revive the spirits. A sirloin wouldn’t come amiss either, but we haven’t time.” Aubrey snatched the folded shirt from Jack’s hands and tossed it on the bed. “Wear regimentals, since you’re half dressed in them already, but we leave now. The fencing master closes the doors promptly at seven-thirty.”
“You’re haranguing me to go to a fencing lesson?” A sudden vision filled Jack’s head—smoke, screams, the rattle of musketry and clang of blades, himself with saber slashing. Shaking it off, he said grimly, “No, thank you, Aubrey. My fencing skills are quite proficient enough. Pray God, I shall never need to hone them again.”
His friend sobered. “Amen to that. Heard Waterloo was a dreadful slaughter. But I’m proposing a different sort of contest—and one you definitely will want to see. Trust me, old fellow! Have I ever led you awry?”
Recalling a long line of dubious exploits stretching from childhood to university, Jack smiled. “Frequently.”
Grinning back, Aubrey protested, “Well, not this time. If you decide I was wrong, you may afterward exact whatever retribution you like, but I’m sure you will be thoroughly grateful I insisted you come along. ’Tis nearly a…a life-altering experience! Or,” he added with a heavy sigh, “so it has proved for many of us. But no more—you must see for yourself. You’ll thank me, I promise you!”
“Oh, very well,” Jack capitulated, his curiosity by now thoroughly piqued. Abandoning the shirts, he shrugged on his uniform jacket. “In compensation for making me leave my kit in such disorder, you may buy me breakfast.”
“Immediately after the match,” Aubrey promised. “Only hurry! I’ve a hackney waiting.”
With the speed of long practice, Jack looped the fasteners as he followed Aubrey into the hall.
“Why are you staying here at Albany anyway?” Aubrey asked as he hustled Jack down the stairs. “Dorrie’s making her come-out, isn’t she? Why not move into the family manse?”
“Mama and Dorothy won’t be coming to London for another month. You know old Quisford won’t stir from Carrington Grove until the family leaves, nor would he trust an underling to properly open the house here. When I mentioned I intended to put up at Grillon’s until they arrive, a fellow officer whose regiment hasn’t yet been ordered home from Paris offered me the use of his rooms at Albany.”
“You’ll stay in London until the family comes?” Aubrey asked as they boarded the waiting hackney.
“I’ll remain just long enough to sell out, purchase new garments and consult our solicitors. Then I’m off to breathe country air and let Mama and Dorrie fuss over me.”
“If they can spare you the time,” Aubrey replied, signaling the driver to start. “When Mama fired off my sister, ’twas such a frenzy of preparations you’d think they were mustering an army. You’ll return with them for the Season, of course?”
“Yes, after I get the spring planting sorted out with Ericson. I promised Dorrie I’d escort her to parties, introduce her to any army chums who happen to be in town and see that only eligible gentlemen are encouraged to call. Which leaves you out,” he added with a grin.
“As if she’d look at me anyway, when we’ve known each other since we were in leading strings,” Aubrey retorted. “Besides, I’ve no desire yet to become a tenant-for-life.”
“Since as Dorrie’s equerry I shall be obliged to go about in society, I plan to keep my eyes open. Perhaps I’ll discover a little charmer who persuades me to settle down.”
When Aubrey chortled in disbelief, Jack continued, “No, I’m serious. There’s something about finding oneself intact, after riding through a hail of musketry and artillery shot, that makes one contemplate one’s own mortality. Perhaps it’s time I do my duty to marry.”
Aubrey stared at him. “I believe you mean it. Thank heaven I’m a younger son! No duties of procreation for me—not of the legitimate variety anyway,” he amended.
“So what illegitimate activity are we pursuing this morning? Must be of some great moment, to get you up at such an hour. Or have you merely not been to bed yet?”
“Got a few hours’ sleep,” Aubrey replied. “Man needs his wits about him for this endeavor.”
“Which is precisely…what?” Jack pressed.
“You’ll see for yourself soon enough.”
And with that, Jack had to be content. During the rest of the drive, Aubrey refused to be coaxed, tricked or bullied into revealing anything further. Mystified and a bit annoyed, Jack was more than happy when his friend had the carriage stop at a modest town house in Soho Square.
They followed several other gentlemen up the stairs to the main floor where Aubrey, after tossing coins into a box beside the door, led him into what appeared to be a converted ballroom. The area by the door was thronged with groups of chatting gentlemen; beyond them was arranged an assortment of chairs, all occupied.
“Blast, I knew we’d tarried too long,” Aubrey grumbled. “Now we shall have to stand.”
After scanning the crowd, Aubrey elbowed a path to a space against the left wall. “This will have to do. Ah, they’re beginning. Is that not magnificent?”
In the sudden hush, Jack heard the clang of steel on steel. Turning his attention to the floor, he noted facing them an older man clad in breeches and shirtsleeves. His opponent, posing en garde with his back to them, appeared to be a mere stripling, but before Jack could glean any further impression, the young man went on the attack.
Although the older gentleman, clearly the instructor, was taller and heavier, the young student seemed nearly his match. The flashing blades struck sparks as the boy thrust and counterthrust, offsetting the master’s advantage in size and experience with superior agility and audacious, risky changes of direction that allowed him to steadily drive the man back.
His distaste for combat forgotten, Jack’s attention riveted on the interplay of blade with blade. When, after checking an advance intended to throw him off balance, the boy countered with a thrust so swift and unexpected Jack barely saw the weapon move, he joined the gallery in a roar of approval as the master’s sword went flying.
“Brilliant!” he said to Aubrey while the student trotted to retrieve the errant foil. “How long has he…”
As the boy untied his mask and turned to face them, the rest of Jack’s sentence went unuttered. Walking toward them, the master’s sword in hand, was not a young lad, but a girl.
A woman, rather, Jack amended, noting with appreciation the curves suggested beneath the loose-fitting linen shirt and breeches. Though with those rounded hips, that delicious curve of bottom, how could he have believed for a moment the student was a boy?
And her face—Jack literally caught his breath as his gaze rose to what must rank as one of the Almighty’s supremest acts of creation. Its shape a perfect oval, the skin luminescent as a China pearl, her countenance was animated by large eyes of deep gentian blue set under arched brows. Though the full, petal-pink lips were unsmiling, the newly minted gold hair pulled severely back and tucked into a knotted queue, she was without question the most beautiful woman he’d ever beheld.
Aubrey’s low chuckle pulled him from his rapt contemplation. “Did I not tell you?”
Realizing from the amusement on his friend’s face that his mouth must be hanging open, Jack shut it with a snap. “Who is she?”
“Lady Belle—or at least, that’s what the ton calls her, after her long-time protector, Lord Bellingham.”
“An actress?”
“No, a courtesan—and since Bellingham’s death a month ago, the most sought-after woman in London. Every unattached gentleman in the city has been pressing her to consider his offer, though Lord Rupert—” Aubrey gestured to a tall, thin man in black, his expression as somber