Engaging the Earl by Diana Quincy Page A

of Lawson—whose company he generally enjoyed—Laurie experienced a sense of restlessness. He continued to practice his moves, thrusting and parrying with an imaginary opponent. Kat had been in a strange mood last night, clinging to him as if he were some sort of lifeline. He often felt humored and appeased by her, but last evening he’d felt needed, indispensable even.
    A Spanish-accented lilt cut into his thoughts. “Do you desire a partner?”
    Turning to face the Maid of Malagon, Laurie gaped momentarily before catching himself. Randolph’s mistress wore tight-fitting breeches that hugged her lanky curves in all sorts of indecent ways. The gentleman’s apparel lingered over her hips, caressing firm, lithe thighs before the calfskin fabric disappeared into gleaming black boots at her knees.
    She gave one of those smoky laughs of hers, which made his body tense in response. “I have shocked you again.”
    How had this jade ever come to be accepted in polite company? She certainly defied all rules of decorum. “Most English ladies do not wear gentleman’s breeches.”
    Those dark lush eyes sparkled with obvious amusement. “Nor do Spanish ladies with breeding. We are not so different from you English.”
    She was certainly unlike any other female of his acquaintance. Elena moved with a confident gait and bent over to pick up the foil Lawson had left on the ground. The movement strained the breeches over her bottom, giving him an astoundingly sensual view of her nicely rounded backside.
    He averted his eyes. “And yet you wear breeches?”
    She straightened to her full height. “It is rather difficult to man a cannon in a skirt.” She whipped the foil around as though testing its weight. “Will you have a go with me?”
    To his dismay, his prick swelled in reaction to her invitation, even though she surely wasn’t offering to shuck those breeches and give him a go at her. “You not only man a cannon, but you fence as well? I suppose I should not be surprised.”
    She lifted her chin. “Perhaps you are afraid to take on a woman.”
    He sighed at her obvious attempt to goad him. “Very well.” Laurie saluted her with his foil and bowed.
    “The vizconde is always so polite.”
    “I do try.”
    They began to thrust and parry, light movements to warm up. He changed his rhythm to throw her off, but she caught on and followed seamlessly. He clearly had strength and height as an advantage, but the Maid proved to be quick on her feet. “You fence well.”
    “For a woman you mean , vizconde ?”
    “I will not dissemble with you, ma’am.” He executed an advance lunge, but she was ready for him and danced out of danger. “I do believe ladies have no business on the battlefield…or in the fencing arena.”
    She thrust, her large breasts quivering under the billowing white folds of her shirt. “And why is that, patron ?”
    He easily warded off her attack. “Because of their inherent physical weakness. The Lord, in his wisdom, made females the weaker sex.”
    Her foil passed around the tip of his. “You have discounted our strengths.”
    “Women undoubtedly have their own strengths, primarily related to intellect. However, I don’t see their use on the field of battle.”
    “Oh!” She lost her footing and stumbled, handily proving his point that women had no business fencing. Throwing down his foil, he leaped to catch her before she fell.
    She felt surprisingly soft and supple as he held her tight against him, momentarily distracted by the feel of her fleshy orbs against his chest. She blinked up at him with luminous, almost innocent eyes before a look of triumph gleamed in them and he felt the blunt tip of her covered foil under his chin.
    She grinned, slow and feline, prompting the temperature of his blood to soar. “Now do you see, vizconde ,” she asked, pressing the tip of her blade a little harder into his vulnerable skin, “how our female strengths assist us in our battles?”
    With an inward