It Takes a Spy...: A Secrets and Seduction book (20 page)

Her fingers tightened on the wire rim of the face mask, feeling it dig into her flesh. If a challenge was what Wentworth desired, then she’d leave him feeling satisfied tonight.

“Don’t be so cocky.” Huntley glanced at her, but she avoided his gaze. “I watched him earlier. He’s very good. He fences like someone twice his age.”

His praise caught her off guard, and a rush of pride suffused her. He’d noticed her? She’d been aware of the man all night, assessing his abilities. How was it she’d missed noticing that he’d been doing the same?

“He’s only a child.” Wentworth spun on his heel and turned back to Catherine. His eyes glittered in anticipation as he donned his face mask.

They saluted, as was tradition, and then Wentworth made a tentative advance, toying with her, and Catherine easily parried the move. He lunged, slapping his foot hard against the boards with a bang, but Catherine danced backward, out of reach.

Wentworth tested her as he continued to search for any weakness in her defenses, but she remained guarded. When he intentionally left himself open to attack, she knew better than to fall for such a blatant ruse. Instead, she blithely slapped his foil aside and grinned. He frowned, obviously irritated that she’d recognized the trap. They continued in this manner for a while, testing one another, but without scoring any points.

Two by two, the other fencers finished their mock duels and began to gather around Catherine and Wentworth until finally, they were the only pair still sparring.

Catherine caught sight of Huntley from the corner of her eye. The man’s head was cocked to one side as he studied them. When she struck the first point directly in the center of Wentworth’s chest, Huntley joined the others in applauding.

The moment he was hit, Wentworth jerked his head back in surprise and then glared at her. He let out a huff of frustration but didn’t waver in his attack. Instead, he immediately dropped into the “
en garde”
stance to continue the match.

Catherine saw a brief frisson of tension spark through Wentworth’s body. Years of fencing had taught her to recognize an opponent’s mood change, and she recognized the shift in Wentworth’s temper through the small, subtle changes in his body.

“Mind yourself, Wentworth, he’s just a boy,” Huntley called out.

Catherine’s eyes narrowed as she focused on Wentworth, shutting out everything else in the room. Rather than calming him, Huntley’s comments seemed to throw fuel on Wentworth’s already smoldering temper.

“It’s time I taught this boy a
lesson
.” Wentworth lunged at Catherine in what he probably hoped was a surprise attack. His anger, however, made him careless, and she easily parried his thrust.

The metal of their foils sang as she slid hers up along his, easily scoring another point as she pushed his foil aside and thrust the tip of hers against his right shoulder. She allowed the length of the foil to arch as she pressed the tip against his doublet, offering visible proof of her hit.

While standing frozen in her stance, she watched a deep flush suffuse Wentworth’s face. It was obvious even through his mask. As she stepped back, he clenched his left hand into a fist.

Anger made a person more dangerous and unpredictable, as well as more careless, and that combination in a fencer could be deadly. Judging by the startled faces of their audience, they too had noted Wentworth’s growing rage. Catherine scraped her teeth against her bottom lip, tasting a hint of saltiness.

What would Wentworth do next?

Fortunately, the maestro was also focused on the duel. As the soaring tension between Catherine and Wentworth became palpable, Bernini stepped between them and raised his hands, putting an end to the match.

“Two points,” Bernini announced. “And we are done.” He grabbed Catherine by her free hand and Wentworth by the one holding his foil and raised them above his head. “That was excellent, gentlemen. I know we usually go to three points,” he said, addressing the assemblage, “but I’m sorry to say, we have to cut this short.” He dropped their hands as he paused and offered a salacious grin. “I have a most important engagement this evening and I must ask everyone to leave promptly.” The twinkle in his eye left no one wondering about the type of engagement. Bernini was renowned for his insatiable appetite for women. “Wentworth, Gray… that was excellent. I look forward to hosting your rematch.”

Wentworth gave Bernini a terse nod and backed away without even glancing at her.

At the sudden absence of tension, Catherine nearly sagged with relief. Since Wentworth was new to the academy, she didn’t know him well enough to guess how he might have handled his anger.

“Before everyone leaves, I have an announcement to make.” Bernini paused and glanced around the room, making sure he had everyone’s attention. “The first annual Bernini’s Fencing Tournament will be held on the second Saturday in March. The winner will be awarded a moderate purse and have his name engraved on a traveling trophy.” He smiled as a spark of interest flashed through the room. “The winner will have his name engraved on a plaque and will be permitted to keep it until he is beaten a subsequent tournament. Anyone interested in registering can speak with Mr. Winston and provide him with your entry fee.”

The room began buzzing with conversation and Bernini quickly disappeared from view as members of the academy surrounded him, besieging him with questions. She wanted to speak with him, too, but it was obvious she wouldn’t be able to get close to him. She’d just end up looking like a small dog trying to force its way into a pack of wolves.

Wentworth gripped his fencing mask and yanked it from his head. He locked gazes with Catherine for a moment, glaring at her, and then lifted his chin and closed his eyes. A moment later, his shoulders visibly relaxed as if his anger simply ebbed away. When he opened his eyes again, they appeared cool. He gave Catherine a quick nod of acknowledgment and then spun on his heel and strode toward the door at the end of the large fencing salon. He tossed his foil and mask to a servant just before he passed through the door, apparently leaving the other fencers, and the incident, behind him.

That was quite the trick. Had his temper really abated just as quickly as it had spiked?

She peered at Huntley to gauge his reaction. He appeared relieved as he watched Wentworth stride from the room. And then his gaze turned toward her, almost as though he’d sensed her looking at him. He was halfway across the room, walking straight toward her, before she even realized he’d moved.

Did he mean to speak with her? Apparently so. She slid her mask under the crook of her arm.

“My compliments to you, Gray.” Huntley’s voice held a very faint, but pleasant, Scottish lilt. “You bested my friend on his first night at Bernini’s. He’d planned to show off his finely honed skills, but instead he found himself beaten by a young pup barely out of clouts.” Huntley smiled more broadly as he handed his equipment to a waiting servant. When he glanced back at her, his gaze lingered on the scar on her cheek.

Clouts? Catherine didn’t know whether or not to take insult with his reference to diapering a baby. “I hope your friend will forgive the affront since none was intended. Lady Luck was with me tonight. Lord Wentworth is an excellent fencer. I look forward to our next match.” She scratched her nose as she glanced at the empty doorway through which Wentworth had exited. How much of a problem would the man would prove to be?

“You seem mature for a boy of your years,” Huntley said, drawing her gaze back to him. The man’s cool blue eyes seemed to focus on her with an uncomfortable intensity. She suddenly felt as exposed as a mouse spied by a hawk. “What are you, twelve… fourteen years old?” He narrowed his eyes, measuring every inch of her.

The question put her on her guard. Perhaps his last comment about clouts
had
been meant to rattle her. She cocked one eyebrow and shot back at him, “And you, sir, how old are you?”

Bernini, walking past, must have overheard at least part of their exchange, because he paused and said, “Lord Huntley, please allow me to introduce our star pupil, young Alexander Gray. Master Gray, you have the honor of meeting the Marquess of Huntley.”

Catherine didn’t snort. Barely. She wasn’t surprised to learn of the man’s exalted rank in the peerage. Huntley exuded an aura of superiority. Perhaps it would be wise to show him the expected amount of respect, despite his rudeness. “Lord Huntley, you do me great honor,” she said with a graceful bow. She raised her head and met his gaze with serenity. “How long will we have the pleasure of your company in London? I look forward to many more matches with your friend.”

“I plan to stay here for the season. Both Lord Wentworth and I have a number of interests in town, and I have a project that will require much of my time.”

“Yes.” Catherine nodded. “I believe I heard something about your ‘project.’ You’re in search of a bride, am I correct?” Asking the question felt very much like poking a hornet’s nest with a stick.

Huntley cocked a brow at her. “You are remarkably well-informed for your age.” He narrowed his eyes. “I plan to be back here at the academy next week. Will I see you then?”

She glanced away. “I try to come often, but I don’t have a set schedule.”

“Yes, yes,” Bernini interjected. “The boy would improve much more rapidly if I could get him here on a more frequent basis.” He said this with a small frown. It was an ongoing point of contention between them. “I don’t know how he expects to do well in the tournament in two months’ time if he doesn’t work harder.”

That stung, especially since he’d already said she had a good chance of winning. Had his opinion changed that quickly? “I haven’t decided if I’ll take part yet,” she said.

Bernini shot her a sharp glance, and then grinned. “Playing coy? I know you,
ragazzo
. You’ll never be able to resist the challenge.”

Huntley’s eyes flickered toward the door, and Catherine followed his gaze to find Wentworth standing there, glowering at them. He already wore his cloak and was obviously impatient to leave.

Huntley gave Wentworth a nod and then turned back to them. “Maestro Bernini, Mr. Gray,” he said, glancing back and forth between them, “I bid you both a good evening. I look forward to our paths crossing again.” He took a step toward the door but then paused and turned back to Catherine. In a low voice he said, “I hope Wentworth’s temper didn’t offend you. He’s both quick to anger and quick to forgive. He might indulge in a bit of posturing, but he’s an honorable man. I’ve never had a truer friend.” With a brief nod, Lord Huntley left and joined his companion.

She watched him for a moment and then frowned as she tried to parse his message. Was he trying to reassure her? Or perhaps to underscore his friendship with the other man? Perhaps he simply wanted to cast his friend in a better light.

With a shrug, Catherine gathered her things together and met her brother near the main doors. “I didn’t get the opportunity to see your match with Lord Huntley,” she said. “How did you do?”

He grimaced. “Badly.” She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand, preempting her. “Don’t ask.” Turning his back, he hurried into the foyer.

Catherine caught up to him. “Wait,” she said, grabbing his forearm and pulling him to one side. “What do you think about the tournament? Should we enter?”

He twitched one shoulder. “Why? I don’t have a chance, and even if you manage to win, what would you do with the trophy? Hide it in the stables?”

She jutted out her chin. “Maybe. But first I’d have to win it. Where to put a trophy is the least of my concerns.”

He shrugged. “Enter. I’ll help you get here. It’ll probably be during the day, so I can help you slip away from the house.”

She squeezed his solid forearm by way of a thank you and then crossed the foyer to Mr. Winston’s tall desk. It didn’t take long to fill out the entry form and provide him with the fee.

It was a cold night, and Catherine tossed her black cloak over her shoulders. As she stepped onto the front steps, her breath trailed a puff of white smoke in her wake. She immediately spotted Huntley in the flickering gaslight. Even here, in the near darkness, the man commanded her attention.

Huntley and his friend climbed into a carriage, chatting amicably. When Wentworth spied her on the steps, he shot her a cold look.

She lifted her chin at this and stared back at him. She’d beaten him, and publicly, too. He clearly resented it. She kept her gaze locked on Wentworth’s eyes until the movement of his carriage carried him out of sight. She’d show him and all the others not to underestimate her.

She’d win that tournament.

§

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Gambling on a Scoundrel: Excerpt

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Gambling on a Scoundrel

Available now

Lonely railroad heiress Tempy Bliss is a budding journalist, and she is elated that Charles Dickens wants her to write an article about gambling for his newspaper. But when casino owner Lucien Hamlin bans Tempy from his gambling palace once he learns of her profession, she begins to suspect a much bigger story is at hand. Lucien’s secretive behavior goads Tempy into uncovering the real story.