his club. She was so small and light, she could evade most thrusts she couldn’t parry. He heard his friends gasp as he went on the attack, but he knew his wife’s capabilities, and, of course, both their rapiers were blunted.
“I’m growing tired,” she said after his third attack. “I’m not sure I can go much longer.”
“Do you wish to surrender?” he asked.
“No, not yet.” She strained to defend herself but could barely turn off his next thrust.
He took a step back and decided to go easy on her, so she might save face before his friends. That was his mistake, for the scheming creature had only been playacting her exhaustion. She took advantage of his kindness by lunging for his chest. The dull tip landed upon his breastbone, a clear victory. A stabbing, indeed, if they’d been using real weapons, but there was no chance of that, since his wife couldn’t be trusted.