Only Scandal Will Do (26 page)

After that morning, her attitude changed toward him. She did not avoid him as before and seemed more willing to talk with him both in company and private. With this tantalizing change, he now had hope.

Duncan turned once more so he could gaze down on his wife out in the garden, and thought with relish about his plan for the afternoon: a new scheme to seduce his wife. One he knew Katarina would find impossible to resist.

Chapter 23

A servant approached the ladies in the garden below to announce luncheon. Duncan joined them in the breakfast room, and was regaled anew by Juliet with her delight over Mr. Sutton’s charms. Though he listened and smiled at her raptures, he rarely took his eyes away from his wife. She noticed because though she kept up her end of the conversation, she also darted glances at him throughout the meal, blushing when she discovered his attentions focused on her alone. By the time lunch was over she seemed more than a little flustered, especially when he asked for a word alone with her.

Juliet shot Duncan a quizzical glance, but obliged by escorting Lady Honoria out. Katarina still sat at the table and seemed restless, removing her napkin from her lap, folding it, laying it beside her plate. At last, she raised her head.

“You wished to speak with me, my lord?”

“Yes, Lady Dalbury. About an urgent matter.”

The look in her deep blue eyes became guarded. “Whatever is it? Have you received unwelcome news this morning?”

Duncan smiled, shaking his head to reassure her. “Not unwelcome, but urgent nonetheless.” He crossed around the table, took her hands and raised her from her chair. “I simply realized that we have been married just over a month. Which means...” He paused to enhance the drama of his words with rakish aplomb. “Neither of us has held a sword for far too long.”

Her expression changed from a frightened pucker to a smile that reached all the way to her eyes. One such as he had never seen from her before. He was completely dazzled.

“Indeed, you speak the truth,” she said, laughter in her voice.

“I thought perhaps we should remedy that lack this afternoon, if you would care to meet me. I have foils in the study and we can of course use the ballroom–”

He stopped short, horribly afraid the mention of that room would stir unpleasant memories and banish her enchanting good mood. For she
was
in a good mood. Was this all it took to make her happy? He would fence with her every day of the year if that were true.

“Yes, of course,” she said with a girlish lilt. “I have not held a blade in an age. I always managed to practice with Jack or one of my father’s men at least once or twice a week before we came to London. Since arriving here I have been sorely lacking in partners.” Her lips curved upward with a rueful twist. “I trust you will not disarm me too soon this time, my lord?”

His heart soared and the roaring in his ears kept him from answering straight away. He returned her smile and managed to reply, “No, my lady. I would not have our match end too soon. And who knows, you may discover how to defend against it.”

Her answering laughter was heady stuff. He had stepped into a different world, where he and his wife enjoyed each other’s company. If that were the case, pray God he never returned to the real one. For this vision of Katarina, warm and laughing, he would not give up now he had found it.

She still smiled at him, cerulean blue eyes snapping with excitement. Suddenly he was all too aware that her green and gold gown molded to her luscious body in a way that seemed most proper and shockingly indecent. Duncan had schooled himself over the past month not to think about that body, though he could conjure it up in an instant if he allowed himself the sinful luxury. Such indulgences served no purpose, for her coldness toward him meant any thought of easing his very real needs with her died a chilly death at birth. But this new Katarina gave hope to his desires. The first part of his little plan had worked magnificently.

Startled, he realized that he continued to hold her hands; she had not withdrawn them. He lifted them one at a time for a brief kiss. “Will you go to change then, fair adversary, and meet me in the study in say, half an hour’s time? We can choose weapons and proceed to the practice room.” Yes, practice room sounded much better.

“In half an hour then.” She seemed to fly to the door, but paused before leaving the room. “Pray do not be late, lest you lose the wager this time.” Katarina threw a glance over her shoulder with an impish grin.

“We are to bet again, Lady Dalbury?” He should have known she would come up with the same idea as he.

“But of course, my lord. It makes the match much more exciting, does it not?” Her clear eyes sparkled. “Much more dangerous, even. Depending on the stakes, that is.”

“And what do you have in mind this time?” Fascinated by this turn of events, Duncan could not help but wonder if she had set a trap for him. He must
never
underestimate his wife in anything.

“But that would be telling.” She laughed gaily at him. “In half an hour?”

At his nod, she flashed another grin and was out the door. He almost pinched his arm, afraid he was dreaming, and then hurried to his bedchamber to dress for what he hoped would prove the best afternoon of his short married life.

* * * *

She was in danger. As she flew up the stairs to change into her fencing costume, Kat tried to impose caution and restraint. This match was another trap her husband had laid for her. Most of his attempts to lure her into spending time in his company the past month had failed, but this one...this one called like a siren song. To fence again. She could not restrain her glee at the prospect when he’d proposed it, especially when she’d expected him to refer to another, more disquieting matter–the unconsummated state of their marriage.

But he wanted to fence with her instead. She would fence with the devil himself just to be able to hold a sword again. “I suppose that is what this amounts to.” The snide remark sprang forth of its own accord, though it was hardly fair. Dalbury had made quite an effort to be kind.

Oh, why did she defend the wretch?

Because Jack had deserted her since the wedding so she’d been forced to get used to being around her husband. That’s all it was.

Damn. She was lying to herself, just as she had been that morning in the park.

Almost losing her good mood, she pushed all thoughts not related to fencing out of her mind. She wanted to enjoy this afternoon. Calling for Margery to fetch her fencing clothes, Kat tore out of her gown, impatient lest she be late for the match. She dressed in a frenzy, yet stood in the study alongside her husband, correctly attired, checking a slender foil for balance, within the allotted thirty minutes.

“These are lovely blades, Lord Dalbury.” She sighted along hers, admiring the straight shaft and excellent quality of the steel.

“I brought them back from Italy earlier this year. I found many fine weapons and some of the greatest masters of the art there. I was fortunate to have studied with one during most of my visit.” Dalbury answered amiably enough, but his gaze strayed more than once to her legs.

A giggle nearly escaped her. Well, he had seen her in breeches and stockings before and if showing them still gave her an advantage, she would say
thank you
and take whatever help she could get.

Dalbury sighed and shifted his attention to the sword in her hand. “The blade is satisfactory to you, then?”

“Indeed it is.”

“Then let us proceed to the practice room.” He escorted her down the sun-drenched hall, his strides so long she could scarcely keep up. He walked as though nothing tied him to the earth. “Shall we say the first to make three touches wins the match?”

“That sounds fair.” They entered the ballroom and she strode into the center of the familiar long, rectangular box. She ignored its memories and implications, instead taking her stance, crouching on bent knees, foil in second position with the blade pointed down in front of her. Before Dalbury could take his place opposite her, she rose.

“My lord, we have not yet agreed on the wager. We should lay out the terms before the match begins.”

“You are correct. The stakes must be agreed upon. What would you care to wager?”

Not a hint of the suggestive in his tone. That pleased her. Or did it?

She shook off the odd question and smiled engagingly before making her demands. “If I win the match, you will agree to teach me that devilish disarm with which you won our last match.”

He frowned in pretended outrage, though his eyes glinted with amusement. “Give away one of my best secrets, my lady? So that you could use it on me, perhaps?”

Laughing, she shook her head. “On Jack, my lord!”

He joined her laughter and nodded. “Just so, Lady Dalbury. If I lose, I will teach you to perform that particular disarm.” He paused, then continued wickedly, “I will not, however, teach you how to defend against it.”

“Unfair, my lord!”

“I must find some way to protect my interests.” His smile made him seem young, somehow vulnerable. Her resolve slipped several notches and her mouth went dry. A rush of heat spread throughout her body as if a wild fever possessed her.

“Now for your forfeit, Lady Dalbury.”

Sheer will forced Katarina to reply normally. “What will you claim as prize if you win?” The implication she’d heard in her own words brought her up short. She was a fool not to have made
some
things off limits.

“Last time the prize was your illustrious self. Can the wager this time be for anything less magnificent?”

Oh God! What had she left herself open to? How rash and impulsive!

“Name it then, my lord, that we may be about our business.” She could have bitten her tongue out when she realized how
that
sounded, even to her own ears.

But Dalbury seemed again not to notice. He simply let his gaze linger on her face for several moments before replying, “Should I win this match, it is then my right to claim...” He arched a brow, grinning. “A kiss from you.”

Kat stared, amazed, at a complete loss for words. He could have just as easily claimed his marital rights without force. “Just a kiss?” She blushed to hear her voice much higher pitched than normal.

“No kiss is ever ‘just a kiss,’ Lady Dalbury.” His eyes heated with the promise to show her exactly what he meant as soon as possible. “So I am to instruct you, regardless, this afternoon. You are ready?”

She nodded, and forcing herself to become the trained swordswoman, mentally and physically, drew a deep breath and exhaled. To fence again was pure happiness, and she couldn’t help grinning at her opponent.

Dalbury assumed his stance and nodded to her. “
Pret!
Aller!
”

And she flew forward, attacking him with cold-blooded certainty, the exhilaration of the challenge wiping away all thought of the consequences should she again lose a match to the Marquess of Dalbury.

Chapter 24

Katarina parried Dalbury’s cut to her left shoulder, the zing of metal singing in her ear. He was going to win again, curse him! She retaliated with an attempt to bind his blade over, but he withdrew and lunged, aiming now for her right knee. The absolute concentration on his face was maddening; his impish grin even more so. They had been fencing for some ten minutes and already she knew she could not best her opponent. But, how it invigorated her to try!

He scored a hit to her arm early on, despite her first bold attack. Then, not a minute later she managed to penetrate his guard and land her first blow on his shoulder.

His eyes lit up, as if a flame had been ignited there. “A hit,” he acknowledged. The warm approval in his voice bespoke his admiration of her skill, leaving her so elated she took her mind off the match.

And he planted the foil firmly in her chest. “Oh, dear,” was all she could manage, looking down at the bowed weapon pressed against her clothing. She would have a bruise there tomorrow. As Dalbury withdrew the blade, she forced herself to focus and made ready to continue.

The match resumed, though the ending was inevitable. Dalbury outclassed her through and through, both in technique and stamina. After ten minutes, she was gasping in short, sharp breaths. Perspiration drenched her skin. She should have been practicing daily instead of attending soirees and paying calls. The result would have been much more satisfying. Dalbury, however, seemed unaffected, the wretch, though he hadn’t been practicing either. Briefly she hated him all over again, for purely sporting reasons.

She retreated down the ballroom, but he pursued. Their blades slithered together, clattered insistently as she fought for another touch. She parried a thrust to her exposed right knee. She wanted to learn that disarm badly.

Her strength flagged; not an ounce of energy seemed left in her body. Dalbury lunged, threatening her stomach, and his foot snagged on the freshly sanded floor. The momentary distraction allowed her to score another hit, this time to his torso. She broke into a broad smile as he stood up.

“Touche, my lord.”