Page 5 of One Day for a Valet

“I prefer épée, but if you are afraid of splinters in your unprotected parts, I can abide your need for delicacy.”

Keene’s eyes widened. “It’s not my delicacy that motivates me, love. You look like a strong breeze could blow you over. But have it your way.”

That was the outside of enough. Sofia sank into the familiar stance and raised her foil to the ready. “Allez.”

Keene lunged with exaggerated slowness towards her torso. Sofia parried, allowing the momentum to sweep her stick about in a circle, then pivoted to whack the heel of his boot with a resounding thwack. Keene leapt to the side, a comically shocked expression on his face.

“Well, all right then!” He recovered, then advanced with a series of graceful attacks, all of which Sofia easily deflected.

Sofi’s muscles settled into the movements, and she realised with some surprise that she was beginning to have fun. It had been so long since she’d focused on anything other than survival that the thrill of this moment felt strangely out of place, like discovering an erotic novel shelved amidst horticulture texts. “You’re predictable and your eyes give you away, sir. A typical, uninspired Englishman.” She ducked to avoid a sweeping strike to her shoulder and scored her second point with a soft pat to his rear.

He squeaked in surprise.

She circled him, taking slow, predatory steps as he visibly collected himself. “Don’t fret little English mouse, I won’t hurt you.” Sofia advanced again, every movement crisp and precise. Feigning a hit to his thigh, she slid the tip of her foil into his hair, ruffling the top with a flick of her wrist.

Keene sucked in a startled breath. “A bit reckless, don’t you think?” he sputtered. “You could have missed and gouged out my eye. I’m not certain my talents as a valet could withstand the loss of perspective caused by an eye patch.”

The valet. That explained his gentlemanly attire. It did not, however, explain his relaxed familiarity with the duchess, as if the estate and its people were his home rather than a place of employment.

“But I would make an excellent pirate.”

“Pointless to speculate. I don’t miss.”

Their broomsticks met again with a series of dull clacks, and Keene pressed into her space, her back beginning to arch as he loomed ever closer.

“That’s the problem with men, you know.” She twisted beneath his raised arm, scoring her fourth point to his kidneys. “You all think you can battle through life on brawn alone and your other resources atrophy as a result.”

Mr Keene rubbed the place where her stick had caught him, though Sofia knew she had barely grazed his topcoat. Recovering, they returned to centre. Keene wasted no time with his attack, far faster and more aggressive this time.

“Better,” Sofia remarked with a goading grin.

“But still not good enough for you to swap the foil to your dominant hand.” Her shock at the unexpected observation temporarily lowered her guard, and Keene took full advantage with a quick tap to her shoulder.

She lowered her brows in question.

“You used your left hand to reach for the door handle and used it again when you rubbed the little crease at the bridge of your nose. Never fear, love. My ego can survive a trouncing by a beautiful Italian woman … even one who handicaps herself to help me.”

Abruptly, every trace of arrogance vanished from his countenance, replaced instead with an expression so friendly and genuine that Sofia had to fight the urge to pick up her skirts and run. It was bewildering, really. And then he smiled at her like an awestruck boy. A shy curve on his lips as if he was wary of chasing something beautiful away.

Sofia didn’t appreciate the recalcitrant smile that nearly slipped out in response, and so she advanced again, forcing his balance to shift as she expertly controlled his body and the surrounding space. “Seems to me you should be paying less attention to the way I hold my foil”—her stick slid in a circular pattern, wrapping about his like a snake—“and more attention to holding your own.” The broomstick whizzed from his hand, launching some distance away before landing with a silent thump atop an azalea bush.

She pressed the tip of the foil to his chest. “You’ve just lost your heart.”

Keene wrapped his hand around her stick and held it in place. “Indeed, I have. Forget being the children’s governess. Marry me instead.”

She blinked to fend off the warmth and humour in his gaze. Sofia had bested countless men with a foil, and she had witnessed reactions that ranged from embarrassment to indignant fury. She’d learned to anticipate the predictable masculine claptrap. But nothing had prepared her for the look of respect and admiration that set his slate grey eyes to twinkling and propelled her completely off balance. Indeed, she was beginning to feel unnervingly dizzy.

Sofi widened her stance to find her centre, and when she shut her eyes to block out the whirl of colours, light sparkled behind her closed lids. All at once, the voices around her began to grow fuzzy.

Idiota. This wasn’t the result of a charismatic smile. This was hunger. They had spent the last of their coin on her boots two days prior and…

“Miss Lioni? Miss Lioni! God damn it, she’s fainting.”

Her muscles drooped like overcooked pasta and she winced in anticipation of the hard ground, but it did not come. Steady arms caught her instead and tucked her against a warm, solid chest. Mr Keene’s arms and chest. “Christ, you’re all bones. Who let this happen to you?” The teasing banter was gone, replaced instead by a harsh tone, thick with distress. “Someone get the door.” She could feel the warm puffs of his breath against her cheek as he spoke, but the remainder of what he said was lost to darkness.

She dreamt of food. Richly spiced stew in a bowl that magically refilled each time her spoon scraped the bottom, thick slices of bread with butter that melted on her tongue, and creamy wedges of cheese. More faintly, she imagined the sensation of her stomach stretching to contain it all. A feeling she could scarcely remember. When Sofia peeled her eyelids open, it took only a moment for her to recognise that the smell at least was real. She scanned the room for the source of the intoxicating aroma.

“There you are, Miss. We was worried you wouldn’t wake up at all today, but Keene bid me to stay right here in this chair until you did. I’m to see that you have this when you are able. I got a bit peckish while I waited, so I ate the bread, but there's plenty more in the kitchen.” A young maid with bright red hair and an eager smile stepped closer with a bowl and spoon. Sofia’s stomach demanded she dive towards the food without delay, but her pride insisted she accept it slowly … never mind the fact that she was salivating like a dog. Pride won out as usual.