A Wish For Nicholas. Jackie Manning

of the blade missing the top of his sleeve by inches.

      His hand shot to his shoulder, his face open in amazement.

      Becky’s laughter rang out like crystal bells. “What a pity the maids at the Seven Swans can’t see you now, Twaddle.” Her blade whirred in the air as she spoke.

      His steely eyes held a warning as they locked with hers.

      “Oh, Twaddle,” she cried, “I see your hose needs changing.” The tip of the sword whirled to take aim at the fasteners tied to the sides of his knees. In a wink, he moved, but not soon enough. The fastener below his knee gave way, the hose disappearing into the wide cuffs of his boots, exposing a few inches of hairy leg.

      She giggled. “Perhaps now you’ll remember who I am?”

      His eyes glittered dangerously like live, burning embers.

      “I’m afraid I’ve taken too much off one side of your hair,” she said, unable to keep a straight face. “Let me straighten the other side for you.” Laughter almost doubled her over.

      “You’d better think carefully, woman, before you best a defenseless man.” The cold threat in his voice caused her to pause. The man’s arm slid behind him and he withdrew a light saber from the hay wagon. In a motion so quick only the rush of air fluttering the drawstrings at her neckline gave warning, the arc of steel sliced through the blue ribbons of her bodice, releasing her gown as it slid from her shoulders.

      His mouth curled in a sardonic smile. It did nothing to relax the steely jaw or the dangerous glint in his eyes.

      Becky gaped as the blade sang through the air a second time. With a snap, the glint of steel sliced again, this time, releasing the delicate ribbon tied in a prim bow at the neckline of her chemise. The soft muslin fell from her shoulders and slid down her arms. Her hands flew to her bosom, covering herself with the loosened fabric.

      “How dare you!” Only when she heard her sword clang to the floor did she realize she dropped it.

      “Not giving up so soon?” He smiled, his saber tip playing about the hem of her skirts. “I’m just beginning to enjoy your little sport.”

      “You…you…” Becky steamed as she watched his enjoyment grow with her outrage. “Your mother praises you when she calls you a shiftless…”

      “Shiftless waste of skin?” he offered, cocking a brow.

      “Exactly.”

      “I’m much worse, I’d wager.” Amused interest replaced the anger in his gray eyes. The tip of his sword hovered in the air, waiting. “Give up?”

      “Never!” Becky’s fingers tightened the loosely gathered fabric at her breasts while she whirled around and picked up the sword with her right hand, exposing her bare back to him.

      “What an interesting birthmark you have, mistress.”

      Ignoring his comment, she positioned her sword in her right hand and lunged it at him. But he moved so quickly, she didn’t even see his blade. Only the soft whoosh sound below her right arm drew her attention in time to see her outer skirt fall to the ground.

      “How—?” She stared in disbelief.

      “Did anyone ever tell you that the birthmark on your back resembles a golden butterfly?” His mouth quirked with arrogance.

      “I’ll have you shaved bald for your insolent tongue!” Becky lunged again, but he stepped out of her way, just in time.

      “I think I’ll remove the red underskirt first, or perhaps the white…” She gaped in horror to see the point of his sword lifting her skirts as he peeked at the hems of her undergarments. “Or should I just flick all of them off—”

      She jumped back out of the reach of his sword. “I’ll see your arrogant hide tied to the fence, and your mother and I will watch as—”

      “Mum?” He lifted a questioning brow as he stepped to within a foot of her and appraised her lazily. “What will Mum think when I describe your birthmark on your enticing lower back.” His mouth twisted in a grin. “A golden butterfly, I’ll tell her.”

      “If you tell anyone about my birthmark, I’ll say you…you tried to take advantage of—”

      “Now, now, now.” A playful twinkle lit his eyes. “I’m sure you know what Mum and the others will think?” He returned his sword to the sheath at his side.

      Becky narrowed her eyes and drew the loose fabric closer. “What do you mean?”

      His chiseled mouth lifted in smug exaggeration. “If my reputation is so dishonorable, fair lady, are you not afraid that my mum might believe you’d fallen for my charms?”

      “That’s absurd! Molly would never believe such a thing.”

      “Then how will you explain my knowledge of such a personal matter as your birthmark?” His bold eyes met hers with a warm, intimate look.

      She felt a blush creep to the roots of her hair. She stepped back, but the horrible realization hit her that what he said was true. Damn Ben Twaddle’s cunning. He was the sort to scrounge off women, and most women would be all agog over his handsome face.

      Even though she was innocent, her reputation would be ruined if a whisper of scandal were to touch the Forester name. Sinclair would never allow her to manage Thornwood Hall for him.

      Sir Nicholas Sinclair. No, she’d not think of that creature. One revolting scoundrel was enough to deal with at a time!

      Becky drew in a resigned breath. “I gave my promise to Molly that I’d stiffen your spine with honest toil, and I aim to keep that promise, Twaddle. You’ll not be getting out of work this time, regardless of your brazen tricks.” She glowered at him. Despite her words, nothing would pleasure her more than to send this dog packing.

      He answered her with an amused smile. “Brazen, dear lady? It’s not brazen for a man to defend himself. After all, you flew at me. An unarmed man. I was only protecting my…virtue.”

      “Your virtue?” She laughed. “Twaddle, you don’t give up, do you? Playing daft won’t lose your job. Nothing you do will keep me from breaking my vow to your mother!”

      He took a step closer.

      She’d wipe that expression from his face before the month was out. She sniffed disdainfully as she picked up her skirt from the hay-strewn floor. She gave it a shake, then glared at him over her shoulder.

      “You can start by grabbing that pitchfork and mucking out the stalls in the livery stable. Geer will be in later to see if you’ve finished. Only then will he give you your supper.”

      In an attempt at dignity, Becky lifted her chin and strode toward the door without looking at him, but he moved to her side in three long strides and barred the door with his arm. “And what if I don’t want to?”

      “What you want has nothing to do with it, Twaddle.” She moved past him but he took her arm.

      “Very well, I’ll do your tasks, but we have one thing to settle, first.”

      Becky thought to run, but she knew that was what he wanted. He was used to having his way with women. She wouldn’t show that his charged masculinity and dangerous presence affected her. She forced herself to meet his gaze.

      Thick black lashes fringed his silver gray eyes. She was reminded of the silver of April rain upon the river as it flowed along the gaming fields. Vibrant, changeable eyes. His black hair fell in loose waves, touching his broad shoulders. She blinked. “What do we have to settle, Twaddle?”

      He held her close, and she wondered why she didn’t break away. What was he going to do?

      “You said I was bold.” His metallic gaze fell to her lips and her stomach clenched. “This is bold…”

      His mouth took