Chapter Twenty-Five
L ynsley set his hat and gloves on the sidetable of Mrs. Merlin’s private office.
“Excellent. I was hoping you would offer the usual refreshments,” he said dryly, seeing the silver tray already arranged by the sofa. “The pastry chefs of Paris cannot match the skills of your cook, especially when it comes to strawberry tarts.”
The headmistress peered at him over her glasses. “That was a close shave, Thomas. You were very lucky.”
“Very lucky, indeed,” he replied gravely.
As she smoothed at her dove grey skirts, her hands betrayed a slight flutter. “For a moment or two, you had me worried.”
“I do apologize.” He took a seat and crossed his legs. “So you sent out reinforcements to rescue me?”
“Hmmph.” A tiny snort sounded. “That rascal Marco came up with the idea on his own. As for Verona . . .”
“You may leave them to me,” he murmured. “I have a suitable punishment in mind for them both.”
Steam curled up as Mrs. Merlin poured a cup of tea and passed it over. “So Rochambert is dead?’
“Yes.”
“And the weapon is safely in Whitehall’s hands?”
“No. The fact is, no one has it. It was destroyed, along with the papers detailing its creation.” He shrugged. “Bathurst is not overjoyed, but I cannot feel too disappointed. To my mind, we have enough ways of killing each other without adding a new dimension to our armaments.”
“Amen to that.” The headmistress sipped meditatively at her tea. “So, it seems everything turned out for the best, despite the rocky start.” She took off her spectacles and pinched her nose. “You are certainly looking in fine fettle for a man who has gone through hell.”
He smiled. “It was not all pain and suffering.”
“If I didn’t know better, I would say . . .” She gave an owlish squint, then shook her head. “Never mind. Did you bring back anything else of interest from Paris?”
“Several bottles of excellent champagne. An embroidered waistcoat that my valet has already consigned to the ragbin.” Lynsley tapped a finger to his chin. “Oh, and a wife.”
Mrs. Merlin was starting to rise but sat down with a thud. “I beg your pardon?”
“Not exactly a wife,” he amended. “A fiancée. However, we will be married on the morrow by special license. A small ceremony here in the country. I am hoping you will attend, Charlotte.”
She took a moment to catch her breath. “I confess, this comes as somewhat of a shock. Not an unpleasant one, mind you. I have been wondering for some time whether you were growing too set in your ways. Like old age, old habits are hard to shake.”
He grinned. “I think I have found a second youth.”
“I am looking forward to meeting the lady,” said the headmistress. “She must be a singular female to have swept you off your feet.”
“That she is.”
Mrs. Merlin carefully squared the papers on her blotter and lined the pens in a neat row before asking, “Is she French? It is not that I have any prejudice against such a match, but it might be a bit awkward, given your government responsibilities.”
“No, my bride-to-be is English,” replied Lynsley. “And actually, you know her, so I took the liberty of asking her to accompany me here this morning.” He rose and went to the door. “Do come in, my dear.”
Valencia entered the room and crooked a shy smile at the headmistress. “It has been a long time, Mrs. Merlin.”
“Too long.” The elderly lady moved with surprising speed to envelop her former student in a heartfelt hug. “Welcome home, Valencia,” she murmured, a glint of tears winking from behind the lenses of her spectacles.
Lynsley cleared his throat with a cough. “Speaking of home, Valencia and I had a notion that maybe she could spend part of her time here. Perhaps teach a class or two, given the recently depleted ranks, we need to get the new master class of Merlins up to snuff in a hurry.”
“True,” agreed Mrs. Merlin. “I sense that Britain’s need for our special warriors is only going to become more pressing as Napoleon seeks to make up for his set-backs in Russia.
“As you know, I have a small country estate close by, which would make the arrangement work quite well.” He allowed a twitch of his lips. “Apparently my bride does not care for the idea of living in London as a titled lady of leisure.”
Valencia smiled too. “I don’t think I would make a very good Society wife. I need to be useful.” She made a wry face. “And I can’t quite picture myself making the rounds of morning calls, discussing the latest fashions and foibles of the ton .”
“I think it a splendid suggestion,” said the headmistress. “I can think of several subjects where your expertise and experience would be invaluable for the students.”
“Perhaps a course on life after active duty.” For a moment, Valencia’s eyes sparkled with humor, then darkened to a deeper intensity. “It is something they all must face, and the transition is not always easy.”
“Growing old gracefully?” suggested Lynsley.
“We could schedule it just before yoga class,” murmured Valencia
His shoulders flexed. “It seems the schedule for the coming term is shaping up rather nicely.” He winked. “Just so long as you are home in time to fix my supper.”
Mrs. Merlin watched the play between them with an enigmatic smile. “A very good suggestion—the class, that is. Somehow I think your personal staff can manage to keep you fed, Thomas.”
“You had had better not be expecting me to wait on you hand and foot,” said Valencia.
The headmistress smothered a laugh in a shuffle of papers. “Speaking of the curriculum, Thomas, I do have several administrative matters we ought to go over, but perhaps you would rather put it off for a few days.”
Lynsley pursed his lips. “Actually, we are leaving after the wedding for a visit to my brother’s estate. So it would be best to deal with them now.” He glanced at Valencia. “Do you mind, my dear?”
“Of course not.” She rose. “In the meantime, I think I shall have a look around.”
“Savannah heard that Lord Lynsley’s carriage rolled through the front gates less than an hour ago. I wonder if we’re really in for trouble, now that he’s back.” Verona made a face as she unrolled her fencing kit. “I don’t dare hazard a guess. The marquess was certainly acting awfully . . .”
“Horny?” suggested Marco with a waggle of his hips. “Who could blame him? Wherever he plucked up that ladybird, she certainly had a fine set of . . . feathers.”
“Ssshhhhhh.” Verona kicked him in the shin. “Show a little respect for your superiors,” she muttered. “I’m in enough trouble as it is. You are going to get me plucked of every privilege for the foreseeable future. Because of you and your damn rescue plan, I’m already stuck mucking out the stalls until the end of the month.”
“I did say I would help.”
“Aye. And quite a concession it was,” snapped Verona. “I’m touched that you would deign to risk getting manure under your manicured nails.”
“As well you should be, bella .” Marco gave a flourishing wave. “These hands are precision instruments. They play a lady’s charms like a fiddle.”
“Trust me, they won’t be pulling at my strings.” She slid a chamois over the blade of her foil. “By the by, have you any idea who she is?”
“ She ?”
Verona whirled around at the wolfish growl.
“What she are you talking about?” asked the head fencing master. His lips curled in a lecherous leer. “
“Lord Lynsley’s, er, female companion,” she replied.
Marco was far less discreet. “ Si, si . When we found him in France, he was sequestered with a tall, dark-haired beauty.” The accompanying hand gestures were more than eloquent in explaining the circumstances. “But then, the marquess is said to be a master at forging strategic alliances. Apparently, old age hasn’t blunted his skills.”
Allegretto Da Rimini grinned. Like Marco, he was Italian, and in his prime the man known as Il Lupino —the Wolf— had been the most feared blade in all of Europe. Despite the slashes of silver at his temples, he was still a master of steel—and sexual innuendo.
But instead of making his usual lewd comment, his expression turned thoughtful. “Tall, dark-haired, you say . . . Did she have emerald eyes and walk with a limp?”
Verona shook her head. “I couldn’t tell.”
Marco’s gaze sharpened. “Why?”
Da Rimini shrugged. “Never mind.” Unsheathing his saber, he ran a thumb along its edge. “Just an odd thought.”
Seemingly loath to let the subject drop, Marco set a hand on his hip. “Talk about odd. You would have been astounded, amico , to see our lordly leader that night. The marquess is always so coolly elegant, with never a hair out of place, eh? Well, he had shed that air of reserve, along with his trousers . . .”
The sound of voices made Valencia pause at the courtyard gate.
“ Dio Madre , the perfume of passion was so thick in the air you could have cut it with a knife . . .”
Ah. It seemed that the handsome young man—Marco?—was waxing poetic on their recent encounter in France.
“Which, I might add, Lynsley’s ladybird held with a practiced hand,” went on Marco. “It looked like she had a great deal of experience in handling a weapon.” He grinned. “No wonder His Lordship was all afire to have us leave. The woman was hot . . .”
She had picked up a fencing sword from the rack in the Weapon courtyard and with a flick of cold steel, she touched the rapier to his spine. “Talking out of school, bambino ?”
Da Rimini looked around. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
“That goes without saying, you old wolf.” Valencia smiled. “Aside from the benighted state of your soul, how are you?”
“As you see, trying to teach these young chicks to be as good as you were has turned my hair grey,” he replied.
“You were a Merlin ?” blurted out Verona.
“ Si , the very best,” said Il Lupino softly.
“That was a long time ago.” Valencia turned to meet the student’s wide-eyed gaze. “Thomas tells me you are the current queen of the roost.”
“I—I . . .” stammered Verona.
“She has a long way to go before she can soar to your heights,” finished Da Rimini.
“I don’t fly much anymore.” Valencia touched a hand to her thigh. “These days, I live a rather down-to-earth life. I am happy to cede my place in the sky to a younger hawk.”
Verona bit her lip. “I may not have my wings after His Lordship finishes his meeting with Mrs. Merlin.”
“His Lordship is extremely patient with the headstrong hellions of his flock,” said Valencia. “In my experience, he is understanding, and generous to a fault in granting a second chance.”
“Understanding, my arse,” growled Da Rimini. “Lynsley was a bloody idiot to let you leave the nest.”
“It was my choice,” she answered. “Thomas offered me terms. I did not care to accept them.”
“Quite right, cara .” Marco had been following the exchange with great interest. “The marquess may have pots of money, but I have youth on my side. If you are looking for a freelance position?—”
“I suggest you sheath your tongue.” It was Lynsley who stepped out from the shadows. “Unless you wish to be fishing your cods out of the courtyard cistern.” He had changed from his formal dress into fencing garb—a loose linen shirt buckskin breeches, and soft leather boots. The breeze ruffled his hair and the pale blue silk kerchief knotted at his throat.
Valencia felt the air seize in her lungs. Youth be damned . No man was a match for the marquess. She loved every line in his face, every strand of silver-flecked hair curling at his temples. Every nuanced facet of his beautiful eyes. It was experience that gave them such depth and richness.
If the young man was lucky, he might some day measure up to his mentor. But for now . . .
“Just a bit of good-natured teasing, milord.” Marco grinned. “No offense meant, cara .”
“None taken,” murmured Valencia. “However, my services are not for hire.”
Marco exaggerated a sigh. “So I see. I shall just have to be satisfied with, how you say, sour grapes.”
Lynsley’s sword cut through the air with a soft swoosh. “Like fine wine, I have improved with age.”
A bark of laughter sounded from Il Lupino . “That is putting the pup in his place.” He sauntered to the center of the fencing circle and drew a line in the hardpacked earth with the point of his saber. “What say you to going a round? For the past. And for the present.” The fencing master pointed to the group of girls who had gathered at the far end of the pitch. “I should like my master class to see what heights they should aspire to.”
She flexed her leg. “I’m not sure I’m still sharp enough to give you a fight.”
Da Rimini tossed her a padded doublet and assumed the en garde position. “Old habits die hard, Valencia.”
It was strange how life could come full circle. The angled light on the walls, the rough canvas quilting against her skin, the very ground beneath her boots brought back memories of her days at the Academy. She had come here as a wild and wary orphan, raging with anger at the world. And though she had learned so many life lessons within its walls, she had left with her body broken and her inner conflicts still unresolved.
And now? As she looked around, Valencia felt a profound sense of peace. Da Rimini was right—and wrong. Some things were impossible to change, and yet, she was living proof that one could learn from past mistakes.
She knew her strengths, forgave her weaknesses. But most of all, she understood what mattered most was heart, not steel. Forged in friendship, tested by trust, love was something worth fighting for.
Lynsley had made her whole again.
Her gaze met his, and warmth of his look curled her to her very core. No more questions. No more doubts. This was who she was meant to be.
“On second thought, Da Rimini, perhaps you ought to step aside and observe the action. The better to comment to the students.” The marquess tested the torque of his weapon. “I wouldn’t mind a match with the lady.”
The fencing master yielded his place. “Have a care, patron . This could be embarrassing.” He mimed a scissor-like snipping near his testicles. “My girls are trained to unman an opponent.”
“I’m no longer a girl, Lupino ,” said Valencia. “Nor, for that matter, am I a lady.”
A corner of Lynsley’s mouth twitched up. “You will be by this time tomorrow.”
Stepping in toe to toe, she set her sword against his. “Ready when you are.”
“ Contrapassura ,” called Lynsley, sliding slowly to his left.
She countered with a whirling colpo mezano .
Picking up the pace, he tested her reflexes with a series of lightning slashes.
“You haven’t lost your touch,” said Da Rimini gruffly.
In answer, she shifted the sword to her left hand and angled a quick feint before flipping it back to her right,
“ Bella, bella .” In a louder voice, he added. “See how she holds her weapon, class? Firm, yet relaxed, the fingers applying just the right amount of pressure. Pay close attention, signorinas !” he waggled a finger “For you girls, fencing is like sex—you must keep control of the man’s blade.”
“And then, at the first opening, we should hit a man in the bollocks, right?” called one of the students. “That will sap all the steel from his sword.”
Lynsley winced at the words. “Don’t even think about it,” he said to Valencia as he spun through a mandritto .
“ Il Lupino has nothing to worry about!” called a voice from the rear ranks “I heard he lost his balls in a card game with a contessa and a cardinal in Milan.”
“Ten demerits!” warned Da Rimini. “Ten demerits to the next little bird who insults my manhood.”
Marco doubled over in mirth.
They fought on for another few minutes, neither gaining the upper hand. Il Lupino paced the perimeter, keeping up a running commentary. The master class stared, spellbound. Lynsley’s training sessions had always taken place in private. They had never seen him display his prowess.
As word of the unusual duel spread like wildfire through the Academy, the classroom windows began to fill up with faces pressed to the mullioned glass. The third-year girls had all abandoned their archery practice and were perched on the top of the armory wall.
Da Rimini finally consulted his pocketwatch and rang the bell. “ Grazie for the display, Valencia. With a little practice, you would be even better than in your student days.” The fencing master turned to the marquess. “So patron , have you decided who will wear the trousers in your family?”
“Maybe we’ll share,” replied Lynsley with a straight face. He toweled the sweat from his brow. “Or perhaps we should go mano a mano for the privilege.”
Valencia couldn’t resist a mischievous smile. “You are sure you wish to risk a blow to your manly . . . pride?”
“Oh, I think I am up for the challenge.”
“Suit yourself.” She looked down her nose at his sweat dampened linen and snug buckskins. “You will look quite silly walking down the corridors of Whitehall in your drawers.”
“While you will look quite seductive lying in my bed with naught but a froth of lace on your legs.”
The thought of sharing Lynsley’s bed from now on stirred a lick of pure pleasure in her belly. “That is most ungentlemanly,” she murmured, brushing close by him as she took up position in the center of the circle. “Trying to distract me is bending the rules of engagement.”
“All’s fair in love and war, remember?”
“I will keep that in mind.” An instant before Da Rimini called “en garde” , she pivoted and flicked her sword down, swatting him across his bum with the blade.
“Touché”
The girls hooted and stomped their feet.
“First honors to the females.” Lynsley inclined a courtly bow. “But unless senility has set in, I seem to recall that class bouts are two out of three.” He angled a sidelong glance at the youthful faces. “No smirking, Verona. You are still on probation.”
The young Merlin took cover behind Marco’s broad shoulders.
“You are putting on quite a performance,” said Valencia dryly as they resumed a starting stance. “I’m not sure the students will ever see you in the same lordly light as before.”
“I thought you said I should appear human.” His mouth quirked. “And heavens knows, my dear, when I see your lovely limbs in action, I am all too aware of being a mere mortal man.”
Their blades crossed with a velvet click.
“Now girls, watch closely!” announced Da Rimini. “It’s not everyday that we have a chance to observe poetry in motion.”
“ How do I love thee? Let me count the ways . . .” recited Lynsley in a voice that reached only her ears.
As Valencia bit back a laugh, the marquess moved with deceptive quickness. Even though she knew of his speed and agility, the feints and footwork took her off guard. His blade pricked one breast, then the other breast. “Tit for tat,” he called, flashing a wicked grin.
“The cock shouldn’t crow quite yet,” she retorted, a remark that drew lusty laughter from Da Rimini and Musto. “The match is not yet over.”
They broke cleanly for the third try.
Snick, snick, snick. The quicksilver clash of their swords was evenly matched. Parry, feint, riposte—the courtyard echoed with the ring of forged metal and flesh moving in perfect harmony.
A pas de deux —a glorious dance for two, choreographed to a symphony of steel.
Valencia spun, feeling light as a feather. This was home, the one place in the world where she was meant to be. Ducking low, she feinted and flashed a smile.
Their gazes met, and Lynsley winked. He hesitated for an instant, just long enough to let her next slash knock the weapon from his grip.
A raucous cheer went up as the girls applauded the victory.
He dropped to one knee. “It seems I have no choice but to surrender.”
Valencia waggled her sword. “Why say you, girls? Shall we make him run the perimeter of the grounds as punishment for the loss?”
His brow waggled. “At my age?”
“ Si, si , have mercy on the old man,” drawled Da Rimini. “He had better save his strength for his wedding night.”
“You are going to marry him, aren’t you, cara ?” asked Marco. “Or are you and our saintly leader going to continue living in sin?”
“I have always thought piety vastly overrated,” snickered Da Rimini. “I’d take up residence in the hottest corner of Hell if such a lady would share it with me.”
“You can still change your mind, cara ,” added Marco. “I am at your service?—”
“Marco, my friend,” interrupted the marquess. “Unless you wish to contract your own nuptials as a castrati , you had better keep a respectful tongue when talking to my soon-to-be bride.”
Lynsley remained kneeling as he slid his hand up the length of Valencia’s sword. Pulling the hilt from her grip, he peeled off her leather gauntlet and pressed her palm to his lips. “Just so there’s no misunderstanding, let me make my position clear to one and all.”
Silence fell over the stones.
Valencia realized she was blushing like a schoolgirl.
“Valencia has done me the honor of consenting to be my wife.”
A collective sigh fluttered up from the students.
“And as you see, I consider myself the most fortunate man in the world. I am humbled by her strength and her grace. She is . . .” The marquess hesitated, as if searching for the perfect word. “She is . . .”
“She is a Merlin!” called out a youthful voice.
“And a Merlin can bring any man to his knees!”
Rising along with another round of feminine cheers, Lynsley swept her off her feet. “A Merlin,” he murmured. “Since the day I met you, my love, you have had me under your spell.”
Nearly blinded by the brilliant light in his eyes, Valencia had to blink. To her surprise, she discovered her lashes were wet with tears. “It must be ancient magic,” she whispered.
“No, Valkyrie.” Lynsley feathered a kiss to her brow. “It must be true love.”
Their eyes met for a long moment, and then after a quick wink, he looked back to Da Rimini. “Why are you and your students still standing around? There’s no time to waste in getting the fledglings ready to fly as true Merlins.”