Bronwyn Scott - Rebellious Rakes

‘Are you ready for your lesson?’ Julian queried coolly. The question was designed to remind everyone just who was the instructor and who was the pupil. ‘Although it looks as if someone already gave you one.’

‘And yourself?’ Haviland enquired politely. ‘Did someone give you a lesson, too?’ There were a few nervous snickers from those who’d gathered around to watch. Julian’s talent might have won him respect from the members, but his cutting wit hadn’t won him many friends. Left with no response, Julian narrowed his eyes to a glare.

In the private salon, Julian set to the lesson with brisk efficiency. ‘Today, we will study the methods of the Spanish school.’ He began pacing the floor with an occasional flourish of his rapier. ‘We have a few Spaniards coming to the tournament and no doubt they will be eager to show that their methods are superior. If at all possible, you must have some ability to anticipate their moves. If you have done your reading, you will know that Carranza’s La Destreza system has been the leading influence on Spanish swordplay for nearly three hundred years.’ This was said as a challenge, as if to expose an intellectual weakness.

Haviland decided to go on the offensive. He picked up his foil and joined Julian’s circling so that now they circled each other. ‘The primary difference between the Spanish and Italian schools is that the Spanish focus on defence whereas the Italian school focuses on attacks,’ Haviland answered. He’d done his homework. One of the many aspects he liked about the salon was the clubroom, an elegant gentleman’s gathering place where fencers could meet for a drink or take advantage of the excellent library lining the walls. The library contained nearly every known treatise on fencing from all the major schools in Europe and even a few texts on the katana from Japan.

‘Very good.’ Julian gave him a begrudging nod. He stepped back and went to the weapons cupboard, unlocking it with a key and pulling out two rapiers. He handed one to Haviland. ‘Then you will also know these are Spanish rapiers. You are not required to compete with one, but you should know what kind of weapon your opponent is using, how it manoeuvres, how it feels in his hand.’

Haviland took the blade, noting the difference in design. The Spanish rapier had a cup hilt that covered the hand. He tested it, giving a few experimental thrusts. It was lighter and shorter. It would definitely have an advantage in a longer bout where arm stamina might become an issue, but it would also be at a disadvantage against the reach of a longer French blade.

They worked throughout the lesson on the Spanish defences until Haviland was sweat-soaked. Whatever he thought of Julian Anjou, the man knew his fencing. ‘Will I see Leodegrance on Thursday?’ Haviland asked casually as they put their blades away.

‘I do not know. He has not told me if he has time.’ Julian did not look at him. It was impossible to know if he was lying. ‘He is very busy organising the tournament. There is much to be done.’ He gave a shrug. ‘There is plenty you and I can work on in the meanwhile.’ Julian gave him a hard look. ‘Jusque à demain.’

‘No,’ Haviland said with quiet fierceness. ‘We are going to talk about her. We are not going to pretend Leodegrance is too busy to meet with me because of the tournament and we are not going to pretend you didn’t ambush me in the park yesterday because I was kissing her.’

Julian’s face was a study of subdued anger. ‘You misunderstand the situation. We are not talking about her because doing so would validate the absurd idea that you have any claim on her.’

‘And you do?’ Haviland took an unconscious step towards Anjou, his body tensing, fists clenching.

‘I have been with the family for years. I will be with them long after you’ve left,’ Julian said tersely. ‘If you would exit the room, monsieur le vicomte ? I have another lesson.’

The situation was deuced odd. Haviland took a chair in the clubroom close to the bookshelves, nodding for the waiter to bring him a drink. It wasn’t that he wanted to fight Leodegrance in a duel, but it did appear strange that there’d been no outrage on the man’s part. If he had a sister, he’d have been furious. The family would have required marriage. Yet Leodegrance was acting as if nothing happened. Had Julian told him?

Ah. Haviland took a swallow of the red wine. It was starting to make sense. Julian hadn’t reported the incident for exactly that reason. Seeing Alyssandra married to an Englishman wasn’t what Julian wanted. He wanted Alyssandra for himself. That’s why there hadn’t been any repercussions. Antoine Leodegrance didn’t know.

‘ Monsieur , a message.’ The waiter extended a salver towards him bearing a single folded sheet of heavy white paper.

Haviland took it and thanked him, waiting until the man left before he read it. A little smile played along his mouth, he could feel his lips twitching with it. He was to meet Alyssandra at Madame LaTour’s salon that evening. It was further confirmation Julian hadn’t told Leodegrance. She’d never be allowed out of the house otherwise. A silver lining indeed, although not without an edge of madness to it. Alyssandra Leodegrance had proven to be dangerous to his health. Surely, there were far easier seductions to be had.

* * *

She must be mad to seek him out so boldly. Alyssandra wove a path through the guests crowded into Madam LaTour’s Egyptian-themed drawing room, discreetly searching the room for any sign of him. Dancing had started and the sidelines were a crush of people as room was made for the dancers. It was early yet, far too soon to conclude he hadn’t come. Although, such a conclusion was within the scope of possibility. Why should he come? The last time she’d invited him to come with her, he’d ended up with a bruised jaw and publicly brawling. She doubted the handsome, mannerly Viscount Amersham had ever resorted to public brawling. He’d known how to bloody his knuckles, though. So many gentlemen were useless outside the salle d’armes . But he’d known how to use all that muscle in practical application. He could defend a woman. Not that she needed defending. Still, it was nice to know he could. And, more importantly, that he would . A woman would be safe with him in all ways. Perhaps that was why she’d risked the invitation. She would be safe with him, body and honour both.

Alyssandra slipped outside onto the veranda at the first opportunity. The fresh air was welcome after the heat of the drawing room. It was a chance, too, to escape the gossips. Julian might not tell Antoine about the park, but that didn’t ensure the gossip tonight wouldn’t reach Antoine’s ears if someone saw her with the Englishman. It stood to reason that if she was with him, Antoine must condone him as an escort. Anyone who knew them well knew Antoine to be a socially reclusive but protective brother when it came to her welfare.

Alyssandra unfurled her fan, this time a white one painted with pink roses to match the rose of her gown. She would rest here for a moment and go back inside to dance with friends and to wait. And to see. If he would come.

‘I knew I’d find you out here.’ His voice was low and sensual at her ear, his hands at her shoulders ever so briefly. She could smell the vanilla and spice of his soap. All men should smell this good. She closed her eyes for just a moment to take it all in in her mind before he stepped back.

‘How did you know I’d be outside?’ She turned with a smile, her eyes skimming his face for signs of yesterday’s altercation. It was hard to see any damage in the dark. She had seen Julian, though, and it made her cringe. She didn’t like thinking of Haviland being hurt because of her.