His Three-Day Duchess

‘No, nothing that drastic. I was wondering if you would care to have a duel with the small swords—that is, if you are confident enough in your fencing skills.’

A slow smile lifted the corners of her mouth. ‘How should we determine the winner?’

‘The first one to touch the other with the tip of the blade?’

Her eyes darkened and she pressed her lips together in a firm line. ‘How about the first one to draw blood?’

Simon had found a keen sense of satisfaction in shocking her with his proposal, but her suggestion had shocked him in return and it must have been evident from his expression. Who knew Elizabeth, the Duchess of Skeffington, shared his adventurous side?

‘Drawing first blood is an absolute,’ she explained. ‘No one can deny when it happens.’

‘Are you saying you think I will cheat if we duel my way?’

‘I am saying there is no room for contradictory reports. Blood is blood. There will be no denying when it is shed.’

‘How much blood are we talking about?’

‘Not much. Only a scratch. Do you think you can manage to prick me?’

Simon had no idea if she was aware of how her question could be taken and that notion made him let out a low laugh, which seemed to ignite fire in her eyes.

‘Oh, I think I can manage to prick you quite well,’ he replied through his smile.

She huffed at him and spun on her heels to retrieve the same sword she had been holding when he had caught her lunging at the curtains.

‘You agree, then,’ he called out.

As she turned to face him, she pointed the tip of her blade at his chest. ‘It will be my pleasure.’

He had learned swordplay on naval ships and had become quite adept over the years. Wearing his banyan would never do if he intended to show her what a great swordsman he was. As he walked towards the wall of broadswords, he shook himself out of it and laid it down on the sofa that was positioned against the wall. When he turned around and began rolling up his sleeves, he caught the eye of the Duchess, frozen in place staring at him.

He was well aware that he should not be in her presence in just his shirtsleeves and his waistcoat, but they had agreed to a duel. That was highly improper, as well, and she hadn’t hesitated to agree to that.

He walked towards her, his breath catching in his throat when she began biting the tips of each of her fingers to slip her hands out of her lavender-silk gloves. The very act conjured up the erotic image of her stripping out of that gown.

‘You might want to keep them on,’ he managed to say without his voice cracking. ‘They will offer your hands a bit of protection.’

‘I will take that risk.’ She turned and tossed them to the base of a window where they landed in the puddle of a red-velvet curtain.

He stalked her like a lion eyeing its prey. In his entire life he had never fought a woman. It went against the very core of who he was. Yet knowing that all of her attention was going to be focused on him was making his blood rush through his body. There was a determination and a confidence about her manner that he actually found strangely attractive. This was not a woman who would fold up into a ball when the cards were stacked against her. This was a woman who was willing to meet life’s challenges head-on. And as much as he didn’t like her, he could respect that part of who she was.