Free My True Love Gave to Me by Ava March Page B

bastard whenever he was around Thomas. Fortunately, Thomas didn’t appear the least discomposed over the reminder of Alexander’s poor treatment of him. With his chin up, Thomas moved toward the foils, stoically bearing Alexander’s abuse, yet again.
    Thomas removed his brown coat, hanging it on an empty hook, and rolled his shirtsleeves to his elbows, exposing his strong forearms. After a moment’s consideration, he selected a weapon. Testing its strength and flexibility, he pushed the tip to the wall, the blade curving in an elegant arc. Then he slashed into the air.
    Seemingly satisfied, he stepped from the wall, stopping a couple of paces before Alexander. “Best of five touches to the chest is declared the victor?” Thomas asked, citing the rules they had used at Oxford.
    Thomas’s fawn waistcoat stretched across his broad chest as he lifted his sword and moved into en-garde stance, knees slightly bent and weight rocked back onto his left foot. The image was a vivid reminder of the many times he and Thomas had tested their skills against each other during those two months at university.
    Alexander snapped himself from the memories. “Yes, best of five,” he replied, saluting Thomas and moving into position. He would not think about the boon the victor had claimed, or how many times he had happily allowed Thomas to claim it. In any case, given the number of hours Alexander had spent in this hall, he knew his skills had progressed considerably since then. If they were to play by all of their old rules—not that Alexander wished to in any way, he did not want anything more to do with Thomas, after all—then he felt confident he had a fair chance of Thomas dropping to his knees in celebration of Alexander’s victory.
    Someplace Thomas had been but a fortnight ago, his mouth sliding up and down Alexander’s prick for the first time. Hot and wet, a luscious drag along his length… But Alexander had had to ruin it, hadn’t he?
    A fresh wave of self-disgust slid over him.
    Jaw clamped together, he forced his attention back to the present. He took a deep breath and on the exhale tried to will the anger and shame and frustration from his body. If he wanted a shot in hell of besting Thomas, he needed to remain coldly in control, every sense focused on the weapon in his hand and the movement of his opponent’s blade. And carelessness could lead to injury.
    Another deep breath. His gaze narrowed to the length of steel in Thomas’s hand. Then he nodded, signaling to Thomas that he was ready to begin.
    The moment Thomas advanced, Alexander lunged forward, aiming for a low-inside attack, hoping to use Thomas’s height against him. Thomas’s blade whooshed through the air, knocking Alexander’s aside. Refusing to retreat, Alexander pressed forward.
    Steel clashed against steel, again and again, each blow lightning-quick. Thomas’s eyes were narrowed in concentration, his muscles bunching and flexing with each efficient movement. Yet his speed didn’t quite match Alexander’s memories. His reflexes were a hair’s breadth slower, the confidence in his blade not as pure as it once had been. Perhaps their years apart weren’t all for naught.
    No!
    Nothing good had come out of those years. Nothing at all.
    The blunted tip of Thomas’s foil touched his chest.
    Damnation!
    Alexander kept the growl inside and immediately dropped back. With a tip of his head to Thomas to acknowledge the point, he moved back to en-garde position.
    He didn’t wait for Thomas to advance. As soon as the man was ready, Alexander moved toward him. Smacking his blade against Thomas’s, he tried to use a beat to force an opening. With a deft counter-parry, Thomas deflected the attack. Before Alexander could recover, steel touched his chest yet again.
    A growl rumbled his throat. Bloody hell!
    They both moved back. Thomas wasn’t even winded, yet Alexander’s breaths came hard and fast, muscles fairly vibrating with tension, with the need to