Free Taming the Wilde by Loki Renard

desired.”
    “Is that so Miss Wilde,” Roake's eyes flashed in irritation as he turned towards me. “Am I to take it that you are also an accomplished swordswoman?”
    I smiled slightly, feeling the rush of memory as I was transported back to childhood. I had been but a scrap of a girl when I was first introduced to the foil. I was perhaps eight years old and quite enamored of the son of our nearest neighbors, a boy of thirteen years of age. Richard was his name and where most young men would have eschewed the company of a much younger girl, he indulged my following him about. When he began his fencing lessons I begged him to teach me and he had done so very thoroughly indeed. As the years passed by I had become almost as competent as he. There had been some talk of us one day becoming betrothed, but the fever had taken him six months before it took my father. My knowledge of the blade was all that remained of him.
    “Have we lost you, Miss Wilde?”
    I came back to the reality aboard the Valiant sharply. “You two were bashing about like drunks in a pig pen,” I said quite scathingly. “Fencing is about elegance and alacrity, not blundering force.” My assessment was on the harsh side and I almost regretted it the moment I spoke, thinking I had left myself open for punishment.
    To my surprise, Roake cocked his head and smiled, playing with one end of his mustache thoughtfully. “You almost sound as if you know what you are talking about.”
    “I do, don't I?”
    The twinkle was back in his dark eyes, an expression that had always alarmed me in the past. “What say we have a wager, Miss Wilde? I will give you a foil and ten chances to land a hit. If you fail to land a single hit, you will submit to a punishment of my choice.”
    “And if I do?”
    He smirked, thinking it unlikely in the extreme. “Then you will have an opportunity to seek clemency at your convenience.”
    “For any matter?”
    “For any matter.” He was so confident in his ability to best me that he was promising the world. Oh the things I could do with guaranteed clemency! I tried not to look too thrilled in case he became suspicious and revoked the offer.
    “Very well,” I agreed.
    “Miss Wilde fancies herself with a blade,” Roake announced those in earshot. “Let us see how she fares, shall we?”
    There was a murmur of interest from those who had been drifting away at the conclusion of Morrow and Roake's duel. As they watched I prepared by slipping off my boots and feeling the deck beneath my feet. It had been scrubbed but was now quite dry so the planks provided ample grip. In short order I was provided with a foil, a reasonably well-balanced weapon. It had been several years since the hilt of a blade had rested in my hand, but it felt familiar like the company of an old friend and I must confess that simply holding the foil bought a smile to my face as I was connected with a ghost of my former self.
    I was not equipped with a vest or face guard for the rules of engagement stipulated that Roake was not going to attempt to make return attacks. Though the rule was clearly designed to ensure my safety, and to relieve Roake from the onerous charge of fighting a woman, it made our wager a more difficult proposition for me, for an opponent not distracted by the need to make counter attacks could focus entirely on defense.
    We began our duel by facing off at a distance of ten yards or so. Roake stood in a lazy guard position, his foil down, his entire body open.  He was not wearing a guard across his face either, which rather limited my striking zone. I preferred to strike high against a male opponent, though it was easier to hit low, there were delicate parts of the male anatomy I did not wish to deliberately strike.
    “Come Miss Wilde,” he called. “Let us begin. There is a rod waiting for your flesh!”
    A burst of laughter from those around accompanied the statement and my reaction. Roake had not had cause to lay a hand on me in