Fighting a Duel...with Jillian Stone and Giveaway

Fighting a Duel on Christmas Eve - Jillian Stone

Jillian Stone is author of the gaslight romantic suspense series, The Gentlemen of Scotland Yard and the steamy steampunk series Phaeton Black, Paranormal Investigator. She is currently working on several contemporary erotic romance novels, as well as the Gentlemen of Scotland Yard spin-off, CODENAME: DRAGON.

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Coming in Fall 2014, CODENAME: DRAGON, the first novel in a new Gentlemen of Scotland Yard spin-off series by Jillian Stone.

The new series involves a covert group of highly trained operatives, secretly financed and directed by Scotland Yard. The operation is known only by it’s codename, Dragon. These special agents are involved in espionage of such a sensitive nature, only three men on the outside, even know of its existence. William Melville, Director of Special Branch, Chief Detective Inspector, Zeno Kennedy, and undercover agent, Phineas Gunn.

After an unfortunate, and somewhat mortifying incident, Detective Flynn Rhys is given a choice. Resign from Scotland Yard. Or resign and head up Dragon. He is given six weeks to recruit and train a group of operatives––burglars, prostitutes, forgers, torturers and assassins. Nothing much is riding on this operation, only the continued sovereignty of the British Empire.

Alice Armistead is determined to be a part of the new clandestine operation headed up by Flynn Rhys. And she has made it clear, she will not take no for an answer. Flynn won’t hear of it, but when she helps him catch the notorious arms trafficker, Grey de Ruthyn, he begrudgingly presents her with an opportunity. She must train as a fighter, and best him in one of three events: marksmanship, hand to hand combat or swords. Then, and only then, will he consider her for a position with Dragon.

***

The air in the fencing hall had grown sultry for late December. Alice Armistead sultry. As in the dewy, fresh young thing who often tempted Flynn Rhys beyond reason. Like she was doing now.

He paced in a circle around the gymnasium, studying Alice carefully from afar, ignoring her as his path drew him closer. He opened a set of French doors, welcoming the bite of crisp winter air. This tempting sultriness of hers, was almost certainly the cause of his lack of concentration. He could feel it, he wasn’t edgy sharp, he was edgy distracted.

“En garde!” Standing tall and strong, Alice arched her back, practicing her salute. She was an elegant fencer and clever.

Finn lunged forward giving both legs a good stretch. “Better to guard your heart, mon belle ami.”

She slanted those large blue eyes his way. “I guard all my feminine bits when I’m around you, Flynn.” Her smile had a saucy smirk to it. More impish grin than demure flirtation. It was that very slight upturn at the ends of her mouth––sensuous as well as mischievous, that turned his head and caused the manly blade to stiffen.

Most disconcertingly, she wore fencing attire. Not bloomers, mind, which would have been torture enough, but well-tailored knickers and a form-fitting jacket. Now her bosom would be as equally distracting as that round little derriere. He sensed a clever bit of female scheming here, and truth be told, he admired her for it. Devilishly underhanded of her.

A good deal was riding on the outcome of this duel. She needed to best him in at least one discipline to be hired as an apprentice investigator. Alice had agreed to six weeks training in the fierce discipline of shastar vidiyā. Swords, knives and other vicious weapons used for hand to hand combat, as well as classical sword fighting and target shooting with pistols and arrows.

He had beaten her soundly at maru. She had chosen the double-horned stabbing weapon, and he had easily countered her attacks. Using a thrust and choke, he had quickly disarmed her. He had left the first match convinced she needed months of additional training and ordered all her instructors to step it up a notch.

The shooting competition had been another matter entirely. He had barely squeaked out a win in target shooting. Something, he should have also won handily. Lovely Alice was no pale, blonde beauty. She was a formidable creature, and she had delighted him with her accuracy and her speed.

Safely across the hall, he stole another glance at his female opponent. Her dazzling mane of wavy locks, shades of fawn and flaxen, had been tamed into a topknot for the match. And those eyes, when all else was shaded and quiet, they sparkled like sapphire’s even in the late afternoon light. He inhaled deeply, and her essence filled his senses. She was quite simply, an exquisite, sensual, flaming ride into hell.

He exhaled, slowly. After each of their previous matches, her strong-willed nature had lingered, like a jaunty, ribald cabaret song, or the strains of a haunting melody, he couldn’t get out of his head.

Alice had chosen the épée courte, the elegant, single-handed form of riding sword. Of all the armament a soldier might choose to fight with, this was the blade that was carried close to the body and cherished above all other weapons, even the pistol.

“Take him, Alice.” With a toss of his head, Vincent Ayotte, swept the perspiration from his brow and settled down between two of his companions d'armes, brilliant fencers, all. And all for hire, for a price. Vincent had volunteered his services in a three-way preliminary match, which Flynn had won. Now, the mercenary swordsman hoped for nothing less than Flynn’s complete humiliation by Alice Armistead.

Sword master Raoul d’Artaine, called for the salute. “Swords up. And commence.”

Circling each other in rapt attention, they began the opening steps of a complicated dance. Using straightforward thrusts and parries, advancing cautiously, retreating quickly. Grasping her light, well-balanced sword, Alice lunged into a series of lightening fast moves, and complex footwork.
Concentrating, Flynn could almost hear her breaths and the pounding rhythm of her heart.

She skillfully backed him across the floor, and he answered with a few bold strokes of his own, forcing her to give back most of the ground she had gained. But Alice was quick to return with yet another accomplished offensive attack.

“Exactement, the right riposte, Alice You are learning, improving.” D’Artaine, was obviously impressed with her form, and not just those distracting curves of hers. Long hours of practice had paid off. Her dueling skills had elevated considerably. She could impressively hold her own with a swordsman of much greater reach and strength.

“Stay sharp, Flynn. She is quick.”

“My sword is always glad for you, Alice.” He grinned, employing a feint and re-engagement from the opposite direction. He circled around her using a few agile moves of his own. His body ached in a half dozen places from the brawl last night. Single malt whiskey and beautiful women, a personal weakness of his. He should have known better then to risk this match for a night of debauchery.

Alice retaliated with rapid, well-placed strokes. She had sword sense, the ability to recognize the subtle, telling moves of her opponent and react with lightening speed. Flynn buckled down for an onslaught of wicked play. He would not make the mistake of overconfidence with Alice. She fenced in the moment, but she had been trained well, by his own fencing master. Like a good chess player, she planned several moves ahead.

Flynn ducked and spun himself under the slash of her stroke. Besides being both fleet-footed and quick, Alice had acquired an impressive repertoire of strikes and change-ups. Once again, with singularly flawless preparation, she launched an aggressive attack that forced him back across the floor.

“Your blade seems hard hit, Flynn,” She teased, only slightly out of breath. She had also acquired an impressive vocabulary of ribald taunts and jibes––something he excelled at and one of his most prized, unwritten rules of the game. She was prepared to meet him stroke for stroke and jibe for jibe. It seemed the match was going to be amusing as well as challenging.

“Let me assure you, sweet Alice, he stands fully at attention and ready for your close inspection.” He used a quick feint to the right, and tapped her on the left hip, before she could re-engage her sword.

“Dragon scores. Sloppy defense, watch yourself, Alice.”

The silent gaps of cautious circling were less frequent now, punctuated more and more by the high-pitched ring of metal-on-metal rapiers. Alice lunged forward, turning her foil up and to the inside, sliding her blade edge cleanly down his sword, a coulé.

She drew so close, he could feel the warm air from her flared nostrils. He, in turn, was forced to swallow and gasp for breath. For a single, hushed moment, their eyes met.

“Those striking sapphire eyes, Alice, as dark and menacing as an evening storm, and yet so full of promise...” His gaze lowered to those voluptuous breasts, he had yet to taste. “A veritable wonderland of earthly delights.”

“Then you will be shocked to learn, sir, I wish only a simple kiss.” Grinning, Flynn stepped forward, into her body. Their swords hilt to hilt––each of them pressing hard for an advantage. “You think to disorient me with a maiden’s kiss?”

Breaking all decorum, he slipped an arm around her and turned the edge of his blade to her throat.

Violet-blue eyes lowered, as the ends of her mouth turned upward. She tilted her head, and brushed a whisper of a kiss, across his mouth. It only took a second to deflect his blade out of his hands and into the air.

Lowering his gaze, the tip of her sword, pressed into his quilted jacket, affixed on his heart.

“Whoo-hoo!” Loud applause and high-spirited taunts went up from the arena gallery.

“Corps-a-corps, the match goes to Alice Armistead.” D’Artaine laughed so hard, he slipped off his chair, and had to catch himself. To be strictly equitable, he called them both to task for illegal body contact, but nevertheless gave her the contest for an artful, well-executed strategy. “What Alice lacks in physical strength, she makes up for in wiles.” The delighted instructor chided the all the swordsmen around him.

“Un coup fatal, the kiss of death, messieurs. You are all at risk.” A grumbling round of protests arose from the fencers surrounding the fencing master.

“She fights with her brain and her heart, does she not?” D’Artaine looked into each of the rugged, handsome, faces that surrounded him. “Alice has an even chance of winning any match, with any of you, even though she lacks your reach and strength. Pray let her use her female ingenuity to survive, even triumph in battle.”

Positioning himself formally in front of Alice, D’Artaine executed a deep, courtly bow.

Flynn managed a begrudging smile. “Illegal and unfair. Brilliantly done, Alice.”

She turned to leave with the others, and he lowered his sword to block her. “Stay. I’d like to review that last move again.”

Pushing his blade aside, she circled him. “The sword or the kiss?”

He could hardly take his eyes off those sensuous, pillowed lips. On such a delicate featured face, her mouth was a little too wide. But, how inviting those lips were, when turned up in one of her unexpected, saucy smiles. Recently, since her trials had begun, he had found himself thinking more and more about where those lips might travel on his body, and he could not wait a moment longer to find out.

Boldly, he pulled her close, covering her mouth with his own. He had thought to take things slowly, but as her fingers swept through the hair at the base of his neck, he asked for more. Slipping his tongue along the underside of her cupid’s bow, he urged her to open. His hands swept down her back, cupping a firm derriere.

His lovemaking progressed remarkably well until she removed his hand and step out of their embrace. He yanked her back. “Really, Alice, to use a kiss as a weapon.” He shook his head, rubbing the tip of her nose with his. “You are hired, my dear.”

Prima ballerina Catriona de Dovia lives the glamorous life of a starlet, filled with glittering jewels, sumptuous dinners, and admiring suitors. She's grown up considerably since losing her heart to Hugh Curzon once upon a time, no longer wasting her emotions on the empty promises of wealthy gentlemen. On her own since the untimely death of her parents, she will do anything for the only family she has left: her brother, a notorious anarchist.

Scotland Yard Agent Phineas Gunn—sometimes known as Hugh Curzon—receives his new assignment reluctantly. He's up for something a little more strenuous than playing nanny to a ballerina, until he sees who his charge is. Then, it's a completely different story, because he'd been unable to forget the trusting, beautiful Cate since he had to leave her behind.

As the two race across the Continent—by land, by sea, even through the air by zephyr—it becomes uncertain who is keeping tabs on whom, and Finn and Cate must battle the sexual tension that snaps and sizzles between them every step of the way.

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