Chapter Twenty

F ive-thirty. Cecilia stood on the steps of her house, waiting as Anthony's carriage pulled up. She was dressed in breeches, black leather Hessian boots, a man's white shirt, and a tan waistcoat. Her breasts were bound against her chest and her hair was plaited severely back. Anthony could see little of the elegant woman in her that had captivated him at their first meeting. She was cold, hard, unforgiving as stone. A regimental officer's sword hung against her leg. He shuddered involuntarily and rubbed his hands against his thighs. She wrapped her cloak around her shoulders and pulled the hood over her head.

Anthony opened the carriage door and she climbed inside, her gait even and determined. No limp. She looked at him from under her hood, her amber eyes concealed by shadow. He held his breath.

"Everything is arranged to our satisfaction?" she asked.

He nodded.

The carriage traveled in silence, cutting through the empty streets, wheels echoing against the paving stones like the footsteps of pall-bearers bringing a coffin to church. Anthony closed his eyes. Ooze of blood against marble skin . "Don't die," he whispered, the words a command.

The carriage turned into the park and followed the path to the Oriental gardens. "I won't," she answered, her words a promise.

The field in the rear of the gardens was empty. Early morning fog rolled over the ground and dew-covered blades of grass licked at their boots as they alighted from the coach. Cecilia drew her sword and made a few practice lunges, lightly favoring her left leg. Anthony watched the grace, the skill of her movements. She was quick and nimble, her footwork impeccable. She held her blade almost carelessly, the movements of her right arm seemingly effortless. She was a master. Much better than he. Please God , he thought, make her better than Brinkley . And then, for good measure, because he wasn't sure God would listen to him, he begged the Devil too.

A second coach pulled into the clearing and Captain Brinkley and Lieutenant Lightman stepped down, the requisite doctor following. Cecilia drew her hood further over her face and moved behind Anthony. Brinkley strode up to them, dragging the tip of his sword casually in the grass. He made a short bow to Anthony.

"Lord Stirling." The captain stripped off his jacket and threw it to Lightman. He smiled arrogantly. "Shall we get this over with?"

Anthony stepped aside and motioned to Cecilia. "By all means. I regret to inform you, though, that I am unable to fight this morning. Dreadful cold, you know." He coughed unconvincingly and gestured to Cecilia. "My second will be taking my place."

Captain Brinkley frowned, a glimmer of recognition flashing across his eyes. He stepped forward and pushed back Cecilia's hood. First he smiled, then he laughed. Lieutenant Lightman let out a small gasp. "Lady Cecilia." Brinkley made a mocking bow. "I should have guessed, of course."

"Captain Brinkley." Her words were crisp in the cold morning air. She tossed her cloak to the ground and took her beginning stance. Anthony watched as the muscles in her shoulders flexed, tensed.

Brinkley threw up his hands in exaggerated surrender. "My lady, you know I will not fight you."

"You will." She held her stance.

Lieutenant Lightman stuttered, "Th-this is hardly –"

Brinkley cut him off with a wave of the hand. "Cecilia, I will not fight you." He turned to walk away.

Cecilia reached behind her back and pulled a pistol out of her waistband. Anthony held his breath; his heart leaped once, then he was sure it stopped beating altogether. She leveled the gun at Brinkley's back and cocked it.

The noise made her opponent stop. He turned back to face her.

"You will fight me with honor, or you will die without it." She shrugged. "I have no preference." Her voice was low and menacing. Brinkley bristled and clenched his left hand into a fist. "Make your choice, Captain."

Brinkley's second spoke up. "Lady Cecilia, I hardly think your brother would wish you to put yourself in harm's way like this."

"Lieutenant Lightman," she answered impatiently, keeping her eyes focused on Brinkley, "for the friendship you showed my brother I will not kill you here and now, but I suggest you stay out of my way and hold your tongue, if you value it." The young man stepped back, intimidated by her tone. "Which death do you prefer?" She asked the Captain.

Brinkley nodded and saluted her with his sword. She tossed the pistol to the ground. Brinkley took advantage of the motion to lash out with his sword, but Cecilia ducked under his lunge and nicked him in the ribs, sidestepping teasingly. He growled and her lips smiled in return, though her eyes remained cold as stone. Ooze of blood against marble skin. Anthony gritted his teeth.

"Frigid bitch!" Brinkley spat. He beat back her blade.

She parried his attack. "Revenge is a dish best served cold."

Anthony forced himself to take a deep breath. Slowly, he bent and reached for the pistol, holding it concealed against his leg. His eyes never left Cecilia.

She was flawless, her footwork anticipating Brinkley's every strike. The bigger man lunged after her, his strength and anger far eclipsing hers. She kept her motions fast and relaxed, her face still as she focused entirely on avoiding the Captain's livid barrage.

Cecilia feinted to Brinkley's left and he parried, pushing back with his full force. She leaped back and he lunged forward again, his sword crashing into hers. He brought his knee up to her gut and punched her sword arm with his left hand. From somewhere behind him, Anthony could hear Lightman shout, "Fight fair, man!" but the words didn't register in his mind. He hefted the pistol in his hand, waiting for the right moment.

Staggering back, Cecilia lost her grip on her sword. It fell to the grass a few meters behind her and she lost her balance, falling with a thud into the wet grass. Brinkley rushed her and she scooted back on her bottom, but not fast enough. The point of his blade pressed against her left breast. He smiled down at her, his mouth a cruel incision in his face. He pushed his blade an inch further and she hissed in pain, a small dot of blood appearing on her shirt.

"Don't make me kill you, Cecilia," he murmured.

Her eyes held his gaze, but her hand slowly searched the grass behind her for the hilt of her sword. Brinkley clicked his tongue in admonishment. With a sharp merciless motion, he drew back and stabbed down towards her heart.

Anthony raised the pistol; the right moment had already passed. Cecilia caught the Captain's blade in her left hand. The fingers of her right hand reached her own sword and curled tightly around it. Anthony pulled back the hammer of the pistol with his thumb.

Blood pooled between Cecilia's fingers. She gritted her teeth. With a roar of frustration, Brinkley wrenched his blade from her grip. Her right arm sliced upwards; the tip of her sword slid smoothly into his abdomen. The Captain stood motionless for a moment, teeth bared in anger. Slowly, his blade slipped from his grip. His knees sagged. He looked down to the point where her sword mated with his body and grimaced in disgust.

"Bitch," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Cecilia thrust her blade further in. Brinkley choked, spitting blood on her. Wiping her face with her left sleeve, she brought her right leg up and kicked him in the groin. He toppled backwards, her sword sticking out of his belly just below his ribs. Her whole body shook with an exhausted sigh, and she slumped down into the grass.

Anthony watched her fall back, his vision blurry and unfocused, and realized there were tears in his eyes. He dropped the pistol and rushed to her. Her breathing was shallow and fast, the stain of blood spreading over her heart. He tore open her shirt and pulled down the bindings over her breasts to find the wound. Her hand caught his.

"I'm alright. It's not deep." She opened her eyes. "Help me up."

He lifted her arm over his shoulder, holding her lacerated hand gently, and hauled her upright. Leaning against him, she let him lead her to the coach. Anthony closed his eyes for a moment. He took a deep breath and held her closer. Ooze of blood against marble skin . He released the breath and looked down at her. She exhaled through pursed lips, subduing her pain. She was warm and soft under his hands. She was alive.

The doctor rushed to the Captain's side, black bag at the ready though it was too late. Lightman stepped forward and removed Cecilia's sword from the Captain's body and handed it to her.

"I will not pretend to know what this was about," he said cautiously, "but you fought with honor, and Captain Brinkley did not." He made her a short bow of respect. "You are truly your brother's sister, ma'am. You honor him."

Cecilia nodded to him. "I know I do. See to your friend's corpse, Lieutenant." The young man turned away. "And," Cecilia added, "I hope I can trust you to hold your tongue."

He searched her assured stare for a moment, then said, "Yes, my lady."

Cecilia rested her head on Anthony's shoulder. He nestled his chin in her hair and kissed the top of her head. Warm, bleeding, but alive. "I'm taking you home for a proper meal and a hot bath," was all he could bring himself to say.

She let out a small laugh. "Emma is too old to haul that much water upstairs," she chided.

"No," he said. "I'm taking you to my house."

She looked up at him, amused. "And my reputation?"

"I thought you once told me you didn't care a fig for it." He smiled.

She smiled back. "And you once told me you were no knight in shining armor."

"You would be right to pay heed to that," he said, helping her into the carriage. His lips curled up in a lusty smile. "I'm only taking you home because I don't want anyone else's hands touching you but mine."

She leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes. "Is that a promise?" she teased, running the toe of her boot up the inside of his calf.

"Very much so."