For one, she was highly bred. Good breeding meant more to him than sex appeal, though she had plenty of that—an unbeatable and irresistible combination to whet the desire of a man of his tastes. For another, French was not her native language. It required a quick ear, for which he was well-known, to detect a certain inflection not of the romance language of the Indo-European family. Also, her control of the blade, her attacks by prise de fer to lure him into committing to a parry, and her brilliant feints to provoke a specific reaction that she skillfully managed to counteract were not learned in after-school sessions at the hand of a conventional instructor, as she’d claimed. Natural ability played the essential part in producing a great fencer, but the development of it could only be achieved by years of coaching and training under the tutelage of a master.

He had won the previous Sunday’s bout but only by the rule of priority. They had each landed a hit simultaneously, but he’d been first to initiate a correctly executed attack. Derrick believed he would have won by points if he had not been so distracted by her skill and grace and his own lust. Veronique Colbert, on the other hand, seemed invincible to distraction. He knew from the moment she’d set foot on the strip, salutes over, that she had come to win. She was like a matador facing a bull, aggressive and combative, perhaps angry at the change in her plans for the day or her revulsion of him, but she did not allow emotion to obstruct her play. He saw immediately that she did not plan to win by overpowering him with physical speed. She was no match for him there, though her fast footwork astounded him. She’d determined to best him with guile. He saw how she watched the movement of his hands and feet and the shift of his weight for the slightest opportunity to move in for the kill. Over and over she pressed the attack, fearless and indefatigable. Never had he been so happy at the conclusion of a fifteen-point match to see Monsieur Jacques Vogel, who’d served as referee, straighten his arm with palm toward him to declare him victor.

“I would like to walk a bit,” she had said in response to his assumption that he would see her to her hotel at the conclusion of their meal at the Ritz. “It has been a while since I’ve strolled about the Place Vendôme. I’ll take the metro later.”

Her point was clear. It was not to keep her address private that she declined his offer of transportation to her lodging. She would know that information was easy enough to find, but that she did not wish to arrive seated in the staff car of a colonel in the SS.