Lord Crayle's Secret World. Lara Temple

mode of address. He had never stopped calling him young and he wondered what it would take for him to change.

      ‘Well, I’m willing to make amends, if you have the time. And if Miss Trevor hasn’t worn you out, old man.’

      Sari was startled into an involuntary gurgle of laughter at the mock concern in the earl’s tone.

      ‘I tried. Desperately,’ she said. ‘I think Signor Antonelli could have disarmed me in his sleep.’

      ‘I sympathise,’ Michael replied. ‘For the first year I trained with this taskmaster I don’t think he looked up once from the book he was reading except to tell me the session was over.’

      Sari laughed and Antonelli shook his head, smiling indulgently at them.

      ‘It was surely a very enthralling book...’ she offered as palliative, but Michael shook his head.

      ‘I appreciate the attempt at redemption, but it was no such thing. I didn’t even rank above Reverend Trull’s Sermons on the Decay of Modern Morals.’

      The absurdity of Antonelli being engrossed by such a book was clearly too much for Sari, and she burst out laughing. Antonelli chuckled.

      ‘Enough of that, you two. Now, signorina, you had better run and change if you are not to be late for Mr Deakins, he of the gunpowder and smoke. It would not do to upset him.’

      * * *

      Sari was reluctant to leave, but she smiled at the two men and left the salle. She was intrigued by the change in Lord Crayle from her previous encounters. It was hard to reconcile his light hearted self-deprecation with the tight control or the watchful disdain that had characterised their previous meetings. She wondered which of these personas reflected the real man.

      Certainly she knew he was anything but inept at fencing. Anderson had casually mentioned that Lord Crayle was one of the country’s finest fencers. She had the instinctive feeling that although he might laugh at himself, it was because he could afford to. He might not be as forgiving towards himself if he were to fail in earnest. She would do well to remember that under his unexpected and disquieting charm was the cold and ruthless focus she had witnessed back on the Heath.

      She shook her head, as if to free it of these thoughts. This was her first day at the Institute and she needed to be focused. She had to keep reminding herself this was real. From the moment she had returned to tell George and Mina that she had indeed secured employment, everything had been a slightly unreal whirl of activity. George had done them proud by using his contacts at the hostelry to find a lovely little house for rent in Pimlico with one room for her, one for George and Mina and another for Charlie when he would come to London for the holidays. The sorry sum of their belongings had not taken up half a cart, but Mina had inspected their new rooms with a sweeping martial gaze. When she was armed with a fistful of coins, Sari had full faith it would not take Mina long to turn the modest furnished house into a warm home.

      But perhaps the most rewarding moment had been sending off the letter to Charlie’s headmaster, including the arrears in fees, and another to Charlie himself telling him of their new direction. She had never told him how low they had sunk and she was not going to tell him how they were now evading debtors’ prison. She wanted him happy and safe and unworried. For the first time in years she felt a return of optimism.

      * * *

      Back in the salle, Antonelli stood by as Michael prepared for their practice.

      ‘Strange things wash up on your shores, young Michael,’ he observed after a moment. Michael looked up from the foils he was inspecting. Strange was one way of putting it. The way Sari swung between that impulsive, uncalculated charm and a mix of hauteur and bravado was disconcerting.

      ‘Stranger than even I thought. What did you learn about her?’

      ‘She said a Sicilian had taught her to fence many years ago. Along with a few other tricks, I would hazard, knowing Sicilians. She has grace and daring, but not much method. It will be a challenge to discipline her.’

      Michael wondered if her good behaviour would survive the test of time once the word discipline was mentioned.

      ‘Good luck. She may be more intractable than first impressions indicate.’

      Antonelli dipped his head to one side, considering. ‘Perhaps, and yet I think she will meet me on this. It will be interesting to see what differences there are between men and women...’ He paused as Michael faintly quirked a brow in amusement.

      ‘Now, now, none of that nonsense,’ Antonelli admonished. ‘However, my friend, I am also wondering what will happen when the men notice a young and most attractive female is wandering the corridors?’

      Michael frowned. ‘I hadn’t considered that. Perhaps we should keep her schedule different from the others. All these young fools need is an object on which to focus their bravado and easy infatuations and we will have mayhem on our hands.’

      ‘I seem to remember a time when you, too, were young, my friend,’ the older man pointed out mildly.

      ‘A long time ago. Still, that is why I know the danger we may be stirring by dropping an unsuspecting female into the middle of this pack of wolves. And I have a feeling she is definitely unsuspecting.’

      Michael picked up one of the foils absently, weighing it in his hands. The more he learned about this woman, the less comfortable he became. When he had thought she was clearly a criminal of sorts, making use of her seemed acceptable. Now that it was becoming clear she was just a young woman forced to desperate measures by circumstance, the thought of placing her in compromising or dangerous situations was less palatable. He was surprised that strait-laced Anderson, of all people, wasn’t objecting on the same grounds.

      ‘I hear she might be a good shot,’ Antonelli said, interrupting his thoughts. ‘Will O’Brien be training her in the gallery or will you?’ he continued as they took their places on the strip.

      Michael glanced up with some surprise. He hadn’t considered the possibility. O’Brien usually trained the men when they first arrived in the rudiments of shooting while Michael did training outdoors with the most promising of the lot. Still, if she was as good as her shots on the Heath had indicated...

      ‘I don’t know yet,’ he answered evasively. ‘We’ll see. En garde.’

      Antonelli echoed his salute and Michael cleared his mind of anything but the other man’s sword.

       Chapter Seven

      Stepping out of Deakins’s class on the fourth day of her training, Sari was forced to admit the earl had been right about her and Deakins. He was her favourite instructor thus far, only after Antonelli. She loved his lab of chemicals, lock picks and trunks of disguises. There must be more of the lawbreaker in her than she cared to admit. She headed towards the clerk’s office, wondering what other training had been assigned for her that day.

      Penrose glanced up as she entered his small room by the main door.

      ‘Ah, miss, follow me, if you please,’ he said pleasantly.

      Sari followed. She knew part of her role in the Institute included not asking where she was being taken or what she was expected to do, but as Penrose led her through a door and down a set of winding stairs, she began to feel slightly uneasy. They descended farther and farther, and she had the slightly hysterical thought that perhaps they were going to dispose of her in some underground dungeon.

      ‘Almost there, miss,’ Penrose said as the stairs ended and they proceeded along a narrow corridor. Rather than echoing, his voice became peculiarly muted. Finally, they reached a broad door and he motioned her ahead of him.

      She entered and her mouth opened in awe as she realised she was in an underground shooting gallery. Three long lanes stretched some thirty yards up to a well-lit wall where life-size dummies were propped up on posts.