Page 17 of The Duke’s Unwilling Bride

This only makes the laughter pour out of me. Her earnest face, the look of sheer anger. It’s enough that I nearly double over.

“Please, pray, tell me whereabouts you’ve gathered your knowledge? Do you hold clandestine meetings with like-minded women? All of you clad in breeches, bounding about as if you have the knowledge to back up the words fleeing your lips? Is that where all your money goes? Oh. Wait. For that to happen, you would have to have friends. And as I understand it, your only companion was just dismissed from your employ. Would you care to try again?”

Lady Teresa’s eyes sparkle, but this time, it’s not from tears. Oh no. I know that look all too well. Rage simmers under that calm veneer. It causes the slightest tremors in her hands. To her credit, she composes herself well, and that’s a far cry from all the other failings I’ve had to endure today.

“Do you care to try me, Your Grace?” she bites out. “Do you dare fight me? A woman? Or are you too cowardly to back up your words?”

I step forward, my own rage flooding my body. “I would choose your words more carefully, Madame. I am not a duke to be trifled with.”

“Duke, no. But as a man? Are you fit to be trifled with? Or do you merely hide behind your title and arrogance of speech?”

“Fine. If you think you can best me, I suggest you put yourself to work and place your own arrogance where your claims are. I shall even be generous and allow you to choose a blade first. And while I’m at it, I shall even instruct you on how to hold the instrument.”

She slides back over to the rack where my fencing blades lie, her face scrunched up in thought. It really is callous of me to not assist her. She will embarrass herself soon enough without my help.

However, the moment I reach for a blade, she whirls about, her eyes spitting venom. “I neither need nor desire your aid. I am fine enough alone.”

“Fine then,” I bark out, striding across the room to get my own blade. “But if you become injured in this fruitless endeavor of yours, do not come crying to me. I am not in the habit of kissing injuries and making them better. That is more the role of a father or lady’s maid. But alas, you have neither.”

Remorse guts me for a moment as I realize the words that slipped out into the air. “Forgive me. I…” Faltering, I have no choice but wait out the silence stretching between us as she looks up at me, a stunned expression on her face.

“I demand satisfaction,” she says, her voice so low I almost don’t hear her.

“Excuse me?”

“For you to allow my father to fall from your lips in so careless a fashion, I demand satisfaction.”

“Come now. You must be joking. I did nothing that causes you such dishonor as to demand a duel. And besides, I refuse to fight with someone so mentally or physically unarmed.”

“‘Opinion is the medium between knowledge and ignorance,’” she lobs at me, thinking to disarm me with Plato.

Removing my jacket to allow myself more freedom of movement, I smirk at her ploy to trip me up with her vast knowledge of books, not knowing I am armed with such education as well. “‘An empty vessel makes the loudest sound, so they that have the least wit are the greatest babblers.’” I stand there, waiting for her rebuttal, but she says nothing. Puffing up my chest, I turn to draw my sword, satisfied she is finally beaten. “What is that? No contestation?”

“Oh, forgive me, Your Grace. I was merely letting you babble like the fool you seem to purport yourself as. Have you chosen your weapon?”

I grit my teeth at her insult, wishing now more than ever we were at The Rose and Thorne. I would be able to thrash her properly there. “As you can clearly see.”

“Then I shall draw my own.” Again, she turns away from me and studies the swords, and I take that time to inspect the end to ensure the blossom is firmly in place on the tip so as to not harm her unwittingly.

She pulls down a foil, the thinnest of the lot and inspects it, bending first, the foible, the most flexible part of the blade, then moving down to the forte, nearest the bell guard. My stomach clenches with unease as I watch her, noting the glimmer of intelligence in her eyes.

But I must be mistaken. “Here, at least allow me to show you how to hold the blasted thing so you don’t hurt yourself. Far be it from me to allow you to come to harm.”

Before I can get to her side, her hand wraps around the pommel of the French grip, cradling it expertly in her gloved palm. Within moments, she moves the blade out in front of her, stopping me in my tracks lest I impale myself on her tip. “You were saying, Your Grace?”

CHAPTER 8

Joseph

Admiration blossoms behind my breastbone for a moment as I stare at her, taking in her controlled breaths as her left leg slides back, ballooning out her dress. Bringing the blade up to her face, she salutes me, then brings it back down as she curtsies.

“So you know your way around a sword. Congratulations for watching the men as they play, but can you actually wield it?”

“I suppose we shall see.”

“I suppose you are correct.” Sliding my own leg back, I salute her as well before bringing my point back into center.

From the moment she brought up this absurd scheme, I knew I’d go easy on her, allowing her to think she had a chance. Mostly it’s to keep her safe. Even though she seems to thrive in her stupidity, I am the one cursed with knowledge enough to demand I protect her.