that, she told herself, Sir Leo would be no different from the rest.
The Duchess touched her hand. ‘Go and change then, dear, if you really must do this, while we move the billiard table out of the way. The long gallery is much too dark for this kind of thing, and there’s rush matting on the floor.’
Phoebe glanced at the two sisters, still wondering how Elizabeth had discovered about her fencing lessons, and bitterly disappointed that Signor Verdi had betrayed her confidence. Court life was full of such juicy revelations, and these two young ladies had nothing else to do but lap them up and pass them on, having no concerns about the consequences.
They stood close together, clinging anxiously, gazing first at their mother and then at Sir Leo, wide-eyed, perturbed by the change in the man who had laughed with them that morning, courteously teasing. This was an aspect of him they could not have foreseen, showing a physical masculine intensity towards a woman that allowed him to grab her by the arm and pull her to him, to speak to her with blunt authority, to dominate her with his eyes, both angry and applauding. Disturbed, excited and fearful, they saw Mistress Laker pick up her skirts and run towards the staircase, disappearing round the bend, and when at last they drew the gaze of Sir Leo, expecting the usual charming smile, his look passed through them as if they were not there. Then they knew that this was not the stuff of romantic dreams, but the brutal and dark side of the kind of passion already lurking in their own unconsciousness.
Chapter Three
A t this point, the Duchess might have proposed what any other mother would certainly have done and sent her daughters off in pursuit of something more profitable than to witness such an unusual contest. The lady’s only command, however, was to go and sit in that corner and not to move, and certainly not to cry out. She then recalled something and, whispering into Elizabeth’s ear, sent her off on an errand, urging her to be quick about it.
The family were assembled and waiting by the time Phoebe descended the great staircase and, if they were too discreet to gasp, there was not one of them prepared for what they saw. Her slender and exquisitely graceful figure was clad in white shirt and brown doeskin knee-length breeches below which were white stockings, muffling her entrance and adding to the air of silent unreality in the hall. Over her shirt, she wore a black velvet sleeveless vest with gold buttons, its neckline touched by her mop of shining ringlets, and although such an unorthodox outfit might in some women have disguised their femininity, in Phoebe it did the opposite.
Restraining, for once, the bawdy remark that sprang unhelpfully to his lips, the Duke came to lead her towards the footman who held an open case of rapiers across his arms. With hands spread over hips, Sir Leo stood next to him, stripped down to his shirt and breeches, shoeless, like her. Watching him closely, the two sisters saw his eyes narrow as he appeared to pull himself up by an extra half-inch.
‘Sir Leo and Mistress Laker, understand this,’ said the Duke, scowling at them, ‘that this is to be a contest, not a duel. There will be no dealing of death blows, whatever you may wish, mistress. I have to keep his Majesty’s respect, and duelling in my house is something I cannot permit. A contest of skill is different, so I shall declare the first one to score two hits to be the winner.’ He placed the flat of his hand horizontally across Sir Leo’s chin. ‘Here,’ he said, ‘and here,’ moving it down to his waist, ‘is where your hits should be aimed, including the arms, and nowhere else. Now, I need your assurance that there is nothing concealed about your persons that may cause any additional damage. Mistress Laker?’
‘Nothing, your Grace,’ said Phoebe.
‘Nothing, your Grace,’ said Sir Leo.
‘Then choose your weapons and begin.’
The rapiers were long narrow
The Duchess touched her hand. ‘Go and change then, dear, if you really must do this, while we move the billiard table out of the way. The long gallery is much too dark for this kind of thing, and there’s rush matting on the floor.’
Phoebe glanced at the two sisters, still wondering how Elizabeth had discovered about her fencing lessons, and bitterly disappointed that Signor Verdi had betrayed her confidence. Court life was full of such juicy revelations, and these two young ladies had nothing else to do but lap them up and pass them on, having no concerns about the consequences.
They stood close together, clinging anxiously, gazing first at their mother and then at Sir Leo, wide-eyed, perturbed by the change in the man who had laughed with them that morning, courteously teasing. This was an aspect of him they could not have foreseen, showing a physical masculine intensity towards a woman that allowed him to grab her by the arm and pull her to him, to speak to her with blunt authority, to dominate her with his eyes, both angry and applauding. Disturbed, excited and fearful, they saw Mistress Laker pick up her skirts and run towards the staircase, disappearing round the bend, and when at last they drew the gaze of Sir Leo, expecting the usual charming smile, his look passed through them as if they were not there. Then they knew that this was not the stuff of romantic dreams, but the brutal and dark side of the kind of passion already lurking in their own unconsciousness.
Chapter Three
A t this point, the Duchess might have proposed what any other mother would certainly have done and sent her daughters off in pursuit of something more profitable than to witness such an unusual contest. The lady’s only command, however, was to go and sit in that corner and not to move, and certainly not to cry out. She then recalled something and, whispering into Elizabeth’s ear, sent her off on an errand, urging her to be quick about it.
The family were assembled and waiting by the time Phoebe descended the great staircase and, if they were too discreet to gasp, there was not one of them prepared for what they saw. Her slender and exquisitely graceful figure was clad in white shirt and brown doeskin knee-length breeches below which were white stockings, muffling her entrance and adding to the air of silent unreality in the hall. Over her shirt, she wore a black velvet sleeveless vest with gold buttons, its neckline touched by her mop of shining ringlets, and although such an unorthodox outfit might in some women have disguised their femininity, in Phoebe it did the opposite.
Restraining, for once, the bawdy remark that sprang unhelpfully to his lips, the Duke came to lead her towards the footman who held an open case of rapiers across his arms. With hands spread over hips, Sir Leo stood next to him, stripped down to his shirt and breeches, shoeless, like her. Watching him closely, the two sisters saw his eyes narrow as he appeared to pull himself up by an extra half-inch.
‘Sir Leo and Mistress Laker, understand this,’ said the Duke, scowling at them, ‘that this is to be a contest, not a duel. There will be no dealing of death blows, whatever you may wish, mistress. I have to keep his Majesty’s respect, and duelling in my house is something I cannot permit. A contest of skill is different, so I shall declare the first one to score two hits to be the winner.’ He placed the flat of his hand horizontally across Sir Leo’s chin. ‘Here,’ he said, ‘and here,’ moving it down to his waist, ‘is where your hits should be aimed, including the arms, and nowhere else. Now, I need your assurance that there is nothing concealed about your persons that may cause any additional damage. Mistress Laker?’
‘Nothing, your Grace,’ said Phoebe.
‘Nothing, your Grace,’ said Sir Leo.
‘Then choose your weapons and begin.’
The rapiers were long narrow
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