Chapter Ten #2
Oh, this was wonderful! Wild thoughts rushed through her as she tried to take in every moment, every instant. This was what it felt like to rush at someone—and this was what it felt like to have that attack parried!
But despite her best efforts, nothing she tried worked. Somehow he managed to slip under her defenses, brilliant as she had considered them, and—
“Ouch!”
“Did I hurt you?” Montague said, rushing forward with great concern.
Sarah rubbed at the place on her arm where he had tapped her with his blade. “Yes, actually! Goodness, you are right, these things can really hurt.”
“Just imagine if I’d done that with a real fencing foil,” said Montague, raising his to his face to acknowledge the hit. “Or a sword.”
Sarah swallowed. Or a bullet.
She did not say the words, but she was certain he could hear her thinking them. A dark shadow rushed across his face. It was gone almost as soon as it arrived, but still, there was no mistaking it.
Was this a mistake? This play acting—was it going to bring back bad memories of—
“Ready?”
Sarah nodded, excitement trickling through her as the panic of the duel melted away.
This was…well, exhilarating, now that she could relax into it. The swift and ordered movements, the thinking one had to do to stay ahead—if one could—of one’s opponent.
Even the pain on her arm was useful, she thought passionately. If that was what a wooden blade could do, a nick of a sword would create a far greater sting. She could use that…
Sarah’s feet squeaked across the floor as her footwork slipped.
“Careful!”
“I am—being—careful,” said Sarah, breath short as her exertion continued. Why was it so difficult to get past Montague’s defenses? “I’m trying to—aha!” Delight and surprise tinged her heart as she tapped Montague on the wrist. “Does that count?”
“It most certainly does,” said Montague ruefully, rubbing at his wrist. “Ouch.”
Sarah’s face fell, her moment of delight immediately disappearing. “I am sorry.”
“It is of no matter,” he said briskly.
She could see the excitement in him now, reflected from her heart to his face. This was thrilling, dueling together. For a reason Sarah could not explain, she rather thought it would not be so exciting dueling with someone else.
No, this was something that they shared together, something that was special to them.
Her gaze flickered over his chest, broad and heaving, and down to his legs. His leg. He was barely leaning on it, and it was shaking.
She swallowed. “You’re hurt.”
Montague lifted his wrist. “Nonsense, it will be a little red—”
“You know full well I meant your leg, Montague,” Sarah said.
“I get to decide when I am finished with a duel.”
Sarah bit her lip. “I am no fool. I can see you are in pain, do not lie to me. You have overexerted—”
“How can I go back to France if I cannot even fight a three point fencing duel with a mere woman?” Montague exploded.
His words echoed around the gymnasium, raw and full of anger.
Sarah flinched. Not at his anger, for it was quite clearly directed at himself. No, it was just overwhelming, the sudden noise that burst from his mouth. His frustration, his fury at his own body for letting him down.
Montague’s face was distraught. “Sarah, I do apologize, I did not mean—”
“I know you did not. I-I am not offended,” she said swiftly.
And it was true. She was, however, shocked.
He sighed, head hanging low. “What use am I, Sarah?”
It was strange. When she had first met Montague, Duke of Caelfall, she had mistaken him for someone else—but even then she had recognized the power and determination within him. The arrogance, yes, but he was a duke. Were they not all arrogant?
There was something else here, something deeper. Sarah stepped forward, no longer thinking of duels and fencing and all the wonderful things she had learned to put in her poem.
Slowly, she reached out and took the wooden blade from Montague’s unresisting hand. Then she dropped both his and hers onto the floor and placed a hand on his chest.
The contact immediately changed the temperature of the room. Had she been this hot before? Or was it only feeling the swift rise and fall of his chest, the thud of his heart?
Montague lifted his gaze to meet hers. “I am sorry, you wanted to know—”
“And now I know,” Sarah said softly, her heart thumping as rapidly as his own. “And I am grateful to you, Montague. You are…you are far more useful than I think you could ever imagine.”
They were far too close, she knew, but she did not care. Being close, offering herself as someone he could lean on…that was what mattered.
And perhaps that was all it would have been, if something had not come over her.
Something she did not wish to quell. Desire. Need, a need for him, to be in his arms.
Sarah stepped forward, closing the gap between them, and pressed her lips against his.
It was the first time she had ever initiated such a scandalous thing, and for a heart-stopping moment, she was not sure if she had done it correctly. Montague just…stood there. Accepting her kiss, yes, but not doing anything about it.
Panic tinged her desire with bitterness and she started to pull back.
As though he had suddenly come awake, Montague moved. His arms were around her, pulling her tight toward his chest, lips parting, tongue claiming her as though he had been waiting for her his entire life.
Shivers of pleasure were rippling through Sarah’s body as every part of her being touched by him lit up with unknown sensuality. Oh, it was wonderful, it was glorious, it was—
Over.
Montague broke the kiss, eyes glazed with desire. “We…I thought we weren’t going to make a habit of this?”
Sarah’s pulse was roaring in her ears. Shoots of desire were pulsing through her, her heart—“We’re not.”
Something delightful twisted in her stomach as he smiled. “We’re not?”
Sarah relished the feeling of his fingers on her waist. “Not in the slightest.”
“So what’s this then? More research for your poem?” he teased in a low growl.
The timbre of his voice made every part of Sarah shiver. “Yes. Yes, that’s an excellent excuse.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Nothing,” said Sarah hastily, offering up her lips. “Now kiss me. For research.”