“You know…I’m not quite so sure anymore.” He was leaning toward her. His lips were inches from her face.
This was not how she had imagined her first kiss. She could feel control slipping from her fingers. And if she lost her grip on it completely, she wasn’t exactly sure where her fingers wouldend up. His dark, silky locks. His rippling bicep covered in a mere thin layer of linen. His sharp jaw. There were so many places to explore. So many manly places she had denied herself. Even in her imagination. She was a spinster. She was going to open a fencing school for girls. She had plans. But right now, those plans were being threatened by parted, lush lips.
And more importantly, she was not impulsive. Especially when being impulsive meant jumping into something she wasn’t confident in. If she was going to do something in the spur of the moment, it would be something she knew she was good at. And, sadly, kissing wasn’t one of those skills. Having never done it. There was no way she was going to show that level of vulnerability to Wesley.
“I’m fine,” her voice struggled for clarity. But at least it had accomplished its objective. The leaning stilled.
She brushed his hand off of her neck and checked the cut.
“You’re still bleeding.”
“It’s just a scratch. I’m fine. Did you come here to fence or not? A moment more, and I’ll question your motives, sir.” What she meant was that she would question them a whole lot more than she already did.
She stood and marched over to the piste, holding her blade high. But it wasn’t the same as yesterday. Yesterday had been full of anticipation and eagerness. There was a thrill in the air. Today the thrill was replaced by a chill.
Whatever heat had been simmering between them as they sat on the floor together had grown cold.
And she knew she wasn’t alone in feeling tense. Truth be told, it was not a good state to be in when engaging in combat, even a friendly one.
The blades met, and from the first clang, she knew this way led to trouble. It was a harbinger of dread to heed.
She lunged, attacked low outside. He retreated with not quite panic, but something in that realm, on his face. His flustered state was his demise, for her quick advance had him retreating again. Attack. Parry. Riposte. And then an advance-lunge caused him to retreat again, but he tripped on his own foot, and with a yelp he fell to the ground in a heap. She saw how his ankle had turned when he fell, and it didn’t look good.
The bout was over. Perhaps more than that. No man wanted to be bested—nay, humiliated—in such a fashion by a woman. No man’s pride could take such a beating.
But she couldn’t ease up on him. She wasn’t the type to let someone else win when she was clearly the better athlete. At least in this sport. If he wanted to win, he would have to earn it. If he wanted to court her, he had to earn that, too. And hadn’t she conceded her sisters’ point that if she wanted to know him, she needed to reveal herself to him as well? What a terrible concession. Look what it had led to. A grown man on his arse at her hand. It was almost amusing except that it was vexing beyond belief.
He was the catalyst of some very aggravating changes in herself of late. She just wanted to know the truth. What was he about? But she was too irritated to push him today. She had probably pushed him to his limits already anyway.
“That’s three,” she stated. Not triumphantly. Not pitifully. Just as a fact. She put out her hand to help him up, knowing his ankle would be sore.
With a grunt, he pushed himself to standing and gingerly took a step. He winced. And then he cursed.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
He was fine. She was fine.
Everyone was fine.
*
Wesley did hisutmost to disguise the limp in his gait as he left Boudicca’s house. That had been such a disaster. His pride had never been struck from so many angles, with such rapidity. He was not the kind to lay down in defeat, yet he had literally lain at her feet. Defeated. Again.
It was all the more reason to continue fencing. He would most certainly learn something from her and her style of combat. Hopefully, it would give him enough of an edge to claim victory over Samuel in the upcoming tournament. Speaking of Samuel, the four of them had an engagement planned this afternoon.
Really, the last thing he wanted to do was meet his Betting Buddies for lunch now. But he did need to eat. And he was not one to renege on his commitments.
And they were not the kind to let things slide.
“What’s the limp all about?” James asked before Wesley could even sit down.
“Mind if I get a drink first, James?” He ordered a brandy and sat back in his seat, still under their scrutiny.
“Did you fall?” Chris asked.
“Yes.”
