Seven Wicked Nights (Turner #1.5)

Though they used to meet frequently for these clandestine matches, it had been over two years since their last one. As much as he was a thorn in her side, she would be forever grateful to him for teaching her the sport. It had started as a lark, but had quickly evolved to their favorite form of communication, taking their verbal sparring and converting it into proper duels.

Stepping back, he whipped his own sword up to clang against hers, making an X of the two weapons. “But of course. I wouldn’t dare meet anyone at dawn unarmed, least of all you, dear Ellie.”

She rolled her eyes, sending a brief glance heavenward before meeting his gaze. His amused gaze. Of course. Everything was a game to him.

“En guard,” she commanded, planting her feet more firmly and extending her left hand behind her for balance. “And don’t call me Ellie.”

“As you wish, my sweet.” He paused for a moment, pursing his lips, then backed up a step. “By the way, I’m very sorry about your mother. I know I said as much in my letter, but it was a damn shame.”

She blinked, taken aback by his quiet words. Sincere words. Leave it to Nick to throw her off kilter. She swallowed against the sadness that rose from deep within her, letting her gaze fall to the rocky ground. “Thank you,” she said, nodding twice before looking back up. “I’m very glad to have Aunt Margaret, at least.”

She smiled tightly, willing him to move on from the topic. This gentle side of him she kept catching glimpses of unnerved her. She didn’t quite know what to make of the changes she saw in him.

As if sensing her desire, he repositioned his blade, tapping it lightly against hers. “Shall we?”

“Do you think you can keep up?” she asked, lifting a brow in challenge.

Below his morning scruff, his lips curled in his signature grin. She let out a relieved breath—they were back on familiar ground. He knew it drove her mad when he gave her that self-satisfied smile, which meant he was rarely without it. “Now, do try to be nice. It’s been weeks since I’ve had a proper match.”

Before the last word had even left his mouth, she lunged forward, going straight for his gut. He flitted backwards, parrying her move and striking forward with one of his own. His foil slapped against her right shoulder.

She gritted her teeth, not so much against the sting of the hit as the sting to her pride. He was toying with her, damn him. “Two years in the militia and that’s all you’ve got?” She tsked as they both got back into position. After the awfulness that was last night’s dinner, this was exactly what she needed.

“Taking it easy on an old gal like you.”

“Old gal? I’m all of two years older than you, thank you very much.” She engaged him once more, darting forth with lightning speed and poking his ribs with a sound thump.

“Ow,” he laughed, slapping her foil away with his own. “Careful, that’s tender young flesh. You’ve likely forgotten how delicate youthful skin can be.”

She bit her bottom lip to keep from grinning. He was always such a pest. For that little quip, he earned himself a slap across his gloved hand. “Sorry, did that hurt? You’re right; I can hardly remember what such a hit feels like. Though it’s less from my advanced age and more from the lack of a proper opponent.”

“Ah, you’ve missed me. Should I come home more often then? Clearly you are in want of my company if it is a proper opponent you seek.”

He whipped his foil up again and charged her, a move that she easily deflected. They carried on for a few more swings, the clashing of their blades ringing out in the pre-dawn hush. She was starting to enjoy herself, to push aside the fury of her recent arguments with Uncle Robert, and give herself over to the mind game that was fencing.

When she finally had the upper hand, she tagged Nick once more on the shoulder. “Ha! What were you saying about a proper opponent? Unless your valet cares to extend his services, I know not why your visiting home more often should make a difference in my ability to find a worthy adversary.”

He shook his arm out, but still smiled that maddening grin of his. “It’s a pity you’ve had to make do without an opponent in my absence. I’m sure Aunt Margaret and Malcolm would be happy to help you find one, should they learn of your early morning exercise.”

She knew very well he was teasing, but still she lifted her tip toward his neck. “You wouldn’t dare say a word, since you are the sole reason I have taken to fencing. Feeble-minded female that I am, I was easily led astray by my dear, trusted cousin.”

He snorted, stepping back at the same moment to deflect her foil. “If you’re feeble-minded, then I’m a weakling. And we both know that’s not true,” he said, purposely bullying his way toward her with hard, fast slashes of his blade.