Page 20 of A Royally Fake French Menage
He stiffened and turned when I let him, sliding his keys into his pocket, his own weapon loose at his side. Loose but not uncomfortable.
For the first time, interest flared behind those gray eyes.
“No, Miss Lockwood. It did not. Would you like to fight?”
I grinned, my anxiety of this morning thrown off within seconds. “Very much, Jacques.”
The tall valet led the way out of the house and onto a perfectly manicured lawn beyond the house. I half expected there to be a putting green at one end with a little red flag coming out of a hole.
“It’s very you. Wait, do you also cut grass?” I let the innuendo stand.
If I hadn't known better, I would have thought he rolled his eyes.
“Tips on or off?” Jacques rolled his neck. Something popped.
“You shouldn't really do that,” I objected. “It’s bad for your joints to go all the way around.”
“Didn’t you just tell me that you were born French, not American? You’re very nosy for a Parisian born girl.” He lacedthe words in English, horribly accented as though he strove to make them sound more… Like home.
Because I hadn’t called France home in a very long time.
“Tips off,” I decided, not having wanted to make that choice at all, but his attitude bothered me beyond any ire I'd felt this trip already and that included having to deal with Barclay’s stepmother touching me.
I already understood why he didn’t like her, though it wasn’t clear exactly why she’d called him back to France, or why he felt the desire to heed her call when he was clearly the one meant to be in charge of his own destiny, but wasn’t.
Pacing in a small circle across the lawn, I swept my blade in a tight arc, rotating my wrist. Something squeezed in my lower back and I regretted not taking the moment prior to warm up while I bitched Jacques out.
Not that the taller man gave me the opportunity before his own blade cut the air and landed a swift point on my shoulder.
The fabric of my lime and green silk top—courtesy of my mother’s line from last year—bore a distinct hole. I forced a smile.
“Are you so cheap?” I murmured as we reset for the next point.
A moment later I wished I’d held my peace when he slashed a hole in the other shoulder. I knew I’d remember Jacques's smug grin forever. “From riches to rags,” he whispered, his voice carrying on a faint breeze across the lawn as he took two respectful steps back to let me catch the breath I'd barely expelled.
His own exertion barely registered as I raised my blade. Determination set my lips in a fiery smile. “Born with a silver spoon versus earning it, is that right?” I asked softly, my eyes hard.
Jacques frowned at me. “Were you not?—”
I didn’t let him finish, lunging forward in a double step that he didn’t seem to expect after my passive front from before. Caught off guard, he barely raised his blade in time, but by then it was too late. I slipped inside his reach and pressed the tip of my epee to the curve of his neck like a lover’s breath, backing off before he blinked.
Jacques raised his hand to his neck, a bemused look on his face as his fingers came away stained with a fine trail of blood.
“Ah,magnifique,” cried someone behind me.
A smattering of applause surrounded us as I pivoted on my heel. I was unable to school my expression as I took in the small crowd of still hungover guests who had turned out to watch our impromptu display. Staff served mimosas and blinis that they apparently knocked out in time for a festive revival.
I curtsied cutely to a secondary round of applause as Jacques liberated my sword.
“We will settle this in the bedroom,” he muttered in my ear, his discontent at being watched without his permission evident.
Mine too, but his sour attitude topped off my morning.
A clock in the house struck the hour twice.
Ah, afternoon. That was fine. But maybe I could find Barclay, after I had cleaned up, and work out just what I could do to help him with his mother’s social situation. After all, I was clearly on a roll today. After besting Jacques, nothing could be tougher, surely.
And besides, I missed my fake date that turned out not to be half as fake as either of us expected.
