flexed his shoulders. "Not at all, my lord. I indulge in vanity, but not to that extent. You are ready?"
Bey bowed. "I am completely at your service."
He walked toward D'Eon, but Diana made a sudden resolve, and spoke. "Monsieur D'Eon," she said, and the man turned to face her, painted brows high. "I still have my bow, and a number of arrows. If there is any foul play here, I will kill you."
After a still moment he smiled, and blew her an extravagant kiss. "Magnifique! You are indeed worthy of the great marquess, and if de Couriac was not already dead, I would kill him for you."
"No you wouldn't," said Bey. "En garde, monsieur."
With shocking suddenness, the blades clicked together, and the two men became intent only on each other. It should have been a ridiculous mismatch simply because of height and reach, but Bey had never thought so, and he'd been right.
D'Eon was, quite simply, brilliant. His agility was astonishing, his balance perfect, and the blade, even though it was strange to him, seemed a smooth extension of his body.
It took a moment for Diana to realize that Bey was almost as good, but only almost. It was the height and reach that leveled it, but it was level.
Too level? The blades seem to hiss close to flesh with every daring move.
The fight burned with energy, nothing at all like the bouts she had with Carr. Did Carr fight like this sometimes with skilled men, moving at fierce speed around a huge room, taking terrible chances with vicious speed and strength that could so easily kill?
They swirled close, and she had to quickly back out of the way to be sure of not distracting them. No chance of that. Neither had eyes for anyone or anything but each other.
Almost, she thought, like a deadly minuet.
As the fight went on, she could hardly believe that neither of those wicked, flashing blades had drawn blood. She found that she was sucking in air as they must be.
D'Eon's powdered wig had gone, and his hair straggled. Bey's hair had been loose to begin with, but now tangled with sweat.
"What the devil's happening?"
She started at the low murmur in her ear, and glanced once at Bryght who had appeared at her side, Fort nearby. She looked back quickly, however, feeling that her attention alone stood between this and disaster.
"A friendly fight, of sorts."
"Friendly..." Bryght muttered, but at that moment D'Eon moved quickly out of pattern, lowering his sword, and Bey checked a thrust.
It stopped.
The Frenchman sucked in deep breaths. "We will kill each other out of exhaustion, my lord... You are satisfied?"
Bey lowered his sword, too, and when he had his breath, said, "Perhaps. You were right. You are extremely good. A little better than I am."
D'Eon bowed, and did not dispute it. "So, the record is swept clean?"
Bey replaced his sword in the case. "You say you have no plans to kill me, monsieur, but what of your masters in France? Someone instructed de Couriac."
D'Eon shrugged. "I will try to convince them that it would be extremely impolitic now for a Frenchman to create more havoc in England. You will always have enemies there, however."
"I am glad of them. The passion of one's enemies should mark the stature of one's triumphs. But was there any true attempt to kill the king?"
"No, I am sure not. King Louis would have no wish for it. No king is happy with the idea of regicide. I think that was merely to draw you out for attack. Your protective instincts are very well known."
"How dismaying to be so predictable."
"So now?" asked D'Eon. "You have a beautiful lady as your bride, my lord, and happiness ahead of you. We can put this all behind us?"
Bey turned to face him. "Not quite, monsieur. You did, after all, attempt to wound me. I have arranged some discomforts for you in return." With a smile he added, "C'est la guerre, non?"
The Frenchman's eyes narrowed.
Bey continued. "However, I will offer a friendly warning. You have enemies in France, and have not perhaps always received accurate information. Take care."
D'Eon's features pinched, but he merely said, "We shall see, my lord." He passed over his sword and picked up his clothes. "Good night, my lady, my lords."
"What discomforts?" Bryght asked as the Frenchman left the room.
Bey pushed hair off his face, and replaced D'Eon's sword in the case. "His influence is already undermined with King Louis, along with his master's, de Broglie. Guerchy