This Perfect Kiss by Melody Thomas

Author:Melody Thomas
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins US
Published: 2011-07-01T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

“You are out of practice, Carrick. I have outscored you twice.”

Camden’s expression remained sober behind his leather-and-mesh mask. He sliced the air with his foil. “Are you telling me you are exhausted, Westmont? One more go-round. Supper is not for another hour, my friend.”

“Friend, indeed,” he replied. “What kind of friend am I to kill you twice in one day?”

Camden laughed. “Merciful.”

His riposte drove Camden back and around the floor. Yorktown might have left Camden less agile, but he had not lost his reflexes. At the very least, he had mostly held his own for the last hour, and it was all he could expect against a master like Jacob.

Tempered by a capricious mood since his daughter’s return to Blackthorn, Camden had thrown himself into physical activity. Anything to alleviate the restlessness that seemed to have been driving him these past weeks since his return from Seastone Cottage. Sweat trickled from his brow and he welcomed the cold breeze as he passed an open window. Outside, snow had started falling again. Jacob and his family had arrived last night to celebrate Twelfth Night as he did every year. With the exception of last year, Jacob had been coming to Blackthorn Castle for over a decade.

A man in his midforties, he was a mentor, as well as a longtime friend and business partner, a Loyalist to the core of his being, a magistrate, and a political ally, one of the few who had remained steadfastly at Carrick’s side for most of the past ten years.

“I understand Anna is recovering from her ordeal,” Westmont said.

“She is up and out of bed, wreaking havoc with the servants, who have spoiled her mercilessly.”

“I heard Miss Douglas has visited here twice since Anna’s return,” Sir Jacob said too casually. “Are you sure that is wise?”

Camden missed his timing, parrying too late. Westmont nicked him again in the chest. Fortunately, a protective leather vest covered his white shirt. “Unless your heart is made of stone, Carrick, you are dead a third time.”

Camden slid off the mask. “Aye, Jacob. The match is yours.” He tossed the foil to a footman standing on the floor’s perimeter. But stone his heart was not.

“Your leg has been troubling you?” Westmont asked as Camden limped to the table where the other fencing gear lay.

Camden tugged at the laces on his leather vest and removed it. Sweat dampened his shirt and hair. The footman brought him a ladle filled with ice water from a pitcher, and he drank.

“More so in this weather,” he said over the rim of the ladle, then tipped it back as if it had contained a needed draft of whiskey.

“Count yourself fortunate you have both your life and your limb. You could easily have lost both.”

“Ahh. Ever the optimist to see the bright side of everything.” Camden dabbed his brow with the back of his arm and studied his friend. “Why the interest in Christel Douglas, Jacob?” His tone was cool.

“I do not need to remind you that her uncle was a blockade runner.

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