Dangerous Escapade by Hilary Gilman

match for her assailants and was, indeed,
rather invigorated by the encounters.
    Eventually, she
reached St James, where Lord Debenham's town residence was situated. She knew
the house she sought, for Debenham had thoughtfully left his direction lest she
should desire to communicate with him, and to a resourceful housebreaker it
presented little difficulty. Someone had left open a window on the second floor,
conveniently adjacent to a drainpipe. Within two minutes, she was inside the
house.
    The room in
which she found herself appeared to be a dressing room, from which she deduced
that the chamber next to it was probably Debenham's. Kit gently pushed open the
communicating door, praying as she did so that his Lordship had not chosen to
retire early, and slipped into the room. It was empty. With a sigh of relief,
Kit set to work following very much the pattern of her predecessor, starting
with Debenham's clothes and, from thence, to his drawers and valises.
    It was not to
be found, As she drew blank after blank, Kit became convinced that Debenham did
not, in fact, have the paper at all, that he was innocent. She became more and more
confident that Wellbeloved had deceived her, so that when she idly picked up a
piece of paper lying conspicuously on a small table and found it to be the very
paper Wellbeloved had described, the shock and distress she felt were
intensified. She burnt with rage and, cursing under her breath in several
languages, she turned to leave the room. As she did so, the door opened, and Debenham
walked into the room. He halted on the threshold, pardonably startled.
    “Good God,
Kit, what the ...” he began, the words dying on his lip's as he found himself
staring into the blazing eyes facing him across the point of a sword.
    “On guard, Sir,”
said Kit with deadly calm.
    The Earl was
bewildered, “If this is some kind of jest, I think it a poor one.”
    “It is no jest,
my Lord Earl,” she flung at him, “I told you, did I not, that my father was
betrayed. You laughed at me. You shall see now if my vengeance is to be laughed
at.”
    “Kit, stop being
so melodramatic,” answered Debenham acidly, “and put down that damned sword. I
am not going to fight you.”
    “Coward!” she
cried furiously, “If you will not fight, I shall make you.” And with that, she
lunged wildly at Debenham, who side-stepped swiftly and, seeing that she was
beyond reason, drew his own pretty, jewelled dress sword and swiftly went to
work to disarm her. If Kit had not been so hurt and angry, she would never have
attempted to cross swords with a swordsman of his quality, and it was purely
because she was not thinking that Debenham was unable to disarm her without hurting
her. He was parrying each lunge with infuriating ease, but Kit had recovered
from her first wild frenzy and was fencing with a technique that made it
necessary for the Earl to look to his own protection. He began fighting with a certain
nicety, enjoying the unusual sensation. Kitty feinted; he gave her credit for
the attempt but made the obvious riposte. She, not knowing that particular trick,
failed to make the response that any other duellist would have made
automatically, and Debenham, quite unintentionally, found that the point of his
sword had connected with his opponent's shoulder. There was the usual sickening
sliding feeling as the point entered the flesh, and then, flinging the sword
aside, he caught the unconscious form of his ward in his arms.
    Never had the
competent Earl been so wholly at a loss. He cradled her in his arms, distractedly
calling her name until he saw with relief that the colour was returning to her
livid cheeks, and the long lashes fluttered open.
    “Thank God,” he
murmured devoutly, smoothing back the tangled curls that had fallen across her brow.
“My poor darling, thank God, I feared I had killed you.”
    “No, no, it
was all my fault,” she whispered tearfully clutching at his coat with a convulsive
hand, “but, what