A Thoroughly Compromised Lady. Bronwyn Scott
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than usual.’
‘I went to Southwark and all was fine. Although I will admit that it was a section that was more run down than the usual areas I frequent. The artefacts are splendid. Their arrival is quite timely with the Venezuelan delegation in town. I am looking forward to showing them to Señor Ortiz. He may know something more about them than what I can find in the libraries. I want to write an article for the Royal Geographic Society about them.’
No! All of Jack’s instincts rebelled at the notion of Dulci showing Ortiz. But he could not overtly steer her away from the man without raising suspicions or looking like a jealous suitor. Neither was an appealing prospect. Well, he’d just have to get there first.
‘I’d like to see your collection. I can serve in Ortiz’s place. Perhaps I’ll recognise some of the items and be able to shed some further light on them. I have an inspiration—let’s take a night off from all this social whirl. I’ll call tomorrow evening after dinner. We can fence and I’ll tell you if your instructor is any good. Afterwards, we can go over the collection.’
It was an audacious request. A gentleman never called on a lady at such a time and Jack was inviting himself. If it had been anyone else, his intentions would be clear. But Dulci was also a family friend. He was trading on that connection quite liberally with the request.
‘Do you think you can best me, Jack?’ Dulci’s eyes twinkled with challenge at the mention of fencing. ‘You might be in for another surprise.’
Chapter Five
The enormous chandelier lit up the Stockport House ballroom. Dulci cut the air with an experimental slice of her rapier, upsetting the lazy waltz of the dust motes in the streams of light. Satisfied with the balance of her weapon, she slid a button over the point and tossed another button to Jack. ‘Too bad we can’t put a button on the sharp edge of your wit. Everyone was talking last night about how you fairly skewered Señor Ortiz the night before with your linguistic prowess.’
Jack slid the button over the rapier point. ‘Are you defending him, Dulci?’
‘Only because you were acting like a dog in the manger.’ Dulci took another practice slash.
‘I disagree.’ Jack executed a lunge against an unseen opponent. ‘I was clever and he’d been ogling your bosom far too long to be appropriate.’
Dulci made an arcing slash. ‘Is there an appropriate amount of time for that? Perhaps some kind of hidden gentleman’s rule?’
‘About bosom ogling?’ Jack lunged, stretching his leg muscles, thinking for a moment before responding. ‘Yes, no more than two seconds and then one’s eyes must revert back to the lady’s face and not stray again. That way, she’ll wonder if you ever looked in the first place. Of course, if one’s partner is especially well endowed in that region and one is very skilled, one can sneak a few more glances by adopting a contemplative look during conversation and drop one’s eyes without a move of the head. But I wouldn’t recommend it for everyone, it takes a lot of practice to perfect.’
‘That’s perfectly appalling,’ Dulci scoffed. ‘You don’t have a rule, you have a whole treatise!’
‘Makes one wonder what other hidden rules govern the lives of gentlemen, doesn’t it?’ A wicked gleam lit Jack’s eyes. He raised his rapier in a fencer’s salute. ‘En garde, my dear.’
En garde indeed! How was she supposed to concentrate after that? They fell into first position. Jack thrust forwards and Dulci parried with expert ease out of reflex, struggling to drag her thoughts back from the conversation.
Jack made a daring lunge and caught her rapier arm out of position. Dulci tried to recover, but was not fast enough to deflect the strike.
‘Touché. Round one to me.’ He winked. ‘You weren’t concentrating. Perhaps it was my exquisite physique that distracted you.’
Dulci flashed Jack a withering look and determinedly took up her position. ‘I’m just not used to seeing you in such light colours.’ In truth Dulci did find it something of a novelty to see Jack in a plain white shirt and tan breeches. Such clothing didn’t hide anything and her imagination was embellishing heavily, firing her already active imagination to indecent levels. She’d end up skewered by her own blade if she wasn’t careful.
He looked almost normal, standing in her ballroom wearing regular clothing. Except for the fact that there was nothing ordinary about Jack regardless of what he wore. It didn’t matter if he was the diamond-buttoned fop or the sombre gentleman, Jack drew people to him by the sheer force of his personality, a unique blend of the light and sharp witted, underneath which lurked a dangerous intelligence that men respected and women yearned to possess.
She was no different in that regard. Dulci wished she could unlock the secrets of his mind. But Jack was a guarded man, a puzzle she had yet to solve, which probably explained why he was standing in her ballroom fencing with her, when she was supposed to be mad at him.
‘Are you going to engage any time soon?’ Jack drawled, scolding her for wool gathering.
‘I was wondering why is it that you’re here when I’m supposed to be upset with you.’ Dulci took the offensive and pressed him hard with a series of attacks.
‘Do you have an answer?’ Jack asked with a sharp riposte that bought him back some ground.
‘None that I like.’ Dulci flicked her wrist and delivered a complicated stroke that nearly disarmed him. She grimaced in disappointment. That move always worked on other opponents. Jack must have wrists of steel to successfully deflect it.
Jack groaned. ‘That’s hardly a resounding endorsement.’
A smile twitched at her mouth. Dulci felt a laugh coming on that would surely disable her. ‘Don’t make me laugh, Jack. You’re not fighting fair.’
Jack grinned deviously and Dulci knew she had to hurry if she meant to win before she burst into laughter and dropped her guard. Dulci feinted, parried two more quick strokes, then suddenly changed hands. Her left wasn’t her strongest arm, but she was counting on the surprise giving her a few seconds’ advantage.
This time her tactic worked. Dulci claimed the round four strokes later.
‘Nicely done,’ Jack commented, graciously ceding the round. ‘I underestimated you. I didn’t know you’d developed your left arm.’
Dulci ran a towel along the length of blade, wiping it clean out of habit rather than need. ‘Turnabout’s fair play. I underestimated you in the first round. No one has successfully deflected the move I used towards the end.’ Dulci paused, the easy conversation catching her off balance. It was a moment between equals. Eyes met and held. Jack was on the move, crossing the small distance between them.
‘You could do better with it. Let me show you a stronger way to deliver that blow.’ Without waiting for permission, Jack slid behind her, his hand covering hers on the hilt of her rapier, his other arm about her waist, drawing her against him as he directed her into position.
The nearness of their bodies swamped Dulci with an acute sense of intimacy. She was so close to Jack she could actually smell him right down to identifying the brand of gentleman’s soap he’d used for his toilette: an almond scent sold at an exclusive store on Bond Street.
She could identify other things, too: the fact he was five inches taller than she; that she could use the hollow of his shoulder to rest her head and in turn he could use the top of her head to rest his chin; the surprising strength of his arm. Beneath his clothing, Jack possessed a remarkably fit body, built to a fencer’s perfection: lean and trim, deceptively muscular, with narrow hips and long legs. An ideal build for stealth and speed, two useful tools an épéeist relied on regularly.
Dulci’s face heated at the direction of her thoughts. She was thankful Jack was behind her. She didn’t want Jack thinking she could be had too easily like his strawberry actress. Besides, this was all meant