Chapter Eleven
T he next morning, Boudicca was so restless, it required an immediate jaunt over to the Practice Hall where she started in on squats. Fifteen repetitions. No, twenty. Her regular routine was usually a light warm up, a precursor to the activity of a practice match. This morning she needed to push herself to feel drained before it even began the fight because her body felt like a pianoforte upon which someone was clunking away and the reverberations were unceasing. She felt a mottled mess. Not knowing whether the duke was calling on her today was especially irksome. If she pushed herself hard enough in some rigorous exercise, perhaps her body would realign itself and she would feel normal.
She wasn’t even sure what normal was. Proper ladies didn’t fence to begin with. They didn’t wear breeches. They didn’t do all the things Boudicca loved to do. She knew there were other women like herself, her sister for example, but she hadn’t discovered them yet because proper ladies didn’t even speak about what proper ladies didn’t do. Unless they were gossiping. Which coincidentally, proper ladies often did.
She should have gone out and paid calls. That was normal. She shuddered. There was a reason she didn’t do that. It was more painful to sit and listen to idle gossip than to pretend she wasn’t sitting at home waiting for Wesley. Besides, the on dit was likely to be about her, so what benefit did it serve to either her or the tattlemongers if the object of their gossip was present? So she stayed home and her sisters went out for the morning.
A knock on the door interrupted her twentieth count. Mid-squat, Wesley entered the gymnasium.
She popped up, feeling awkward about her bottom being pointed directly at him. “I didn’t think you were coming today.” She made a point to peer down at his ankle.
He lifted it up as if for inspection. “It’s fine.” And then he twisted it around to prove his mobility. “I’ve been here the last several mornings. My intentions are clear. Why wouldn’t I come today?”
“There is that explicit comment about intentions again. How do I know what your intentions are?”
“I’ve told you.”
“You could be lying.”
“I’m not.”
“You could be hiding something.”
With a small huff, he walked over to her. “I told you that I’m courting you. What more do you need?”
“I need to know why.” There. She had said it. It was about time, too. She berated herself for not asking this sooner. So many women would have loved to have his attention. They fought for it. In ways the ton did. A dropped fan here, an eye fluttering there. She had witnessed it, though never participated. It was imperative to uncover his secret.
What’s not to court?”
His cavalier response sounded oddly, and terrifyingly similar to, what’s not to love? But she shook that nonsensical sentiment out of her head. Thankfully he continued on.
“You’re a well-figured woman with a sharp mind. You come from a wealthy and noble family. And…no one can accuse you of being boring.”
It was a swarm of half-compliments. He had stated, more or less, indisputable facts. But it wasn’t enough.
“Why do you want to court me?”
“I’m quite certain I just explained that.”
“If those were reasons enough to court me, then every eligible bachelor would be here or would have attempted a courtship. What I want to know is, why do those particular traits in me compel you to be here? There must be a reason.”
And she swore she saw him retreat to the tiniest degree. That tiniest degree ensconced him in a wordless bubble of the gymnasium. A vacuum, devoid of a lexicon. Just as it was discovered a half century ago that a person could not breathe in space, so Wesley could not form words in his current environment. This did not bode well for him. If a person could not answer a question in their normal tone and demeanor, they were hiding something. Boudicca knew. She was an expert in detecting ulterior motives.
She held out her hand and began counting her appendages. One. “You’re not in need of my dowry.”
He scoffed.
Two. “You’re not clamoring for status.”
Three. “You’re not looking for a quick…fix.” She prided herself on not blushing over that one.
Four. “No one has forced you into this.”
Five. “Botheration! Why the deuce are you here?”
He was rigid. No tells. Not even one.
“Today, I’m here to fence. Shall we drown in a conversation where you’re digging for something that doesn’t exist? Or can you accept my intentions as they are so we can fence?” He was towering over her, not intentionally intimidating, but large, brawny, and exacting all the same. She would not take a step back from his muscular body that was radiating an immense amount of heat.
She knew he was hiding something. She could feel it in her bones. If he had lies and secrets, so too could she.
“Well, court all you want. But don’t propose unless you’re keen on rejection.”
“What’s this?”
“I’ll not marry you.”
“Why?”
Throwing part of his line back at him, she said, “I’m here to fence. Not sit around and talk.”
He was a decent match and she wanted the practice. That part wasn’t a lie. If he could forge ahead with their farce of a courtship, then surely she could do the same.
They strode to the piste and faced off. There was a new -ill in the air today. Not a thrill. Not a chill, but a trill. A vibration. A thrumming that resounded through her.
Their bouts were by no means equal; she won every time, but he was attentive. Fastidious, even, to observing her every movement. Mimicking her. Losing. Failing. Yet trying again. And the losing didn’t register in her mind; rather, she admired his determination. He was a true competitor.
At the end of it, they were both perspiring, and therefore rehydrating themselves.
“It’s impressive that you showed up again today.”
“I told you I was court—”
“Not to court me. To fence. You must know I’m the better fencer, and that I was bound to win. Again.”
“True. I can’t deny it, though it pains me to admit it.”
“Yet you’ll work at this, even though you’re not good at it.”
“I take exception to that statement. I’d say I’m a rather good fencer. But you are better.” They stood nearly toe to toe at the water station. “You can’t tell me that you have never done something you know you’re not good at. When learning a new skill, everyone has to start from somewhere, and usually it’s the bottom. Wouldn’t you prefer to excel in a new skill than remain weak in it?”
Yes. Kissing.
Oh, that wretched thought should be blasted from her mind. But she couldn’t help it. The thought had lunged into her mind and attacked high inside. It was a skill she didn’t have, and perhaps it was a skill she could have…
Ack. She blotted the thought from her mind.
“Go change. We’re done for today.”
He turned to go behind the screen, and she strode off to quit the room. Only after reaching for the handle did she realize she hadn’t put her sword away. She jaunted over to the watering station. When she heard male voices from outside the gymnasium, she panicked. It sounded like her father. She had thought he’d been away for the morning. Of course, he knew about her fencing, but she didn’t think he would be too keen to know that the Duke of Baskim had been partnering with her.
What a thought? As if Wesley had been a partner of any kind. But that thought was quite low on the list of urgent items. Right now, she didn’t want to face her father with the duke, so she snuck behind the screen bumping into Wesley in the small space.
And not a second too late.
Her father entered the gymnasium. He must have scanned the room, and seeing no one closed the door, for she heard him muttering, “I swear I heard someone in there.” But to whomever he was muttering, he just continued listening and the voices faded down the corridor.
And then she realized…
Her hands were on skin. Perspiration coated skin. Warm, wet skin. One hand was on a stomach that felt as hard as granite. Yet there was soft curling hair down there. Down there. God, and it was leading further down. She could see the hairs curling over his breeches and leading down…down…down. She looked up to catalog where her other hand rested. Sigh. A thick, flexing bicep. She rubbed her thumb, advancing and retreating down a one inch path. It was real. She could feel it. Moving.
And then she looked up…
Into his eyes. Those piercing eyes. His pupils were dilated in shock. His nostrils flared.
“What are you doing?”
“I—I heard someone coming.”
“I thought that your family expected this kind of behavior from you.”
“Expected. Yes. Observed me with a man. No.” Her answers were short, not for lack of trying to explain, but for lack of oxygen to her brain. His scent, soap and hard work were overtaking her senses. So much so that she hadn’t even removed her hands from his body. “I—I mostly fence with my tutor. My father would have been more than a little astonished to see you here. With me. Like this.”
Like this. With her hands on his statuesque figure. Yet she still couldn’t bring herself to retreat.
“Like this.” His gaze dropped to her lips. “Or like this?”
And then his hands were on her. One resting firmly on the small of her back, his fingers dangerously close to her bottom. The other clasped around the back of her neck. And he swung her around and pushed her gently up against the wall, still encased behind the screen.
She gasped.
He leaned in closer to her lips. He was offering a second chance. It was an invitation though, not a demand, for he left space between them. Hardly any. But there was space. And although the space was less than an inch apart, it may as well have been a universe away. The space was the difference between a good girl and, well…a proper woman. Woman, not lady. All her life she had always been the good girl. Her only deviance from etiquette was her enjoyment of fencing. Soon, that deviation would be pronounced, and public, but she had time before that happened. And when it did, she would not again have a chance like the one presented before her. A kiss with a gentleman. Once her reputation was ruined, there was no going back.
So why not take the step from a good girl to a proper woman. As in, a woman with experience. Of the world. Of celestial proportions.
He was nice…enough. He was manliness personified. She knew of his rakish endeavors, which meant, if she were going to take the leap with someone, it may as well have the most potential as possible to be good. And really, he was here. Inviting her.
But the nail in the coffin was her final thought. The courtship was all a sham anyway. Why not milk it for all it was worth?
And then, feeling as if she were the first woman to travel in space, she took the interstellar step.