Page 5 of An Extraordinary Lord

He easily parried. “No. It drizzled.” He parried a second thrust to the opposite side. “What kind of rioters have you ever met who would let a little sprinkle stop them?”

His question caught her by surprise. For a split second, she froze, just long enough for him to advance, twist his arm around hers, and hold both swords pressed immobile between them.

“That’s why you’re out here tonight,” she mused with a frown. Her voice emerged as a smooth drawl that wrapped around him like a blanket. “The riots.”

“What do you know about them?” Her face was framed by the crossed swords between them, and he leaned dangerously closer, even as their arms began to tremble from the exertion of keeping their swords pressed so fiercely together.

“Nothing.”

Deception flared in her eyes, and his pulse stuttered. What did she know? What was she hiding? “You’re lying.”

Taking a moment to gather herself, she licked her lips. “They’re just riots.”

His eyes darted down to her mouth. Good Lord, how kissable she looked. How delectable. The fight had knocked loose the black hair ribbon, and now her hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her back in a mass of riotous copper curls. Her eyes shined bright; her lips were ripe and red and invitingly sensuous. Each panting breath she took to gather back air into her lungs made her bosom rise and fall tumultuously beneath the leather waistcoat she wore instead of a corset.

If they weren’t holding swords just inches from each other’s throats, he would have said she looked…aroused. God knew he was becoming exactly that himself, helped along in no small part by the tension pulsating between them so strongly that it buzzed like electricity. The air around them practically sizzled.

“Who are the leaders?” he pressed, keeping their grappling close by shifting his stance so that he pressed a shoulder and hip against her to keep her still.

She couldn’t back away now without dropping her sword and letting him win. Something he knew she would never do. “I don’t know.”

He leaned closer, bringing his face so close to hers that he could feel the warmth of her sweet breath stir across his lips. The attraction between them was as palpable as the cold drizzle dripping across the city. “Then tell me this…who areyou?”

Delight sparkled in her eyes. “Now, now, Mrs. Fitzherbert.” Her voice turned husky. “What kind of lady would I be to confide such personal information to a stranger? One wielding a sword, no less.” She clucked her tongue like a scolding governess. “Who knows what kind of wickedness such disclosure might lead to? I’m certain the archbishop would not approve.”

“I often find myself at odds with His Grace in matters of wickedness.” His mouth lingered achingly above hers, so close that he could kiss her with just a tilt of his chin. And if he did, she might very well run him through with her sword for it.

Her brow inched up. “More scandal, less sacred?”

“His Grace would surprise you.”

She curled an amused smile at the archbishop’s expense. “Not as much as you.”

That low and throaty admission played down his spine like seeking fingers of seduction.Sweet Jesus…she was liquid fire in his veins, tensing every muscle in his body. He couldn’t remember the last time such immediate attraction struck him the way it did now with her, the last time his gut tightened with such animal arousal at a first meeting. Irrationally, he wanted to bury himself between her thighs and claim the ferocity inside her…raw and wild and intense.

“I’m Merritt.”Tell me your name. Dear God, please tell me your name and how I can find you again…

A light laugh fell from her lips, tickling his. “Of course you are,” she mused, her voice lowering into a throaty whisper. It was a siren song that had him hanging on every word even though he knew she had the skills to skewer him. Her lips twitched mischievously. “Like an honor to be won?”

Not when he’d gladly surrender to her. The defeat would be exquisite.

“Whoareyou?” His eyes trailed over her beautiful face, engrossed by the fine lines of her cheeks and the creamy smoothness of her warm skin, captivated by the light in the depths of her eyes. And by the way, even now, she refused to give up the fight, continuing to press her body against his so strongly that any slip of his attention might send the sword slicing into his throat. “At least tell me your name.”

She hesitated, then capitulated, still holding the swords locked between. “Veronica Chase.” The smile she gave him corkscrewed into his gut. “My friends call me Roni.Youcan call me Miss Chase.”

Good God.It was impossible.Shewas impossible. But he knew…damnation, heknew.

Carefully, he eased back the pressure of his sword until he could shift his hip and shoulder away. When he barely held her blade with his, he stepped back to safely retreat out of thrusting range and lowered his sword.

Their fight—and the moment of elation it had brought—was over.

She lowered her own sword, bewildered yet obviously pleased that he was giving up. “You’re surrendering?”

“No.” He bit back a curse. At that moment, he hated the Home Office more than he could have ever expressed. “I’m arresting you.”

Two

Veronica sat handcuffed on a large wooden chair that would have looked right at home in a medieval castle. Fitting, since she seemed to be sitting in the middle of a fortress.