Read Online The Devil May Care (Brotherhood of Sinners #1) by Lara Archer - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lara Archer
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steel. You may each make your choice.”
“ Tout de suite !” cried the duc in encouragement, clapping his hands so his ruby ring flashed in the firelight.
The assembled guests hurried to clear space on the wide slate floor. Sebastian and Lord Henry stripped off their fine coats and neckcloths, rolled up their sleeves, and removed their evening shoes and stockings.
The current company might be used to such displays, but Rachel’s belly heated at the sight of so much of Sebastian’s bared flesh. His calves were even more strongly muscled than his evening clothes revealed. The bones of his wrists looked surprisingly broad and hard. The gargoyle, it turned out, had such ordinary human things as ankles and toes, tendons along the tops of his feet, and dark hair shadowing his skin, the same as any country farmer stripped down in the heat of harvest time.
An unsettling pulse beat deep inside her.
The whole mood of the room had shifted; the men murmured bets to one another, and the ladies giggled and sighed, palms pressed dramatically to their bejeweled bosoms.
Lord Henry’s exposed limbs looked tough and ropy as grapevines. He clearly took daily exercise, for he had none of the softness that came to most men with age. Once again his gaze had something hard behind it—the look of a man with a grudge.
Anxiety quavered in her chest.
If Sebastian had never met him before, where did that hostility come from?
Soon, Cardross returned with long cases that opened to reveal thin but quite deadly looking weapons. “I have but the one plastron and mask, I’m afraid,” he said, holding out what appeared to be a thick leather vest and a half-sphere of metal mesh.
“Lord Henry may have them,” said Sebastian with a small bow.
“No, indeed,” returned Lord Henry. “If you are to dispense with protection, so will I.”
Rachel was relieved to see both men set a round metal cap to the tips of their weapons to blunt the points, though the delicacy with which they handled the foils suggested the still-exposed edges were razor sharp.
They stood opposite one another, turned slightly sideways, backs straight, legs bent at the knees.
At Lord Henry’s cry, they launched into motion, foils meeting with a hissing ring, like metallic snakes striking. Their speed was astonishing—their weapons a blur, their bare feet beating hard tattoos against the slate, backwards and forwards, as they attacked and parried. Who led, who responded, was impossible to tell.
The transformation in Lord Gargoyle was amazing: all traces of the dandy had vanished. Only the agile, muscular predator was left.
The two men struck again and again, turning slowly around some imaginary center. Their foils whistled. For stretches they’d draw apart, circling and watching, then fly at one another again. Always, their gazes fixed on one another’s blades.
Then, unexpectedly, Sebastian drove forward at high speed, pushing Lord Henry backwards. His weapon struck the older man hard on the chest, and Lord Henry grunted, saved only by the cap on the blade. The assembled ladies squealed.
“Touché,” said Lord Henry, and his eyes took on an even colder glint.
Sebastian gave Lord Henry a moment to recover, and the weapons raised again. Once more, Sebastian drove forward, his back leg stretched nearly straight behind him as, cap or no cap, he came fearfully close to skewering Lord Henry to the wall.
Lord Henry’s color rose, and he flew at Sebastian in return, slapping his blade aside and scoring a hit against Sebastian’s ribs.
Sebastian’s eyes flashed, but not, it seemed, with anger. What, then?
Her fingernails dug into her palms.
Again and again, Sebastian tried some new approach, sometimes darting in from the side, sometimes looping his weapon in a circular motion, sometimes closing with lightning speed, sometimes moving slowly and methodically. It seemed he was watching for something, concerned with something more than just evading Lord Henry’s
“ Tout de suite !” cried the duc in encouragement, clapping his hands so his ruby ring flashed in the firelight.
The assembled guests hurried to clear space on the wide slate floor. Sebastian and Lord Henry stripped off their fine coats and neckcloths, rolled up their sleeves, and removed their evening shoes and stockings.
The current company might be used to such displays, but Rachel’s belly heated at the sight of so much of Sebastian’s bared flesh. His calves were even more strongly muscled than his evening clothes revealed. The bones of his wrists looked surprisingly broad and hard. The gargoyle, it turned out, had such ordinary human things as ankles and toes, tendons along the tops of his feet, and dark hair shadowing his skin, the same as any country farmer stripped down in the heat of harvest time.
An unsettling pulse beat deep inside her.
The whole mood of the room had shifted; the men murmured bets to one another, and the ladies giggled and sighed, palms pressed dramatically to their bejeweled bosoms.
Lord Henry’s exposed limbs looked tough and ropy as grapevines. He clearly took daily exercise, for he had none of the softness that came to most men with age. Once again his gaze had something hard behind it—the look of a man with a grudge.
Anxiety quavered in her chest.
If Sebastian had never met him before, where did that hostility come from?
Soon, Cardross returned with long cases that opened to reveal thin but quite deadly looking weapons. “I have but the one plastron and mask, I’m afraid,” he said, holding out what appeared to be a thick leather vest and a half-sphere of metal mesh.
“Lord Henry may have them,” said Sebastian with a small bow.
“No, indeed,” returned Lord Henry. “If you are to dispense with protection, so will I.”
Rachel was relieved to see both men set a round metal cap to the tips of their weapons to blunt the points, though the delicacy with which they handled the foils suggested the still-exposed edges were razor sharp.
They stood opposite one another, turned slightly sideways, backs straight, legs bent at the knees.
At Lord Henry’s cry, they launched into motion, foils meeting with a hissing ring, like metallic snakes striking. Their speed was astonishing—their weapons a blur, their bare feet beating hard tattoos against the slate, backwards and forwards, as they attacked and parried. Who led, who responded, was impossible to tell.
The transformation in Lord Gargoyle was amazing: all traces of the dandy had vanished. Only the agile, muscular predator was left.
The two men struck again and again, turning slowly around some imaginary center. Their foils whistled. For stretches they’d draw apart, circling and watching, then fly at one another again. Always, their gazes fixed on one another’s blades.
Then, unexpectedly, Sebastian drove forward at high speed, pushing Lord Henry backwards. His weapon struck the older man hard on the chest, and Lord Henry grunted, saved only by the cap on the blade. The assembled ladies squealed.
“Touché,” said Lord Henry, and his eyes took on an even colder glint.
Sebastian gave Lord Henry a moment to recover, and the weapons raised again. Once more, Sebastian drove forward, his back leg stretched nearly straight behind him as, cap or no cap, he came fearfully close to skewering Lord Henry to the wall.
Lord Henry’s color rose, and he flew at Sebastian in return, slapping his blade aside and scoring a hit against Sebastian’s ribs.
Sebastian’s eyes flashed, but not, it seemed, with anger. What, then?
Her fingernails dug into her palms.
Again and again, Sebastian tried some new approach, sometimes darting in from the side, sometimes looping his weapon in a circular motion, sometimes closing with lightning speed, sometimes moving slowly and methodically. It seemed he was watching for something, concerned with something more than just evading Lord Henry’s
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