Waistcoats & Weaponry Read Online Free Page A

were cautious and clumsy at first, nothing like Captain Niall’s speedy grace. Preshea mostly attacked and Sophronia mostly defended.
    Captain Niall shouted instructions, which Sophronia—at least—tried to obey.
    “Miss Temminnick, try the treble clef defense. Miss Buss, the
fleur de lys
attack. Well done! And now, Miss Temminnick, the pirouette. Oh, look, ladies, she’s already doing it.”
    The girls crowded around, fascinated.
    Captain Niall switched from instruction to commentary.
    “Now Miss Temminnick has taken up the Valkyrie flip. Note the curves of her movements? And a very nice snap of the wrist there from Miss Buss.”
    Sophronia caught the flicker of the werewolf’s hands as he gestured for the other students to collectively do something, but her attention was taken up with Preshea.
    The ground beneath her feet became uneven and squishy. Captain Niall was using the crowd to herd the two fighters onto the bank of the stream.
    Sophronia had barely a moment to realize this, for several things happened in quick succession.
    Preshea stripped the leather guard off her fan. With a yell of triumph she cut in, slicing at Sophronia’s unprotected face.
    Sophronia reeled, raising her free hand in defense. Her pagoda sleeve fell away, exposing the undersleeve. Preshea’s fan sliced easily through the muslin and into the flesh below Sophronia’s left elbow. A few of the younger girls shrieked. There was a thump and skirts rustled. Dimity had fainted.
    Captain Niall cried halt, but Preshea was out for more blood. A look came into her beautiful eyes that was more common during poison class. Captain Niall would have intervened, but Sophronia met his eyes briefly and shook her head. She did not strip the guard off her own fan, but she did switch from defense to attack. Also, she began to employ not only the slashing letter-opener technique Captain Niall had taught her but some of the dirty fighting she’d learned from Soap.
    She commenced a flurry of quick nips and twists, half-
fleur
attacks designed to alarm but not injure. Preshea was forcedto guard, not realizing that Sophronia’s real intent was to edge about so that she was uphill from her opponent. Soon Sophronia was pressing Preshea back, closer to the stream.
    With her injured arm, Sophronia reached for her chatelaine and the small bottle of perfume dangling there, the one they were instructed to carry at all times. She used to stock rose oil, but an incident during her debut had left her with a marked preference for lemon-infused tinctures in a metal flask with snap-top lid.
    With Preshea distracted by the wickedly darting fan, Sophronia poured out a quantity of the perfumed alcohol with, and into, her free hand. Then she flicked the liquid into Preshea’s eyes.
    The girl squealed and stumbled back, straight into the stream, landing on her bottom with a splash. Her beautiful skirts poufed out around her before sagging as they absorbed the muddy water. The skirts—a rich purple color, in a modern petal cut—looked remarkably like a water lily before they deflated. Afterward, the dress looked more like a wrinkled old prune.
    There was a round of giggles and some gloved applause from their fellow students.
    Being a true gentleman, Captain Niall went into the stream to offer Preshea a hand up.
    “Now, Miss Buss, bloodthirstiness is all well and good, but you ought to have stopped the moment you bloodied Miss Temminnick. First blood always ends a duel.”
    Preshea pouted prettily and offered no excuse, although she eagerly accepted his assistance.
    The werewolf turned to Sophronia. “Miss Temminnick, commendable defense. You are to be applauded for not buckling under the pain. Now let Lady Kingair see to your injury. Lady Kingair?”
    Of course, Captain Niall would suppose that Sidheag had knowledge of wounds, being the child of a werewolf pack. But Sidheag was not there.
    Captain Niall’s boyish face looked older when he frowned. “Where is Lady Kingair?