Chapter Eleven
Ben sat at the desk in his study, trying to pen a letter of apology to Lord Brambley for not being able to escort his daughter to London.
But all Ben could think about was Miss Ramsey’s tour of the house with Stephen taking place while the owner of the house sat alone writing letters.
Last month he would have welcomed being alone, which he sought to be most of the time.
But not lately.
Since he’d met her he always sought the company of Miss Ramsey.
He felt a need he couldn’t control to see her, hear her voice, hold her, breathe her, watch her while she ate or slept.
He felt more familiar with her than anyone else he knew.
And he wanted more with her.
More–beyond the physical, though, even now, alone in his study, the very thought of being in bed with her in his arms made him remember how badly he’d wanted to kiss her and undress her, and make love to her. He believed she was a virgin–though he knew it was only by the grace of God that she was if the life she described to him was the truth.
He was a virgin too.
He knew the basics of what to do from listening to his soldiers while they laughed about their experiences around campfires.
Ben didn’t think it was a laughing matter, unless the laughing was done by the pair involved.
He wouldn’t mind laughing with Fable while–
He pushed out his chair and stood up.
He loved her.
There was no denying it.
He’d already confessed to her.
He wanted to go find her.
Would he appear the fool? Pathetic? He hated this unfamiliar need in him because he couldn’t control it.
And he’d become a master at controlling himself when he was off the field. He had to control it all or risk releasing the warrior. Since the injury to his arm, he’d had to leash all the anger, the endless need for revenge, blood, and destruction. Without his arm, he was useless. But in three years, with steadfast dedication, he’d strengthened his muscles and recovered the use of his arm. He’d been planning on writing to the king about meeting with him to return to service. But here he was, hesitating. Hesitating! And why? Because of a woman! A woman without a home, a family, or a pence to her name. Not only that, she claimed to be from another time and that there was a man armed with a sword chasing her. She didn’t have a shred of proof to support either claim, save for villagers who had seen a red-haired woman appear out of nowhere. There was no proof it was her. Even the pocket watch wasn’t in her possession. And yet, here he was in the hall, ready to go find her. He looked around, swallowed, and then set out to check inside every room. He didn’t care if she was out of her mind, he would believe what she told him was real to her.
He thought about losing her and felt sick to his stomach.
Missing her would be unbearable.
He didn’t miss anyone in his life, except his parents.
But his heart felt heavy when he wasn’t with Fable, burdened with the desire to exact revenge that burned as hot as it first had seventeen years ago.
The warrior had become a friend to him, but being caged had become torturous.
But since that first day when she fell into his arms, she made him forget the warrior and eased the pain.
She soothed him like a comforting aroma to his soul.
She made him laugh again, and she broke his heart.
She gave him peace–and now he craved it even more than revenge.
He searched the second-floor, hurrying through the wings, but didn’t find her.
He laughed at himself as he searched, then shook his head in disgust.
Why had he agreed to let her go with his steward?
On the main floor, he spotted Prudence and Sudbury on their way out of the house.
Good, the last thing he needed was to explain to his sister why he was searching for Miss Ramsey.
He did his best to avoid anyone who might wish to speak with him.
Whatever it was could wait.
After another quarter of an hour, he found her where he’d found her the first time, in the garden.
Stephen waited a few feet away while she knelt before the cross on his parent’s memorial, praying in silence.
Ben went still seeing her and remembering that day…she’d been hiding.
He would kill anyone who tried to hurt her.
He looked around, narrowing his eyes on any sound that didn’t seem natural.
He didn’t want to interrupt her prayers so he stood watch until she was done.
“Oh.”
Her dulcet voice rang across his ears from behind, “Did you finish writing your letters?”
“I needed fresh air.
I’ll finish later,”
he told her, turning to see her.
She smiled and leaned in closer while Stephen made his way toward them.
“Were you missing me, Duke?”
He turned around and stared at her, more afraid than he’d ever been on any battlefield.
She had a hold on his heart.
He didn’t need to have loved before to know that what he was feeling now was love.
Perhaps it wasn’t too late to stop it.
Did he want to?
“I still have a letter to write to the king.”
He looked up from the ground and met Stephen’s knowing gaze.
His steward was well aware of his plans.
“But I don’t want you out here with only Stephen to guard you.
Until the man chasing you is stopped, you’ll only come out with me.”
Had her eyes always been so big, so blue-green with shards of gold? Had her skin always been so clear, her lips so pink?
“So then,”
she teased, “you were worried about me?”
He wished he could control his own damned face.
But he couldn’t help but smile at the way she turned his complaining into compliments.
He nodded then turned again and began walking back to the house.
She followed with Stephen and then picked up her pace so that she was walking beside Ben.
“I was thinking of you,”
she confessed.
His heart pounded in his ears.
What had become of him?
“It doesn’t seem fair that when I finally meet someone I can fall for, it’s now, here, in a time I don’t belong.
I feel like when my purpose for coming to the past is complete, I’ll be pulled back–I mean, ahead.”
“What’s your purpose?”
he managed.
“I don’t know.
Maybe something that has to do with you.”
Like me falling in love for the first time in my life and not dying on the battlefield? “You said the pocket watch brought you here,”
he said.
“Leave it wherever it is.
Never touch it again and then it can’t pull you back.”
“So–”
her smile made him almost trip over his feet– “you don’t want me to go?”
He took a few more steps, aware of Stephen passing them and wearing a wide smile on his face.
“No, I don’t.”
When she laughed merrily and ran to catch up with Stephen, Ben smiled and even let out a slight, short laugh.
She was clever and yet, she possessed an innocence that was untarnished by society and its many rules designed mostly to keep women quiet and in their place.
Fable grew up forgotten by society and free.
Still laughing, but now at something his suddenly humorous steward said, she spun around to face Ben.
Her hair, like splashes of fiery sunshine spread out around her and then settled over her shoulders.
“Are you returning to write your letter to the king, or can you teach me to fence now?”
His letter.
Yes.
His arm was well enough to return to battle.
But…he stared at her waiting for his answer…a little more practice would do him good.
“Come with me.”
She bounced up, clapping and looking quite happy.
He realized that watching her bloom in the safety he provided made him happier than he ever felt in his life.
It was odd how another person’s joy could rub off on the hardest heart.
“All right, come, then,”
he urged curtly, trying not to appear too ridiculously gleeful.
She hurried to him and looped her arm through his.
“I enjoyed my tour.
Your house is, like, colossal.
I’ve never seen so many rooms and we didn’t even finish seeing them all.
The halls are enormous.
Why, I think you could fit dozens of people in that house! It’s very beautiful.”
“There are many people taking care of it,”
he said, taking no credit for its upkeep.
“You have a huge staff.
How do you afford it all? How do you make money?”
Ben liked her boldness to ask him such questions.
The ladies in the ton would never think to be so honest and candid.
They hired others to find out anything they wanted to know about his wealth.
“Mostly from farms, orchards, rents on my lands.
I’ve been given a lot of land from the king.
But most of it was my father’s.
Thankfully, Lord Addinton didn’t get his hands on it.”
“So, you’re pretty rich,”
she concluded.
“Yes.”
“What do you do with all that wealth?”
she asked softly, glancing at him from beneath her veil of lashes.
“Do you help or feed the poor, or, like Lady Prudence, do you consider the poor repulsive and beneath you?”
He flashed her an insulted look.
But it was only to mask his guilt of ignoring the people she spoke of.
“You’re poor, Fable.
Do you think you repulse me?”
She smiled and shook her head, pardoning him and trusting him easily on his word.
He liked that it was so easy to make her happy.
He liked that she didn’t dwell on Prudence’s unkind treatment.
She seemed to even forget the man chasing her.
He hadn’t, and hurried her along to the fencing house.
“What do you know about fencing?”
he asked on the way.
“I know thin swords are involved and you get to say touche when you win!”
He laughed softly and then wondered how she’d managed to soften his armored heart so thoroughly.
“That’s part of it, yes,”
he said with a nod and then a knowing curl of his lips.
“Think of it more like a chess game.
It’s the same, it’s outwitting your opponent.
Being a step ahead–up here.”
He pointed to his head.
“But we’re the chess pieces.”
His eyes danced across her face. “Yes.”
They entered the fencing house and saw that Sudbury and Prudence were already there.
After a brief greeting, Ben took Fable to the changing room and looked through the rows of clean white uniforms hanging neatly in an open wardrobe against the wall.
He found the smallest one there, probably used by young John Frenton, his lieutenant’s brother.
“Put this on,”
he said, handing her the uniform.
“I’ll change around that bend.”
He found his uniform and walked off around a corner of the changing room.
He began to undress, and the instant he did, she invaded every moment of his thoughts.
He wished he were taking off his clothes for another reason.
He remembered to breathe while he put on his white breeches and white military-style padded jacket, but she was there–in his head, happy while she ate, grateful while she sipped coffee, shining brightly while she soothed away his every care.
He blew out a deep breath and shook his head to clear it.
This was no time to let his thoughts wander.
He chose his foil and held his mask under his arm while he waited for her to finish changing.
He felt his iron control tightening his muscles by just being here.
Fencing reigned in the warrior and helped him exercise his control as well as his speed.
It was different when he practiced with his heavy sword, requiring the warrior to build muscles and stamina.
“Ready,”
she sang rounding the corner to reach him.
Whatever he was thinking or imagining about her couldn’t compare with the vision of her.
His eyes reveled in the sight of her in a uniform that hugged her body and showed off all her delicate female form.
He felt his heart flip.
It made him cough.
“It fits well,”
he said like a fool.
He helped her choose her mask and a foil that felt comfortable in her small, gloved hand.
When they entered the fencing room, Prudence, who was there to watch Sudbury practice, gasped upon seeing Fable in a uniform.
But when he turned to see how Fable was doing on the walk to the floor, he found her quickly looking away from him and blushing at being caught.
She hadn’t even noticed Prudence and her disapproval.
It made Ben smile again .
After teaching her how to stand and what some words meant, she was eager to learn some moves.
He stood beside her, and much to his sister’s indignation, showed her how to lunge and parry.
Being so close to her, holding her arms in the correct positions, feeling the heat of her cheek when he spoke against it, touching his fingers to her thighs to get her to spread her legs wider for a lunge, threatened to snap the iron control he prided himself on.
He wiped his sweaty brow and fought to steady his breathing.
What was wrong with him? All he could think of was holding her in his arms, kissing her.
He rushed through the rest of the instruction and stepped away from her.
“Dip the blunt tip of your foil into that cup of ink,”
he instructed her.
“Everytime you land that tip on me, the point will be marked with an ink spot.
Understand?”
She nodded, making her hair shimmer in the sunlight streaming in through the windows and muddling his senses.
As tradition dictated, he saluted her, and had her do the same before they put on their masks.
He breathed and then forgot to again when she spoke.
“Be gentle with me.”
It didn’t take long to discover he couldn’t lift his foil to her.
He was showing her a riposte; how to counterattack after he blocked her with a parry.
But when he tried to lift his arm to tap her, he found it impossible.
He wasn’t in any pain.
His arm didn’t disobey because of his wound.
He’d been fighting for too long.
Offensive maneuvers meant injury or death to his opponent. Lifting his sword against her, even in practice, seemed to be impossible. Every point he described to her, she picked up and used on him. He should have parried or lunged and tapped his foil to her, but no part of him would obey to move when it came time to take the offense. Watching her stretch and move didn’t help. Even her sloppy movements managed to catch him.
She won every match and ended up laughing too hard while he stood there covered in ink spots to continue.
Through the corner of his eye he saw Sudbury staring in awe at the fearsome captain’s soiled uniform.
“It’s a good thing my enemies don’t know about you,”
Ben told her lightly as they removed their face masks.
“They would use you to win against me in every battle.”
She blinked her wide eyes at him.
“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“Miss Ramsey,”
Prudence said standing near her chair.
“Do you truly think what you’re doing is decent? The ton would never approve of–”
“What’s indecent about trying to learn how to protect myself? I won’t depend on the duke or anyone to protect me.
I’ll protect myself.”
Prudence laughedat her.
“You’re a fool.”
“What if all the men are off fighting and you’re attacked?”
Fable asked her.
“Don’t you want to fight back? I already know some self-defense moves my friend Patrick taught me.
I can teach you.
A woman should know–”
“Enough!”
Prudence commanded, fanning herself.
“Benjamin, I implore you to cease your interest in this woman at once! Her outlandish ideas that women can protect themselves will be your ruin!”
“Your Grace,”
Fable said,turning slightly to him, "would you help me demonstrate ‘street defense’?”
“Of course.”
Was this how easily he would agree to whatever she asked?
“You could get hurt,”
she added.
Should he smile? Was she being truthful? There was one way to find out.
Curiosity made him–
She came close, took hold of his wrist, tucked her shoulder–what? He was going over! He lay on his back staring up at the ceiling.
What just happened? Did she flip him over her shoulder as if he weighed nothing at all? Impossible.
She was no bigger than an insect!
As he stood up, he saw Sudbury, hands on his head, stricken, once again.
His sister stood as if frozen with her hands to her chest, her eyes huge with both terror and astonishment.
“Your Grace,”
Fable cast her bright beautiful eyes on him again.
“Come at me.”
“What?”
She motioned with her hands to come forward.
“Attack me as if you had a knife.”
“No. I–”
She moved closer and took hold of his wrist again.
“Fable, don’t–”
She turned her back to him, wrapping his arm around her throat as if he was attacking her.
“You follow me into a dark alley.
You have a knife so you think you can do what you want to the girl walking alone.”
As if on cue, she flipped him over her shoulder!
She did it again, he thought, staring at the ceiling.
“But I’m not done,”
she announced, making him dread her next move.
“First thing is to get rid of his weapon.”
With that, she grabbed his hand and twisted it backward.
“His friend wants to help!”
She pointed at Sudbury and motioned him forward.
He shook his head, refusing.
“Then there’s nothing left to do but use the knife and kill the one on the ground.”
She bent to Ben and pretended to hold a knife to his throat.
He stared into her eyes.
She was a fighter, this one.
He liked it and began to smile at her.
Poor Sudbury thought to take that opportunity, while they stared into each other’s eyes, to attack.
Coming from behind, his shadow stretched toward the ceiling.
Fable saw it, turned, and swept her leg across Sudbury’s ankle.
He lost his balance, but he was too big to take down with a sweep.
While he teetered, she hooked his ankle with her foot and with the strength of her leg behind her, pulled him down to join his friend flat on his back.
Finally, she let go of Ben’s hand, untwisting his wrist.
Though the pain stopped, he missed the feel of her.
“Who taught you to fight like that?”
he asked as he stood up.
Sudbury sat up and shook his head in stunned surprise.
“Many people taught me,”
she told him.
“There was always a man to keep away.
But for every one , there were two who wanted to help me.”
You follow me into a dark alley.
You have a knife so you think you can do what you want to the girl walking alone.
His stomach turned.
He wondered how many times it happened to her.
“Don’t go back there, Fable,”
he said close to her ear, his voice, as shaky as his hands at his sides.
“Stay here.”
She looked up at him.
His mouth went dry and his pounding heartbeat in his ears made him feel lightheaded.
“With me.”