Page 35 of Romancing the Rifleman
“Targets,” Harrington countered, miming the shooting of a gun with his hand.
Just like that, they were nose-to-nose and snarling once more.“Swords!”Marcus spat.
“Targets!”
“Swords!”
“Targets!”
“My gracious!”Lucy laughed awkwardly.“Perhaps we should play shuttlecock instead.”
“No!”both men snapped in unison.
Lucy winced, and Thorpe cast a reproachful look at Harrington and Marcus.“I should be glad to play shuttlecock with you, Lady Lucy.”
Harrington shot his sister an apologetic look.Lucy laughed, waving it off.“Thank you, Thorpe.Let’s have a game after luncheon.After all, we don’t want to miss the show.”
“Swords it is,” Marcus said, attempting to bowl over everyone, as usual.
“We’ll draw straws,” Harrington countered.
Marcus’s lip curled, and Diana knew her brother well enough to know that he was really, truly angry.But he snapped, “Fine!”and stalked off.
Lord Fauconbridge cut two blades of grass.He held them out for Harrington and Marcus to inspect, then turned his back, arranging them in his cupped hands.“Trevissick will draw.Close your eyes.”
Marcus did so, fumbling until he managed to grasp one of the ends sticking up from Fauconbridge’s fist.He pulled it out, revealing the long straw.
Her brother’s smile as he turned to Harrington was vindictive.“Fetch yourself a mask, Astley.You’re going to need it.”
Chapter17
Fencing.It would be bloody, fucking,fencing.
Not that Harrington was terrible with a sword.He was an officer in the 95thRifles, thank you very much.He carried a sabre into battle and drilled with it regularly.
But Trevissick was on an entirely different level.He’d been fencing obsessively ever since he was a small boy, because—as Harrington and the rest of the world had learned when the duke was forced to testify at a trial a few years back—his father was a violent piece of shit who used to beat his mother.Trevissick had formed the idea that he could protect her in spite of being all of nine years old if he could gain enough skill with a blade.
Harrington knew he’d already lost.The real battle had taken place when they’d drawn straws.Had it come to targets, he would have won.Easily.He’d been shooting about as obsessively as Trevissick had been fencing, and for about as long.
But no.It had to befencing.
The servants brought out a rack of swords, some canvas jackets, and mesh masks.As Harrington shrugged into a jacket, his friend, Henry, came over.Which was perfect, because just what Harrington needed—for someone to make a crack about how heclearlywasn’t interested in Diana, just as he’d said over lunch the other day.
He should have given his friend more credit.“I’ve volunteered to fence so we’ll have four for the tournament,” Henry said, taking off his own coat.“We’ve agreed to three rounds, unless someone draws ahead by ten touches, in which case, the bout will end.I drew Fauconbridge in the first round, which leaves you to take on Trevissick.”He reached for one of the padded jackets.His eyes were sympathetic as he added, “I very much doubt I’ll get past your brother, but if I do, I’ll do my best to give Trevissick what for.”
Harrington squeezed his shoulder.“Thanks, Henry.”
Surely enough, Edward, who was a damn good fencer by virtue of the fact that he was one of Trevissick’s regular sparring partners, eliminated Henry with ease.That brought up the most anticipated match of the day.
The duke didn’t bother donning one of the mesh fencing masks, which was both insulting and an accurate assessment of their respective skill levels.Harrington put one on because he wasn’t a complete idiot.He glanced around as they took up their positions, but he couldn’t find Diana in the crowd.It stung that she hadn’t bothered to stay and cheer for him, but, upon further reflection, maybe it was for the best that she wasn’t going to witness his annihilation at the hands of her brother.
The bout went every bit as badly as Harrington had anticipated.He felt the button on the tip of Trevissick’s sword spearing him in the chest before he even had a chance to blink.He improved a bit after that and managed to prevent the duke from scoring the next touch for all of fifteen seconds.But he didn’t score any touches himself, and the bout ended ingloriously near the beginning of the second round when the score reached ten to zero.
His smile was tight as he removed his mask, but he offered his hand to the duke, trying at least to be a good sport.Trevissick’s smirk was triumphant.
Harrington excused himself and stalked over to Edward, who was about to don his mesh facemask.“Can you beat him?”he asked without preamble.
Edward’s expression was pained.“Probably not.I’ve never done so before.”
