He swallowed. “I do.”
The weight of the silence following could sink a ship.
“Victoria, you promised to answer every one of my questions,” he intoned, desperate to lift the weight.
He turned, surprised to see a stunning smile on her face.
“I will, but first…spar with me.”
Chapter Twenty
Never in his life had anyone offered such a tantalizing and utterly ridiculous challenge.
He accepted without hesitation.
He gripped his rapier, feeling the weight of it in his palm. It was perfectly balanced and would cut easily. His gaze caught on the woman before him, gripping her own rapier with a practiced hand, her stance one of a skilled fighter. Again, he wondered about this woman, a woman who wore disguises, knew how to pick locks, and could wield a blade in her small yet capable hands.
She was a marvel. An enigma he wanted to solve.
Richard had known his share of debutantes: beautiful women with poise, elegant manners, and eyes for his fortune and name. But none of them held a candle to Victoria…
And it terrified him.
Without warning, Victoria thrust. He evaded, his blood singing.
“That was wicked of you, Victoria,” he said, even as he laughed.
He was going to enjoy this.
She laughed, too, an ethereal sound that went straight through his chest. His breath caught. “En garde!” she called just before thrusting again. Again he evaded, his body strung tight, ready for her next move.
“Ask your questions,” she said, her voice husky.
“Are you a spy?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that I am a part of an agency founded with the purpose of infiltrating the homes of prominent noblemen to gather information.”
“For France?”
She snorted, a rather adorable noise. “No, for the Crown.”
“What information? What do you use it for?”
“We were tasked with investigating, uncovering, and destroying an illegal opium-trading organization using crimes against nobles to fund their enterprise.”
“Was Banebridge a suspect?”
“Yes.”
“And that is why you broke into his study?”
“Yes.”
“What of Benjamin Bennington?”
“No.”
“His father, the Duke of Benford?”
“Yes.”
They danced around the room, slicing at one another in controlled arcs and parries. He had to admit, Victoria was as skilled with a rapier as she was with her tongue—lashing and slashing with a finesse he found as magnificent as the lady herself.
“What of Rhys or Billings?”
“Yes and no,” she replied, just missing being speared in the arm by Richard’s forward thrust. He was doing his damnedest to rein in his usual brutality with the rapier, but Vic wasn’t having that, pushing at him, making him move and twist and dodge in an effort to defend rather than attack.
“Crosswaite?”
“Not as of yet.”
He had named each of the men he counted as friends and was surprised that any of them found themselves a target of this Daring agency. But there was one name he had yet to inquire about.
“What about me? Am I on that list?”
She tensed, nearly stumbling, but she recovered quickly enough to make it appear as though she’d intended to do it.
“No.” It was a simple answer, and yet the relief he felt at hearing it lifted a weight he hadn’t known he was carrying from his shoulders.
He took a deep breath and continued his line of questioning. “Have you told anyone else?”
“Only you.”
He realized he liked that answer; it was strange that he could be jealous of any other man with near-intimate knowledge of Victoria Daring’s nighttime activities.
You are going mad.
Grunting, he continued, “Whom do you work for directly? I assume there is a liaison within the Crown’s organizations?”
“A man named Leavenson.”
“Is it just you?”
They danced around each other, gauging each muscle twitch. For every one of her moves, he blocked. He was on the defense, but he didn’t mind. As long as she was speaking, he was willing to let her have her way.
For now.
“Answer the question, Victoria,” he demanded, his own breath heavy. He landed a slice to her arm, thankfully only snagging on the fabric of her strange shirt.
“No, it is not just me.” Her answer seemed pried from her lips.
“Who else?”
“All of us.”
At that answer, he stalled, giving her just enough time to slash a shallow line through his shirt. Grunting, he glanced down to find she’d narrowly missed cutting him.
By God, she was good.
A smile cocking his lips, he lunged, and they were back in the thick of it.
“You mean to say you”—lunge—“your sisters”—parry—“your brother and your father”—evade, and pivot—“are all part of this agency?”
“Yes,” she answered, sliding her bare feet across the floor, every one of her movements controlled. “All save my mother.”
“But why? Surely the Home Office could find others to do it.”
“We have the skills the Crown required,” she answered, her tone matter-of-fact.
“Skills? You mean like the fencing, the disguises, the languages—the incredible fighting you were doing with Miss Verity?” Victoria exhibited a wealth of skills he’d never seen before—especially in a woman. And it was heady.
“Kung fu,” she said, striking his thigh with the flat side of the blade—not hurting him, just reminding him to keep his focus on her.
“Pardon?” he blurted.
“The fighting style is called kung fu. It is a traditional fighting form in China.”
He dropped his hand, pointing his sword at the floor. “Why would you need to know something like that?” he asked, his mind awhirl.
“Our father required us to learn, to train, and to—” She didn’t finish her response. Instead, she spun behind him, catching him in his lack of attention, and pressed the tip of her rapier into his back.
“Yield,” she demanded, her voice husky. But was it from exertion this time, or something else? He knew why his heart was pounding, why his blood was racing, why his breaths were shuddered. This woman…she was magnificent.
One of a kind.
…
She’d felt him the moment Richard walked into the dàochǎng. She’d known his eyes were upon her, studying her movements, watching her. When she’d turned to him, ready to defend herself against the onslaught of angry questions, she didn’t see what she thought she’d see.
Instead, she saw…awe. She saw admiration.
It couldn’t be possible; according to her lady mother, if the gentlemen of the ton knew of her “proclivities,” she’d be shunned, left to marry a simple merchant or innkeeper. And, from what she’d witnessed at the many parties and balls she’d been forced to attend since their official coming-out ball, her mother was correct.
But Richard actually seemed…interested.
Do not let him get even further under your skin. You already cannot stop thinking about him. You cannot start admiring him in return.
She refused to question: why not?
When Richard stood admiring her weapons collection, she thought to distract herself from thinking dangerous what-ifs by challenging him to a match. She hadn’t meant for him to accept…
Or for her to enjoy it so much.
Vic’s breathing was heavy, but it was from both the exertion and the excitement. Watching Richard move was exhilarating. His muscles bunched and flexed beneath the thin lawn of his shirt, and the sweat coated his face and neck, soaking into his clothes, making them stick to his skin.
He was magnificent, a specimen of masculinity that ma
de her mouth water.
“Yield,” she said. From behind and slightly to the side, she could see his face harden. He pressed his lips together as if to stop himself from speaking the words that would end their match.
Admit it—you do not want it to end.
Richard kicked back, using a move she had used on Verity, but she was quick enough to jump away, which meant removing the blade point from his body.
Now facing her again, he scorched her where she stood with the fire in his golden eyes. “Let me help you, Victoria,” he said, surprising her with the iron in his command.
She scoffed. “Help me what?”
“Investigate these men,” he answered, pulling back to raise his rapier to chest level before lunging. She sidestepped, bringing her rapier down to break his attack.
“And what can you do to help?”
“I am a viscount; I have entrée into any house, any party, behind any closed door in the kingdom. I can get the information you seek without having to pick a single lock.”
Her heart skipped a beat. Richard had a point, but then, he wasn’t prepared to do what needed to be done, and she couldn’t trust him not to tell her secrets given the right opportunity.
She shook her head, raising her sword.
“No. It would not work,” she murmured.
“Why not?” he asked, incredulity staining his words. “I could be your escort, one who could cover for you when the need arises. We can be partners…”
Partners? Richard as her escort to society functions? As a cover for her work with the agency?
The very idea of being partners with him—always close to him, at times alone with him, dancing with him, playing the part of what? Friend? Betrothed? Lover? A blaze ignited in her belly, racing out to immolate her being. It was both frightening and exciting.
Her hands trembling, she nearly dropped her rapier. No. She couldn’t be partners with him. It was too dangerous.
“I can see you thinking…” Richard drawled, the timbre of his voice a low, satiny blanket of persuasion. “Let me in, Victoria.” Her heart pounded; her breath came in short bursts. “Let me help you…” He took a step closer; the heat of him, the scent of him, pulled at her, drawing her down into the molten promise in his gaze. “Would it be so terrible to let me in?”
Yes.
Strengthened by her resolve, she focused on the here and now. Incorporating lunging kicks with her rapier attacks, she pushed Richard back toward the wall. He fought hard, moving quickly, his own rapier flashing in the light.
He truly was a skilled swordsman, could even be deadly—if he weren’t facing Victoria Daring. And she knew he was holding back, using only a fraction of the power packed into his large, muscular frame. It rankled that he would think her so weak that she couldn’t take it, take him. Best him.
With a yell, she attacked with more focus, more strength, holding nothing back. He could take it. Her arms aching, her body trembling, her heart racing, she did something she’d never expected: she laughed. A loud, carefree laugh that bounced off the dàochǎng walls. She couldn’t help it. The laughter continued, and heat filled her face.
But then, he did something she didn’t expect. He straightened, met her gaze, then dropped his arm, pointing his blade at the floor.
Her laughter stopped in a snap. “Do you yield?” she asked as she pressed the point of her rapier to his heaving chest. She wet her lips, exhausted yet energized by the battle. By him.
She recovered quickly, though, refusing to notice his breathing hard, or the planes of his chest rising and falling.
“Do. You. Yield?” she rasped, her sword hand shaking.
“Not until you let me help you,” he drawled, his voice steely.
She shuddered. “Never. It’s too dangerous. You’d be a liability.”
He flinched but didn’t relent. “Let me in, Victoria,” he demanded.
She straightened, her body tingling at his nearness, and that was all it took.
In a flash, Richard knocked her sword from her hand, and it skidded across the floor to hit the wall. He was before her then, his tall, broad body more agile than she thought possible. His molten gaze pierced her to the bottom of her soul.
“You will let me in, Victoria,” he growled.
She gasped, stunned, just before he dropped his own sword, wove his fingers together behind her head, and kissed her.
His lips, hard and demanding, moved over her mouth, devouring its softness, stealing her breath, making her mind spin. Never had she felt anything as raw, as sensuous, as this kiss. Her body tensed but then melted as his mouth softened, seeming to entice her with his gentle seduction.
She placed her hands on his chest—hard and unyielding—and then slid them up to weave her own hands together behind his neck. His hair brushed against her knuckles: silky, thick. He groaned, pressing in, his tongue flicking over the seam of her lips. Shocked at her own hunger, she opened for him, nearly collapsing at the wicked sensations that followed his plundering of her mouth.
A tingling began in the pit of her stomach, moving outward to fill her limbs with a current that made her blood hum.
The sound of someone clearing her throat made them jump apart: Vic to one side of the room and Richard nearer the door. Vic turned to see Ping-Na standing in the doorway, her dark eyes narrowed and her small hands planted as fists on her hips. She didn’t have to say anything—Vic could read the censure in her eyes—but Ping-Na was never one for keeping her opinion to herself.
She ripped into Vic in Mandarin, going on about being a loose woman in her father’s house, and how ashamed she should feel for bringing disgrace on herself.
But Vic didn’t feel shame. Turning to Richard, Vic noticed his eyes had cooled to their normal color, but he was staring at her with a mix of astonishment and regret on his face. But was it regret that their kiss was interrupted, or that he’d kissed her at all?
“Ping-Na, I assume your arrival here means you have a message for me,” Vic intoned in English, bending to pick up the sword Richard had knocked from her hand.
Ping-Na grunted, no doubt biting back what else she had to say. Instead, she said, “Miss Lady wants you for fitting.”
Vic fought the desire to roll her eyes, hating that her mother still hadn’t tired of buying dresses she’d only wear once.
“Tell Mother I will be down shortly. She won’t want me to attend her while wearing this,” she remarked, tugging on her training costume.
Ping-Na nodded in agreement, grumbled something under her breath, and then disappeared down the corridor.
Sucking in a deep breath, Vic turned her attention back to Richard, who hadn’t moved a millimeter. “Well…I suppose I won the match,” she said, her cheeks warming under his gaze.
He laughed, crossing his arms over his chest, a chest she had felt beneath her seeking hands. It was a wonderfully broad and muscled chest.
“How do you figure? You must have forgotten…I disarmed you,” he drawled, taking a step toward her. This time, the look in his eyes was far from cool. “I think that counts as my winning.” He was before her now, his warm breath fluttering over her face to tease her heated flesh. “Would you not agree?”
Against her will, she trembled, his nearness like a brandy she’d consumed much too quickly.
If he had that kind of hold over her now, that kind of power to affect her senses, what would happen when they were playing their parts…as partners?
I would fall, and then what would become of me?
Would she cease being the daring Victoria and become the Victoria desperate for Richard’s attention? Could I be a wife…a mother?
The hope that thrilled through her shocked her.
Did she want to be a wife? Start a family?
No, I cannot. It would be better for this man to go away and forget he knew her at all.
Stepping back, Victoria pinned him with what she hoped was a chilly expression. “I do not agree, but I haven’t the time to argue with you a
bout it.” Replacing her rapier on its wall mount, she waited for Richard to do the same before making her way to the door.
But his silence irked her. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye—he was watching her. What was he thinking, and why did she care so much?
“Richard?”
“Yes, Victoria?”
“Do you have any other questions?” She was a fool to allow this to continue, to play right into his strong hands, to lose ever more control of herself, but she couldn’t stop.
A slow smile slanted his mouth, the mouth she wanted to kiss again.
“I do.”
She lifted her chin, fighting back a nervous grin. “What, then?”
He chuckled, his deep laughter rumbling through her body.
“I will ask you tonight, when I come to escort you to the opera. Be ready,” he commanded before leaving the dàochǎng, a deliciously wicked grin on his handsome face.
It took a full minute for Vic to realize what he’d said.
The opera? For what purpose? And he’d ordered her to be ready—the cad! He’d told her she would accompany him.
But no matter how she stewed over his high-handedness and arrogance, she couldn’t stop a smile from warming her face.
Chapter Twenty-One
Sitting before her dressing table, she gazed at her reflection in the glass. Victoria touched her lips, the memory of Richard’s mouth against hers like a ghost she couldn’t exorcise. It had been her first kiss, and it had been incredible.
Even now, the warmth of his desire surged through her. She remembered his eyes, how they’d seared her, how they’d burned through her skin to turn her bones to ash. She knew that, if he’d asked it of her, she would have kissed him again.
“Did you take him up on his offer?” Verity asked while pulling Victoria’s still-damp hair away from her face. She began braiding it, preparing her for her evening at the opera.
Stunned from her stupor, Victoria immediately wondered if her dear sister was now skilled in mind reading.
“What offer?” she blurted, watching her cheeks turn pink in her reflection. She had been sitting at her vanity, preparing for her evening, when her sister had entered, questions written in her eyes. Now, Vic wondered how much her sister already knew. She narrowed her eyes at Verity through the mirror, but her sister’s expression remained even.
A Lady Never Tells (Women of Daring) Page 17
