Page 69 of Spar of Hearts

Her golden tresses nearly served her intended purpose, but before she got too far, he crept toward her, blade at the ready. A little nick on the shoulder and he’d claim victory and hold her to that delicious offer of praise.

Just as he jabbed, she whirled around, her hair a flurry of gold. His blade sliced a thin lock that slid down his rapier to the hilt. Her eyes followed it, jaw agape.

“Oh no—no no no, we’re not done!” Anya cut against his rapier, holding her strength against his. “First blood!”

“Ah, but didn’t Sir Ronaldo always say ‘first touch’?” Roderick slid his rapier up the blade of her cutlass, shifting the angle to force the hilt from her grip.

“How—do you know about that?” Anya groaned. Her arms began to shake. She’d just sparred before this. It was hardly fair. But she wouldn’t want him to go easy on her.

With a smooth twist, her cutlass clattered to the floor.

“We had the same teacher, in a way,” he said. “Now—” He tossed his rapier over her cutlass with a clang and stepped to her, fingering the surviving lock of hair. “The victor’s spoils, please.”

Anya smacked his hand away. “Fine. You win.”

“Not that.”

“I yield.”

“Not that either. The praise, Anya. I crave it.”

“You don’t need it, trust me. Your ego is already overflowing.” Anya chuckled.

And then she smiled. A genuine, beaming smile that he’d earned. He memorized every lift and curve of her lips and cheeks and the smooth outline of each pearly tooth. He never wanted to forget this moment.

The longer he admired Anya, the harder his heart pounded against his ribs, threatening to burst into a far too passionate moment. It took everything in his power not to pull her into the shadows, prop her against the wall and taste her until she was seeing stars. But instead, he knelt and handed over her cutlass. He was in this for the long haul.

Anya slid the blade into her scabbard and quietly sauntered toward the galley. Before she rounded the corner, she cast a glance back at him.

“Thank you for the duel, Roderick.”

Roderick.

He smiled. His name on her lips was reward enough.

Chapter 25

Anya Delemond

Anya stirred her peach porridge, her mind still stuck on her duel with Roderick while Blackbird chattered about her latest readings on wyverns. She did her best to listen intently, or at least appear so. Since that night on the deck, each day that passed seemed to make Roderick more at one with the memory she held of the manor.

His hair was soft and loose—not slicked back as he’d usually favored. His billowing shirt gave way to a hint of chest hair. The ensemble was a far cry from the high collar and tight cravat of days prior. He was clearly making some kind of change. Even the very air about him was lighter. Happier. But could she trust such a sudden shift? After all, the finest actors could turn in a moment, and he’d spent his entire life in a farcical play. But the way he looked at her today…it wasn’t like the first time he asked to court her. She was no longer a prize to him, or even a princess. He looked at her like she was so much more.

She fought the urge to fling a spoonful of porridge at the back of his handsome head and pounce him the next time she caught him in the hall alone. The competing prompts threatened to split her mind in two. Sextants and astrolabes wouldn’t help her here. She’d have to spill everything to Blackbird later before she went crazy. Maybe together they could pick some sense out of this.

“Your Highness! Your Grace! We got trouble!” Deckhand Gail O’Byrne was nearly howling down the steps. “There’s a storm on the horizon!”

The galley filled with anxious murmurs as Anya and Roderick rose from their seats and ran for the stairs. As they met at the doorway, Roderick put a hand on her shoulder.

“I can handle this,” he said quietly. “You need to sleep. It’s just a storm. I’ve sailed through much worse.”

“I’ll do no such thing. We’ll handle this together.”

Instead of protesting, insisting this was no task for her, not her place, far from the reason she was brought aboard, he merely nodded.

“All right then.” He gestured to the steps. “Ladies first.”

Perhaps a man could learn.