out the duke's sword, obviously fighting the desire to smile over what he no doubt considered to be a fabulous joke.
Chapter Five
Quince withdrew his sword from its scabbard and turned to stomp across the field toward the small woman who had duped him with a forged note. This morning she was garbed in a loose white shirt overlaid with a tailored vest that showed off her curves. The buff colored trousers did nothing to disguise her gender either, highlighting the flare of her hips. This at least made it clear that it wasn't just the dress that had attracted him. She saluted with her sword as he approached but he kept his own sword low. Stopping a few feet away from her he gave a small bow. "My deepest apologies for the insult to you, my lady. It was not my intention to upset you or to besmirch your honor." With that he brought his sword up high enough to slash across his left palm. Holding the hand up to her he said, "First blood. The terms of our agreement are met."
He turned to walk away, but her voice flowed over him again. "That is not acceptable to me, your grace."
He turned back. "Deception was not acceptable to me."
"In which way did I deceive you?"
"Impersonating your brother in order to draw me out to this duel?"
"I in no way impersonated my brother. I did not use his seal, I did not disguise my handwriting, and my name is, in fact, Bittlesworth. It is unfortunate that you mistook the information you had to assume the letter was from my brother."
"That you can enumerate those items so quickly indicates that you knew exactly what you were up to, and exactly what my assumptions would be. It is intention that underlies deception, my lady. Arguing the facts of the case will in no way alleviate you from the responsibility of intending to deceive."
"Is that how you justify your insult to me as well? By dressing a certain way it was my intention to seduce you, and therefore you bear no responsibility for asking me to be your mistress?"
"Don't be ridiculous. I had no idea Robert had a sister. But I do know Robert, and it takes no stretch of the imagination to assume a beautiful woman wandering his house to be his mistress."
"Now you insult my brother as well?"
"I doubt that he would consider it an insult. Perhaps even a compliment."
"Well, I do not take your walking off this field of honor as a compliment, I take it as an insult. But I suppose we can just add it to the insults you have already done me."
"I do not mean to insult you."
"First you dishonor me by calling me a Cyprian and now you disrespect me by not allowing me to defend that honor. In what way are you not insulting me?"
Quince set his jaw. "This has all been entertaining, I'm sure, but I will not be dueling you this morning."
"Oh, wait," she said, her eyes widening. "Are you… are you afraid that I might best you?"
"Of course not."
She looked contemplative. "No, that makes sense. My reputation is very good among certain circles. The Little Dervish and all."
"You're the Little Dervish?"
"You've heard of me?" She looked pleased.
Quince narrowed his eyes. He had indeed heard of the Little Dervish from some of his fencing partners but none had indicated that it was a woman. They had, in fact, said boy and there was nothing boyish about Miss Bittlesworth in these clothes. "Are you deceiving me again, my lady? So soon?"
"No deception here, your grace," she said, offended.
He walked around her, looking her up and down. "You aren't built for fencing. Too many curves and no length."
She sneered at him. "And now you plan to dismiss me out of hand, justifying your decision with yet more insults?"
"Well, then show me what you can do."
"Salute and fight me."
"No, show me your practice drills." He stood back, watching her keenly.
"I will not dance for you like a pet monkey. Fight me or the Little Dervish will spread word of how the Duke of Beloin was afraid to take up the sword."
Quince glowered. "That's ridiculous. And no one would believe
Chapter Five
Quince withdrew his sword from its scabbard and turned to stomp across the field toward the small woman who had duped him with a forged note. This morning she was garbed in a loose white shirt overlaid with a tailored vest that showed off her curves. The buff colored trousers did nothing to disguise her gender either, highlighting the flare of her hips. This at least made it clear that it wasn't just the dress that had attracted him. She saluted with her sword as he approached but he kept his own sword low. Stopping a few feet away from her he gave a small bow. "My deepest apologies for the insult to you, my lady. It was not my intention to upset you or to besmirch your honor." With that he brought his sword up high enough to slash across his left palm. Holding the hand up to her he said, "First blood. The terms of our agreement are met."
He turned to walk away, but her voice flowed over him again. "That is not acceptable to me, your grace."
He turned back. "Deception was not acceptable to me."
"In which way did I deceive you?"
"Impersonating your brother in order to draw me out to this duel?"
"I in no way impersonated my brother. I did not use his seal, I did not disguise my handwriting, and my name is, in fact, Bittlesworth. It is unfortunate that you mistook the information you had to assume the letter was from my brother."
"That you can enumerate those items so quickly indicates that you knew exactly what you were up to, and exactly what my assumptions would be. It is intention that underlies deception, my lady. Arguing the facts of the case will in no way alleviate you from the responsibility of intending to deceive."
"Is that how you justify your insult to me as well? By dressing a certain way it was my intention to seduce you, and therefore you bear no responsibility for asking me to be your mistress?"
"Don't be ridiculous. I had no idea Robert had a sister. But I do know Robert, and it takes no stretch of the imagination to assume a beautiful woman wandering his house to be his mistress."
"Now you insult my brother as well?"
"I doubt that he would consider it an insult. Perhaps even a compliment."
"Well, I do not take your walking off this field of honor as a compliment, I take it as an insult. But I suppose we can just add it to the insults you have already done me."
"I do not mean to insult you."
"First you dishonor me by calling me a Cyprian and now you disrespect me by not allowing me to defend that honor. In what way are you not insulting me?"
Quince set his jaw. "This has all been entertaining, I'm sure, but I will not be dueling you this morning."
"Oh, wait," she said, her eyes widening. "Are you… are you afraid that I might best you?"
"Of course not."
She looked contemplative. "No, that makes sense. My reputation is very good among certain circles. The Little Dervish and all."
"You're the Little Dervish?"
"You've heard of me?" She looked pleased.
Quince narrowed his eyes. He had indeed heard of the Little Dervish from some of his fencing partners but none had indicated that it was a woman. They had, in fact, said boy and there was nothing boyish about Miss Bittlesworth in these clothes. "Are you deceiving me again, my lady? So soon?"
"No deception here, your grace," she said, offended.
He walked around her, looking her up and down. "You aren't built for fencing. Too many curves and no length."
She sneered at him. "And now you plan to dismiss me out of hand, justifying your decision with yet more insults?"
"Well, then show me what you can do."
"Salute and fight me."
"No, show me your practice drills." He stood back, watching her keenly.
"I will not dance for you like a pet monkey. Fight me or the Little Dervish will spread word of how the Duke of Beloin was afraid to take up the sword."
Quince glowered. "That's ridiculous. And no one would believe
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