As he moved purposefully toward Morgan, the men accompanying Charissa fell back to give the two room to fight, as did their mistress. Ian’s blade wandered almost lazily before him as he walked, his sharp gaze noting Morgan’s every move.

Morgan, too, was taking the opportunity to size up his opponent, gray eyes assessing every step, every subtle movement of Ian’s blade. He had never crossed swords with Ian before, but quite probably the earl possessed considerably more skill than he liked people to think he had, else Charissa would not have chosen him to defend her claim. There was a careless intensity about the man that put Morgan instantly on guard.

Still, Morgan had no particular qualms about the duel. He was a superb swordsman and knew it. He had never lost a serious battle in his adult life, and he did not intend to start today. Still, the uncertainty of Ian’s skill and finesse warranted a cautious approach until he knew better what kind of swordsman he was up against. He must win this battle for Kelson, no matter what. Whatever the price, he would pay it.

They had circled long enough. With a sudden, savage lunge, Ian sought to penetrate Morgan’s defenses in the crucial first seconds of the duel. But Morgan was not fooled. Parrying nimbly, he avoided his opponent’s blade with ease, tried an attack of his own, then withdrew slightly as he realized this would not, indeed, be an easy fight. Carefully, patiently, he began weaving a singing net of steel around himself, easily parrying each of Ian’s renewed attacks as he studied the earl’s technique.

Suddenly, he saw what he had been watching for, and switched immediately to a special offensive maneuver he had been saving for just such a moment. His stroke cut Ian’s fine velvet doublet and pinked his opponent in the right shoulder, and the earl jumped back for just an instant.

Ian was furious at being touched. Though he had always concealed the fact, he, too, considered himself an excellent swordsman. That his maiden battle in public should be marked by a wound, however slight, was something he had not expected. Nor did he like it at all.

Flinging himself headlong into the foray, Ian returned to the duel, battling now with emotions rather than reason, as Morgan had hoped he would. Eventually, he took too long a chance, leaving himself momentarily wider open than he should have done. Even as he parried Morgan’s first thrust, the general’s riposte left him open on the right, and Morgan’s blade found a deep sheath in his side.