With the Contessa at his back, Marc launched himself forward, curled up into a roll, and popped up facing where the strike came from. He caught sight of the hearth and nothing else, just in time to feel another well-placed tap to his ass.
Marc spun in place to the same effect. Whenever he manoeuvred himself to face her, the Contessa was already gone. He even attempted to block the inevitable strike, but failed every time.
He had no idea on how she managed, and did not have the luxury of considering the impossibility of it. That dress was not designed to give her a full range of movement… let alone running.
Disclaimer: This excerpt from Man of War is currently in development. There may be typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth.
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