The Rogue by Katharine Ashe Page B

move too swiftly.”
    â€œThis is not swift.”
    â€œIt is to me .”
    Eliza’s snore jolted, then subsided into a regular pattern anew.
    â€œA swordsman’s calm is his greatest asset,” he said. “Anger, frustration, even fear will make you clumsy, hasty, and careless. Whatever your opponent’s skill, if you meet his attack with calmness, vigor and judgment, you are more likely to win.”
    She pulled a long breath between her teeth. “I shall keep that in mind.”
    â€œMimic my movements. Imagine it just as when you were a child and you played the mirror game with other children.”
    â€œI never played a mirror game with other children.”
    â€œNo?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œAh,” he said. “Your parents imagined you too good for the local urchins.”
    â€œNo. My mother did not like other people in our house. She was . . . ill.”
    â€œYour cousins, then?”
    â€œThey lived at a distance.”
    He seemed to consider his next words. “Your former betrothed? Both of them? You told me once that you spent every holiday of your childhood at their estate.”
    â€œThey did not play with me. They ran away from me.” She tried to smile, but it slipped. “I was not betrothed to the present marquess.”
    He went still. “Never?”
    She shook her head.
    â€œAnd you had no playmates as a child?”
    â€œI had my horse. Now may we continue with the lesson?”
    He said nothing, and then after a moment: “Watch, and do what I do.” He switched the blade to his right hand.
    â€œJust now,” she said, “you used your left hand as easily as your right. Are you ambidextrous?”
    â€œNot naturally. My master insisted that I become proficient with my left hand as well as my right.”
    â€œHow?”
    â€œHe instructed me to use only the left—at all times—fencing, eating, writing. Each time I accidentally favored the right, he struck it with a switch made of sugarcane.”
    â€œMotivation, indeed. How long before you became proficient enough with your left hand so that he ceased the punishment?”
    â€œThree hundred and fifty-one days.”
    The urge to seize his right hand and press her lips to it was too strong.
    â€œThat is barbaric,” she said.
    â€œRather, civilized. I was born the son of a merchant of little character and empty pockets. My teacher wished to make me a gentleman. He told me to learn how to use my left hand as well as my right in the event that I should ever lose the use of my right hand. So I set for myself the goal of one year. I considered those fourteen days short of a year a victory.” He took the sword into his left hand and flourished it. “I am still more accurate with the right hand, and quicker.But my teacher was wise. He knew a man is only weak when he allows himself to be unprepared.”
    â€œInvincible,” she said. “You seem to have learned that lesson well.”
    â€œWell enough. We are finished for today.” He withdrew the épée from her hand.
    â€œWill you disappear now as you did yesterday, not to be seen again until midnight?”
    â€œYesterday I had good cause to disappear.” His gaze seemed to drink her features one by one. “Even if I did do the same today, it should not matter to you.”
    â€œAs my father’s hostess, it is my business to see to the comfort of his guests.”
    â€œI am not a guest. I am a servant in this house, paid according to my service to your father’s wishes. Beyond this sword we have nothing more to say to each other now than we did six years ago, had I known it then.”
    â€œYour words say one thing and everything else about you says another. One moment you are the teacher and the next you are . . . this , standing closer to me than you should, looking at my mouth as though you intend to kiss me.”
    â€œIn the competition for