Nick stiffened, his jaw clenching at the mention of Eleanor. Already she had spent too much of her time with the man. She hadn’t looked particularly pleased by it, but she had made no efforts to disengage. He couldn’t help the grimace that idea wrought—the man was old enough to be her father!
But as vehemently opposed to the idea as Nick was, Malcolm appeared absolutely delighted. Clasping the earl on the back, he nodded. “Nothing would please me—or her—more.”
Chapter Five
“What if I were to seek employment?”
Metal pinged against metal as Eleanor parried Nick’s rather sneaky advance-lunge. He was quite nimble for the early hour. Perhaps he too had woken with the burn of anticipation for their match.
He lifted an eyebrow as he retreated, raising his foil once more. “Are there very many opportunities for mediocre female fencers?”
Invigorated by their play, she grinned for the first time that morning, shaking her head. “My, don’t we think we’re clever. All that overt female attention these past two days must have fooled you into believing you were actually witty, and not just the only man present under the age of thirty.”
“And here I thought you liked all those old codgers. You’re certainly spending enough time with them.” The grin was in place, but his tone was more biting than usual.
“Yes, because I have so much choice in the matter.” She saw an opening and took it, executing a perfect raddoppio before thrusting her point into his ribs. It went a long way toward venting her frustration.
Nick grimaced and fell back, rubbing a hand over the wound. “Good hit,” he conceded, offering a quick salute of his blade.
“Thank you. And I was thinking of becoming a companion,” she said, returning to the point of the conversation. It was wishful thinking; it wasn’t as though she could simply leave and take her sister with her.
“Do you think someone would actually pay you to keep them company? I should think they would pay for the opposite.” The last word came out on a whoosh of air as he attacked. Their blades carried on the conversation for the moment until he slipped past her defenses and tagged her hip.
Falling back to catch her breath, she finally answered him. “If that worked, you’d be a wealthy man by now.”
“Touche,” he said, chuckling lightly. “I suppose Aunt Margaret might be inclined to pay you, if you should insist.”
Fresh disappointment settled on her shoulders and she lowered her foil. “I don’t think so. At the moment, she’s just as enamored as Uncle Robert at the prospect of marrying me off.”
“Don’t be silly,” he scoffed, his words clipped. “They know as well as I do that you’ll not be falling into the parson’s trap. Plus there’s the issue of finding a man to put up with you,” he added, giving her a light, teasing tap beneath her chin with the blunted tip of his blade.
She tensed, hating even speaking of the hopelessness of the situation. “You’re wrong. They can’t wait to foist me off on the highest bidder.”
The teasing light faded from his eyes. “Is that what this tension in the house has been all about? They want for you to marry, despite your wishes?”
She gave a curt nod.
Giving an exaggerated roll of his eyes, he said, “Then tell them to go to the devil and move on. Stop acting like a docile pony and stand up for yourself.”
She stiffened. Just who did he think he was? “It’s not that easy. And I don’t appreciate the analogy.”
“Then stop being so damned analogous. Find that elusive thing called a backbone and fight them on this. I know Malcolm. He’ll be angry, but it’s not as though he’ll toss you out on the street, for God’s sake. This family doesn’t work that way.”
She should be so lucky. She’d take that any day over her uncle’s true threats. For a moment she considered telling him everything, pouring out the full extent of the turmoil brewing within, but what good would that do? He’d only dismiss her worries, just as he was dismissing them now. “You don’t know anything about what he’d do.”
“Don’t I?” he said, quirking a brow in challenge. “If anyone would be tossed out on the street, don’t you think it would be me?”
Where had that come from? “What are you talking about?”
He jabbed his blade’s point into the earth, resting his hand loosely on the hilt. “A mongrel like me? With no lineage or noble blood to speak of? He’d sooner be cleaved to the plague.”
He actually seemed to mean it. Cocky, arrogant, self-satisfied Nick, speaking of himself as though he were a blight on his family? This was uncharted territory for them, this gravity. She honestly didn’t know whether to take him seriously or not. “Come now,” she said, falling back on their usual banter. “A Frenchman, perhaps, but certainly not the plague.”
“Do you have any idea how much money that man has spent in the sole pursuit of keeping me as far from his home as he can manage?” He snorted, shaking his head. “Harrow, Cambridge, even the bloody army. It’s a wonder he didn’t try to bribe an infantryman to ‘accidentally’ discharge his weapon in my direction.”
Eleanor shifted, unsure of what to say. He seemed genuinely distressed, but knowing him, he was probably just setting her up for some scathingly witty rejoinder. “My, my—who knew you were fit for Drury Lane?”
Extracting his blade, he pointed the buttoned tip of his foil toward her chest. “Right. You’re waxing on about being tossed out the window like the contents of a chamber pot, and I’m the one being dramatic?”
Her brows came together defensively. Of the two of them, she was by far the most sensible. “I’m not being dramatic. And I’m not talking about being tossed out. I’m facing facts.”
Letting the weapon fall to his side, he gave her a patently disbelieving look. “And what convoluted ‘fact’ is that? That Malcolm will actually march you down to the church alter, forcing you to marry or else?”
The very thought made her stomach churn. It was exactly the scenario she feared would happen. “Yes,” she ground out.
“Eleanor, this is ridiculous. You don’t have to marry.” He spoke with such conviction, she almost believed him.
Sometimes, very rarely, a side of him came out that almost made her feel as though he was on her side. Protective of her, even.
“I don’t have a choice, Nicolas. Either I choose a husband, or Uncle Robert will do it for me.”
***
Nick saw red—and it wasn’t just the breaking dawn, which turned the sky a violent crimson. Gripping his foil so tightly his hand ached, he stepped toward her. “He said that?”
She pressed her lips together and nodded. “Right after I turned down Lord Kensington’s offer of marriage only days ago.”
Bloody hell—Malcolm had gone too far this time. He’d be damned if he let his stepfather get away with this. There was a certain amount of selfishness in his reasons, but more than anything, Nick didn’t want Eleanor to be forced into the one thing she feared most. Anger burned in his gut, heating his blood.
“The man’s a damn fool.”
“That may be the case, but he also is the head of this family.” She lifted those big brown eyes up to him, the effect of which was amazingly similar to a kick in the gut. “At least with you he was content to throw money at the problem. His only solution with me is to guarantee ruining my life, no matter which way I choose.”
A light breeze tugged at the loosened hair around her face, pulling the raven strands across her too-pale skin. He had the maddest desire to comb the silky strands back with his fingers and kiss her for real. Not the playful kisses he always demanded from her as payment, but a true kiss that would steal her breath and completely override the worry that turned down the edges of her cupid-bow lips.
And he knew exactly how worried she must be. After the way her bastard father had treated her mother, marriage was about as attractive to her as running naked through Mayfair.
“I would never let him ruin your life, Ellie.?
?? The words were too charged, too honest. She glanced up sharply and he forced a smile. “Where else could I find another dreadful fencing partner to make me look so good?”
She rolled her eyes. “Very funny. You could hardly influence his choice of tea, let alone what he wants to do with me.”
Damn it all—he wished she would have a little faith in him. Yes, he was younger than her, and yes, theirs had been an unconventional relationship, but didn’t she realize he would walk through fire for her?
No, of course she didn’t, because he would never let her know such a thing. To her, he would always be the inferior, annoying little boy his mother had foisted on the family. A sparing partner, both verbally and otherwise, who provided small entertainment and great annoyance, by her own description.
No, she would see no rescue from him. So he had to do the next best thing: show her that she could save herself. Which from the look of it would be quite the undertaking. She stood there, already defeated, her brow wrinkled with worry as if she had no hope left in her life. That made him even angrier than Malcolm’s asinine pronouncement.
Where was his little fighter? Where was the girl who had taken to combat like a bird to the sky, for no other reason than to have it out with him? Dropping back into fighting position, he whipped up his blade. “En garde,” he demanded.
She stared at him in confusion, her foil still idle at her side. “Nick—”
“En garde,” he barked again, swishing his weapon through the air in warning.
Warily, she raised her foil and planted her feet. He sprang into action, lunging at full force. She yelped and stumbled backward, glaring at him.
“What was that for?”
He didn’t answer. Instead he engaged, forcing her to defend herself or be struck. She didn’t disappoint. After a few hits, she started to get angry, her cheeks gaining color and her eyes narrowing in fierce concentration. That’s when she really began to fight. The clash of metal against metal rang through the morning air, punctuated by harsh breathing and grunts of exertion. Around them, the red light of dawn grew brighter and brighter, but he had no intention of relenting, not yet.
“What. . . .has . . . gotten . . .into you!” She ground out through clenched teeth as her foil whipped left and right, parrying his attacks.
“Shut up and fight,” he growled, punctuating the words with powerful hits. They danced back and forth, their feet moving over the rocky ground almost in unison. Sweat poured down his face and dampened his shirt, but still he didn’t let up. He wasn’t going to coddle her, damn it. He wanted her to work, to be forced to battle as if their lives depended on it.
As she retreated from his lunge, she stumbled over a rock, falling hard on her backside. “Ow! Nick, wait—!”
But he didn’t wait. Dirt flew as she scrambled away from him, abandoning her weapon. Oh no, he wasn’t about to let her give up. He kicked the foil back at her, waiting for her to pick it up. Frustration came off her in waves as she reclaimed it and struggled to her feet, sucking in gusts of air. She jerked a hand through her hair, scraping the fallen strands back from her sweaty face.
With a warrior yell, she came at him, her swings even stronger, her precision more deadly. Again and again she jabbed and slapped her blade against him, even tearing his shirt at the shoulder. This was more like it. This was a woman on fire, damn it. He met her swing for swing, making her work for every small point.
“Getting a little angry, are we?” he said, forcing the arrogant smile he knew she hated.
“Yes,” she fairly growled, advancing again and again. Finally, she was giving it all she had. She was focused, and driven—furious as a caged lioness—and every bit as glorious as a Greek goddess of war. Her cheeks were red, her eyes flashing. Her body was all that was powerful yet graceful. He’d never seen her so passionate, and he loved it.
Again and again she forced him backward, forced him to yield to her onslaught. As his back smacked against the ruins of the old abbey wall, he jarred to a stop, losing his grip on his weapon. His foil clattered to the ground between them.
For a moment they just stared at each other, their shoulders heaving as they panted for air. And then her eyes grew wide with shock as she realized what this meant. She’d beat him. For the first time ever, she had won. Eleanor pointed her blade directly at his heart, as the certainty of victory visibly engulfed her.
He’d never been so proud of anyone in his entire life; he was nearly bursting with the force of it. “That’s the girl I wanted to see. You’re a fighter, Elle; never forget it. Malcolm can’t take from you what you refuse to let him have.”
She stood stock still, her gaze assessing as she worked to calm her breathing. At that moment, the sun crested over the horizon, illuminating the pride in her eyes. God, but she was gorgeous. Had anyone ever looked more beautiful with messy hair and a dirt-streaked face?
“If you tell me,” she said sternly, “that this was all meant to teach me some sort of lesson, I may very well plunge this foil into your heart, Nicolas Norton.”
He chuckled before dragging his sleeve over his sweaty forehead. “Bloodthirsty wench.” Grabbing her foible, he pulled the weapon from her grasp. She didn’t fight him, easily surrendering her hold. He dropped it to the ground beside his own, and held out his hand to her. “Come here.”
“I will not,” she said, straightening her shoulders imperiously. “In case you didn’t notice, I won.”
It was all he could do not to tug her into his arms right then. “Yes, and as such, you may collect your spoils, same as I always have.” He turned his cheek, screwing up his face just as she invariably did whenever he claimed his prize, pretending he didn’t want her to kiss him.
Hoping like hell she would.
Her laughter was full of delight, heady in its sweetness. “Do you know, Mr. Norton, for the first time in your life, I think you may have earned a kiss.”
***
Eleanor stepped toward him, feeling strong and in control in a way she hadn’t in days. Years perhaps. Nothing was solved, but hope had been renewed. Faith in herself had been restored. She could at least try for another solution. Nick had given her that much, and for that she adored him.
For the next few moments, at least—then they could return to being adversaries.
With his damp shirt plastered to his body, he looked every bit the gladiator, standing tall and proud on the heels of victory. Ironic, considering he had lost, but still somehow fitting. She hadn’t been exaggerating—he had truly earned a reward.
As she leaned forward, his chest rose with a sharp intake of air. She flicked her gaze from his cheek to his expression, and froze, only inches away. His green eyes were burning, his lips slightly parted. Awareness washed over her, cascading through her veins and landing deep in her belly. All at once the moment took on a whole new meaning.
She wasn’t just sharing an innocent moment with her step-cousin. She was standing almost chest-to-chest with a tall, powerful, handsome-as-sin man.
Alone.
Her heart slammed against her ribs, pounding harder than it had during their entire match. His smell was familiar, his eyes exactly as they had always been, but somehow everything seemed different.
Slowly, deliberately he turned his head until they faced each other directly, the very air they breathed mingling in the narrow space between them. The morning light caressed them as they stood completely still, unable to look away. She knew it should feel wrong—this was Nicolas!—but nothing had ever felt more natural.
Her eyes dropped to his lips. For once they were without any hint of that rakish smile with which he so loved to torture her. He’d always seemed so young, but all she could see right then was the man he had become.
A man her very heart seemed to be beating for.
And yet, still neither of them moved. A sixth sense told her that as soon as they did, nothing would ever be the same. He would never again be little Nick, thorn in her side. Uncertainty warred wit
h unfamiliar passion, and she dragged her gaze up to meet his, helpless as to what to do.
For a moment, she thought he would act, pressing his lips to hers and releasing the desire that both tantalized and terrified her. She held her breath, afraid to so much as blink. How was it possible she could want something so badly, and at the same time want to escape, to run from the emotions she wasn’t prepared for?
Finally, he closed his eyes and exhaled, surely every drop of air from his lungs. When he opened them again, it was as if a curtain had been drawn shut. “Fine, fine—I’ll give you a reprieve. I know deep down you’re just afraid you’ll never measure up to my outstanding kisses.” His voice was hoarse, but the smile was firmly in place. “Now off with you, before someone discovers us and ruins all our fun.”
He was right. Already, the sun was well above the horizon, the sky transitioning from reds to pinks. Nodding, she bent to retrieve her foil, trying to convince herself that it was relief, not regret, that wilted her shoulders. Whatever madness had seized her, it was gone now.
Or so she told herself.
Turning on her heel, she hurried toward the dirt path that led to the house, wanting to put distance between them, to cut the odd connection that even now tempted her to turn back.
With her future at stake, she simply couldn’t afford to be diverted by the man who had long been her opponent, but who now seemed like so much more.
Chapter Six
God in heaven, what had just happened?
Nick slumped down the wall, dropping to his backside and letting his head fall back against the cool stones of the old tumbledown wall. His blood still roared in his ears—as well as in other places—and he raked his hands through his hair, digging his fingers into his scalp.
What the hell was wrong with him? If she had any clue how he truly felt about her, she’d never allow them to be alone together again. Perhaps not even in the same bloody room. He gave a humorless laugh. How could he have let his control slip so thoroughly?