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reached the perimeter of the group, and reined in quickly, and thus got his first good look at his unknown guest—and saw her in action.
    “Parry, you say?”
    “Aye, dear mistress, and still, it’s the strength of the thrust that gives man the greater advantage!”
    Laughter rose from the male audience at the play on words.
    “The strength, you say—of the thrust? Parry, thrust, parry, thrust, so?” Her voice was soft, sweetly feminine—with just the slightest edge to it. She was deceptively delicate, elegant and angelic-looking. She didn’t bat an eye at the innuendo. She played them right along.
    Indeed, Ian thought, there was something about her voice and manner that should have warned the young swains that she knew what she was about. She held a borrowed cavalry sword in good form in her right hand.
    The sword seemed quite incongruous, for she appeared to be the epitome of the most perfect, charming Southern belle. Her day dress was a white and teal brocade, suitably chaste for afternoon wear, yet stylishly underscored by corset and petticoats in a manner that evocatively pinched her waist, flared her hips, and enhanced her breasts.
    Her hair was a soft tawny gold; her eyes, at this distance, were a color to match its splendor. Gold, as well, cat’s eyes, and right now… they carried the slightest sparkle of the predator.
    She knew she could take her man.
    She suddenly moved forward; there was a quick clash of steel as she met her opponent and dueled with lightning-swift speed, grace, and cunning ruthlessness.
    Her opponent’s sword flew in an arc across the lawn and into the bushes.
    Having reached his home just in time to see the strange confrontation, Ian McKenzie found himself quite curious about the petite and tantalizing beauty who had just managed to make a fool of the cocky young man.
    The bested fellow wore the uniform of a cavalry lieutenant. His name was Jay Pierpont; Ian had met him briefly at the Tampa base. To his credit, he handled his defeat with grace and a rueful sense of humor. “Brava!” he cried. Laughter welled within the crowd. “Jay! You’ve been taken by a woman!” someone teased.
    The woman in question turned to Pierpont’s tormentor. “Well, my good sir, naturally, for I’ve had ever so talented a teacher in Jay.” The lithe beauty applauded in delight. “We’ve proven that a man’s great strength is not his best weapon, but rather the quality of thought within his head.”
    “Gentlemen!” Jay cried. “The damsel is an amazingly apt student.”
    “Certainly. I learned everything I know from this soldier in the last ten minutes!” she agreed.
    Laughter rose again, and the sting of Pierpont’s defeat was soothed. Pierpont bowed to her; she curtsied deeply.
    The dozen or so young men who had been on the lawnthen moved in more closely, all vying for her attention, fluttering like a swarm of moths about a flame.
    Her laughter was like wind chimes on the air. Her smile, Ian decided, was absolutely lethal. Indeed, he couldn’t remember ever seeing such a vivacious beauty, so graceful—and so arrogantly confident in her wiles—in all his days. She had flirtation down to graceful science, a dazzling art.
    The young men about her were fools, he thought. She was playing with all of them. He was, at that moment, ruefully amused to realize just what a tug she might have pulled upon his own heartstrings, were it not for Risa. But since he was contemplating marriage with the very poised and beautiful daughter of Colonel Angus Magee, he could easily take a step back from this little charmer and pity the men who might be caught in her web. Still, she was quite incredible—and he was about to leap down from Pye and insist upon an introduction. But he heard his mother’s call from the porch, “Ian!”
    The maternal delight in her voice was such that she necessarily became the woman of the moment for him. He edged Pye from the crowd on the lawn and loped up the final yards to the