Standing before her, wearing an identical uniform to hers, handsome as ever, was Ralston. Callie tried to revive the anger she had felt at their last meeting but found herself distracted by the white suit he wore—snug and revealing, showing off his remarkable body. He looked like an ancient Olympian, all lean, corded muscle and perfect physique. She felt heat consume her as she traced the straight lines of his legs and back to the curve of his rear.
She swallowed, pressing a gloved hand to her chest. What was she thinking? She’d never in her life marveled at a man’s rump!
She had to get out of this room.
She watched, paralyzed, as he moved to the edge of the room to don his own mask and adjust the gauntlet of his sword-arm glove. Facing her, he waved in the direction of the mat that marked the boundaries of a standard fencing match. “Shall we?”
She stared blankly at the mat, her mind crying, Flee!
Unfortunately, her feet refused to comply.
“Sir,” Ralston said, as though speaking to a child, “is there some problem?”
At his words, she shifted her gaze to him, unable to see his face or eyes through his wire mask. That truth reminded her that the same was true of him—he would not be able to identify her. Here’s your chance! To really fence!
She shook her head to clear the insane thought from her head. Ralston took the movement to have a different meaning. “Capital. Let’s get started, then.”
He marched to the far corner of the mat to wait for her as she moved to the rack of foils in the corner of the room and tested the weight of several of them, making a show of selecting one. She took the time to bolster her own nerves. He can’t see me. I’m just another man to him right now.
Of course, he was most definitely not another man to her…but she took courage in her invisibility, her mind racing to recall every bit of meager experience she’d had with fencing—watching Benedick show off as a youth, mostly.
This had been a terrible mistake.
She approached the practice area, facing Ralston as he assumed the classic fencing position, left arm up, right arm extended, the foil held perfectly steady, unmoving in his firm grip. His legs were bent, the muscles tense with coiled strength, left leg beautifully extended behind him, right leg bent in a perfect right angle. He nodded to her, and said, “En garde.”
Taking a deep breath, Callie mirrored his position, blood rushing in her ears. Drunken men dueled with swords. How hard could this really be?
One of those men is killed much of the time.
She pushed the thought aside, waiting for him to make the first move.
He did, lunging toward her, thrusting his foil toward her torso. Swallowing back a cry of alarm, Callie allowed her terror to take over, hacking at the air with her foil to block his blow. The sound of steel on steel rang loudly between them.
Ralston immediately retreated in the face of her obvious lack of skill. When he spoke, his words were dry with humor behind the dark, mesh mask.
“I see you are no swordsman.”
Callie cleared her throat, deepening her voice and speaking softly. “I am a beginner, my lord.”
“An understatement, I daresay.”
At the words, Callie assumed the initial position of sword-play once more. Ralston followed suit, saying, “When your opponent thrusts, try not to attack with all your force. Do not show how far you are able to go. Instead, lead up to a full-on battle.”
Callie nodded as Ralston came at her, more gently this time. He allowed her to parry several times before crowding her off the mat. Once both of her feet were on the wooden floor of the practice room, he released her from his charge, turning back to take his place once more on the mat and wait for her to join him. They repeated the exercise several times, Ralston coaching her on the basics of combat, each time bolstering her confidence enough for her to ward off his thrusts more firmly and with more conviction.
“Much better,” he said encouragingly, after the fourth go, and Callie felt a wave of warmth at his praise. “This time, you come at me.”
Attack Ralston? Callie shook her head at the idea. “Oh—I—” she hedged.
He laughed. “I assure you, young sir, I can take it.”
This entire exercise was more than she had bargained for. But she could not very well back out now, could she? She let out a long breath before taking up the now-familiar stance and lunging at him with a strong, “Ha!”
He deftly deflected her blade with a light force that threw her off, sending her to her knees. He gave an amused snort at her lack of grace, sending a wave of irritation through her. Once she was on the ground, he reached down to offer to help her back up. With one look at his gloved hand, she shook her head, refusing his aid, eager to attack him once more.