of the match had transformed Mrs Blackwell from a colourless mouse into a vibrant creature.
He missed a step and barely recovered before he was forced to retreat backwards. He glanced over his shoulder as the table dug into his thighs. But he used it to propel himself forward and forced her on to the back foot. This time it was her sword which missed.
‘You appear to be losing. Do you wish to ask for quarter?’ he asked.
‘Never!’
Ben stared at Mrs Blackwell. A series of ringlets had formed about her forehead, making her appear far more womanly than he’d first considered. She might have the advantage now, but he would regain it. It was a matter of concentrating on the sword rather than on her parted lips or her grey eyes. No more distractions.
‘As you wish … I believe the time has come to end our bout.’
‘I couldn’t agree more.’
She lunged forward, twisting the sword and performing a perfect moulinet.
Ben moved his arm to block it a heartbeat too late. His grip shifted. He clung on—barely.
With a twist of her sword and the faintest hint of a smile she completed the move.
His sword arched out of his hand, landing embedded in her hideous coal scuttle of a bonnet.
Chapter Two
Ben stared at the sword where it lay. Disbelief swiftly followed by horror coursed through him. He went over the moves in his mind. It should have been impossible, but the evidence stared at him, quivering in the black bonnet. Mrs Blackwell had not boasted. He’d lost his sword.
He glanced at her, ready for tears or possibly hysterics at the loss of a bonnet. A small infectious bubble of laughter escaped from her covered mouth, swiftly followed by another larger one.
To Ben’s surprise, a laugh loud and long exploded from him in response to the joyous sound of Mrs Blackwell’s mirth. The sound made him pause. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spontaneously laughed with a woman. Probably before Alice died. He hadn’t laughed much since then, and certainly not this all-consuming belly laugh.
‘Oh, dear.’ She dabbed her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘It couldn’t have happened to a nicer bonnet. You should have seen your expression when the sword flew out of your hand. Priceless.’
He sobered immediately. He’d misjudged her and over-estimated his own skill. He pulled his sword out of the now ruined bonnet. ‘I owe you a bonnet and an apology. I was insufferably rude and pompous. It was uncalled for.’
She shook her head. ‘The bonnet was far from my favourite, but it seemed appropriate to wear it. You owe me nothing and I thank you for the apology.’
‘Appropriate to wear?’ Ben eyed the hat. Rather funereal. The back of his neck prickled. What did Mrs Blackwell want to see Viv about?
‘One must look proper when one makes an important business call.’
Ben regarded her upturned face, flushed from their exertions. Her eyes sparkled and her lips shone the colour of port. Mrs Blackwell was far more attractive than he’d first considered. He should send her away right now. It was the correct thing to do. But she intrigued him. He wanted to learn her secret. Why was Mrs Blackwell desperate, and why was Viv the only person who could help her?
‘Viv remains, alas, unavailable. Can I assist you with this mysterious matter?’
Eleanor gulped. Lord Whittonstall’s words pounded through her brain—can I assist you? She wasn’t even going to think about confessing her predicament to Lord Whittonstall. Or asking for his help. She had nothing to offer him.
‘It must be Sir Vivian,’ Eleanor said, her stomach clenching. She hated the way she felt as if an opportunity had slipped past. ‘It has to be him and no other.’
‘You are doomed to disappointment.’
‘I doubt that.’
‘Then we must agree to disagree.’
Eleanor bit her lip. She had said the wrong thing—reminding him about the meeting, about why she was here. That moment of camaraderie and laughter they had shared vanished. And she wanted it back. She had to find a way before he manoeuvred her out through the door and her chance to ask Sir Vivian slipped away for good.
‘Shall we fight again?’ she asked as brightly as she could. ‘Best out of three? Give you a chance to prove that it was luck on my part?’
‘I know when to admit my mistakes.’ He raised his rapier in a gesture of respect.
She returned the gesture, ending the bout. She searched her mind for another excuse to stay, but she seemed fresh out of ideas.
‘I must congratulate you, Mrs Blackwell. You are a worthy opponent. And your swords are far more than mere decoration for the well-dressed gentleman.’
He took a step closer to her. Her sword would have dropped to the ground if he had not taken it from her slack grasp. He placed it beside his.
‘We won’t need these.’
‘Yes. I believe I have proved my point.’ Her voice sounded husky to her ears.
He stood a few inches taller than she was, but not too tall. His eyes were not coal-black, as she’d originally supposed, but full of a thousand different colours from the deepest black to light grey and every colour in between.
Her heart pounded in her ears and she knew she was far too breathless, far too aware of him as a man rather than as an opponent.
‘You are a far better swordswoman than I considered possible.’ His voice held a new rich note that flowed over her, warming her to the tips of her toes.
‘Fancy that. You admitting defeat so easily.’ She attempted a little laugh but it came out far too high. She winced and studied the folds of his cravat. Intently.
‘I never hesitate to admit my mistakes. It is part of my charm.’
Charm? He was trying to flirt with her after she’d bested him? Eleanor struggled to get her breathing under control.
‘Is it?’ she whispered through aching lips.
This had been all about proving that Lord Whittonstall had underestimated her rather than a prelude to flirtation. But right now all she could think about was him and the way his lips moved. All she had to do was move forward a pace and she’d be in his arms.
She lifted her eyes.
Their gaze locked. He lifted a hand and touched her forearm.
Somewhere a door banged, bringing her back to reality.
Eleanor jumped backwards. Shocked. She had nearly stepped straight into Lord Whittonstall’s arms and destroyed everything she held dear.
Her proposal to Sir Vivian needed to happen. It was her best chance of securing Moles’
