Chapter 8
8
A fter Kitty dashed through the drizzling rain and into the house, Harry drove his cart around to the kitchen door and made his delivery. He then headed back down the drive until he met with the gardener’s path leading to the arbor in the middle of the gardens. Once Lady Charity had made it clear that she was of superior rank, she’d proceeded to issue orders as to the location of their training sessions. At least she’d been savvy enough to insist they remained out of sight.
But for some reason, the woman trusted him enough to meet him alone where they ought not cross paths with anyone else. His mind boggled. If they were discovered by the wrong sort, she could very well and truly be ruined. Either that or her brother would shoot Harry before whisking his sister off to Gretna Green for a hasty marriage with some unworthy, carbuncle-faced dandy. But that wasn’t what baffled Harry. He’d already proven himself a scoundrel when he’d all but mauled her in the barn when she’d been wearing her brother’s trousers. The mere thought that she wanted to continue with their unorthodox liaisons was nothing short of bewildering.
He pulled the cart to a halt and tied the reins. It had been a rather passionate kiss and he couldn’t seem to erase her response from his mind. Lady Charity might indeed be on the ton’s marriage mart, but she did fancy him. And that made him feel like a king.
The problem? Harry was older and wiser and ought to know better than to encourage her, even if she preceded him in rank. And he especially ought not kiss the woman. She was as taboo as a nun. Jumping to the ground, he made a silent vow that this time he would merely repay his debt, a lesson for a lesson, as she’d put it, and afterward he would call an end to all liaisons. Truth be told, she’d basically admitted that she was only playing at running the manor and would be summoned to London when the Season began.
Except it cannot begin soon enough.
Harry brushed the mist from his coat sleeves as he dipped his head and stepped beneath the vines hanging above the arbor entrance.
“Thank you for coming,” said Lady Charity moving from the shadows. She, too, was a bit wet, her curls drooping, her hat missing, her face shiny with water and…
Oh, dear God in heaven.
She was wearing those blasted trousers.
“Have you been grooming Albert again?” he asked.
“Aye. I just came from the barn. I thought doing so made it much less obvious that I was going elsewhere afterward.”
Shaking his head, he chuckled. “Still letting your sister rule the roost, are you?”
“I see no harm in humoring Modesty whilst she heals, the poor dear.” Charity spread her hands to her sides. “But that’s not why we’re here, is it? How shall we begin?”
“First of all, exactly why is it you want to take boxing lessons?”
She thrust her fists onto her hips and tilted up that delightfully aristocratic chin. “Because…because…because it seems awfully diverting when compared to a rainy afternoon spent embroidering seat cushions for the dining hall.”
“Fair enough.” He gave her a once-over, forcing his gaze not to stop at her breasts. Holy hellfire, it took but two seconds to realize he’d best start the lesson or his mind would travel to places it absolutely should not be. “Raise your fists.”
She complied though she looked more like a lady ready to dance a reel than a fight. “Like this?”
“A bit higher. You’ll want them high and tight beside your cheeks and keep them there to guard your face.”
“Verra well.”
Harry held up his palms. “Now hit my hands with a couple of jabs.”
“Is this right?” she asked, barely striking the targets he’d given her.
“Issue a strike and snap your fists right back to guarding position, keep your elbows in.”
He let her smooth out her awkwardness by saying nothing while she threw a dozen or so more jabs.
“Good, now come at me with a right,” he said, and as she did, he stopped her with an open-hand parry. “I just blocked your strike. Did you see what I did?”
“Aye.”
“Excellent. Now, when I throw jab with my right, you block by parrying with your left and vice versa.”
She blinked, the corners of her lips drawing downward with her cringe. “Are you planning to strike me?”
“I have never struck a woman and I do not intend to start now.” He raised his fists. “Let us take it slowly.”
On his first few near-miss jabs, she batted his hands away as if she were swatting at flies. “Deflect my strikes with quick, strong, decisive moves. Keep in mind, you are stopping me from hitting you and then returning your guard to your face at once. Always protect your face.”
“Am I not supposed to be hopping from one foot to the other like you and Mr. Destroyer did when you fought each other?”
“The footwork comes after you learn hooks, haymakers, and uppercuts.”
“Then you’d best show me those as well.”
As Harry went through the explanation of strikes and where to aim them, he couldn’t help but admire how quickly she picked up and refined each maneuver.
Somewhere in the middle of the lesson she naturally started moving—dancing and hopping from one foot to another while together they worked in a circle.
Harry switched his hands repeatedly, testing her newfound knowledge. “Excellent, now give me a left hook and a right uppercut.”
Lady Charity snarled as she lunged forward, but rather than throw a hook, her eyes flashed wide as her toe caught on a rock and her body catapulted toward him.
With no option but to catch her, Harry lost his balance and careened backward. “Aaaaargh,” Her Ladyship cried as they both toppled to the ground.
“Oof,” Charity grunted, landing on top of Mr. Mansfield, her legs sprawled and straddling his hips. Planting her hands either side of his head, she pushed up…
And made the mistake of looking into his eyes—eyes like whisky in a crystal glass. The intensity of his expression shot through her with a pang of longing more powerful than anything she’d felt before, pooling in the one place it absolutely, positively should not—between her legs…between her open legs presently straddling the man.
She licked her lips, drinking in the unique quality of his eyes before she found her voice. “Please forgive my clumsiness,” she managed, albeit breathlessly. “Did I hurt you?”
Mr. Mansfield’s entire body rumbled with his chuckle, and if Charity had self-aware before, now it was as if he’d ignited a flame that spread across every inch of flesh. Her every heartbeat thundered. Her blood rushed with an expectant thrum. And his face was so very close to hers, so very masculine, so beautiful, so… close .
Without another thought, Charity bent her arms enough to kiss him. As her lips touched The Butcher’s, her body shuddered with the friction. At first, she intended to push herself back up but he slid his hand behind her neck and encircled his fingers through the hair at her nape while his tongue wickedly entwined with hers.
His warmth drew her nearer and she pressed herself atop his hard chest and slid her fingers into his damp hair. God save her, she wanted his brawny body beneath her. Och aye, the burning hunger in his eyes had not escaped her, and now he was kissing her with a primal hunger that turned her molten.
With her sigh, Charity’s hips rocked forward, connecting with something deliciously hard and perilously forbidden. Her breath shuddered as she nuzzled into his neck, knowing she must regain control of her emotions or risk utter ruination—risk disgracing her family and ruining all prospects for her sisters. “We are breaking a hundred rules of propriety,” she sighed, rocking her hips, electrified by the feel of his hard body beneath her.
He smoothed the rough pads of a working-man’s fingertips along her cheek. “Only a hundred?”
“Most likely more, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to needing a fair bit of coaching in the kissing department.”
“I might be able to train you in fighting, but I’m a far cry from a good kisser.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Dunno—never really thought of it actually.”
“How many women have you kissed?”
“Er…ah…”
“Dunna answer that. From our few encounters, I can tell ye’re far more experienced in the art than I am.”
Those intoxicating eyes danced with amusement. “So kissing is an art, is it?”
“Well, it is something verra amazing. And regardless of what you may believe, you are quite good at it.”
Their lips met again, this kiss exploratory as if both of them were inching across the boundary of restricted lands. Her hands explored his shoulders and slid downward to the powerful arms she’d admired. “I’m finding this so utterly enjoyable, it is difficult to stop.” Charity, she said, her voice filled with air. “Mayhap we ought to tack kissing lessons onto boxing—as long as they were to go no further than this.”
“If we did, I’m afraid I might forget about everything except the kissing part.”
“Truly?” She pushed up enough to see his face. “Do you enjoy kissing me?”
The corner of his mouth turned up while he regarded her with intelligent, ferocious, determined eyes. “I’d be lying if I said I did not.”
“But you shouldna kiss me.”
“Not unless I want to face your brother’s dueling pistols.”
“I ken all too well.” She traced a finger along his rugged jaw, reveling in the soft prickly touch. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to be the daughter of a duke…or the sister of a duke for that matter?”
“Absolutely none. But you do have a houseful of servants, including a lady’s maid. Your meals are prepared, you have a bedchamber to yourself, you can order a carriage upon your whim, aside from those trousers, I haven’t seen you wear the same thing twice, and…”
“Enough. I ken there are a wealth of benefits to my station; however, no one thinks of the challenges—or cares about what I want. I was born to become the wife to a peer, born as a pawn for wealthy men to use in their efforts to grow wealthier.”
He brushed a damp lock of hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear. “And here you are, kissing a poor butcher who fights and takes odd jobs.”
“You may be poor, but you are rich in character. Look at how you care for your mother and sister. You dunna while away your time in the tavern. You take on extra labor to send your mama to Bath to take the waters. My brother the duke has done many noble things for his kin, but he has the MacGalloway fortune at his fingertips.”
He curled up and kissed her with a hit of harnessed control. “What am I to do with you?” Harry asked.
For the first time in her life, she was in control, not her mother, not her brother, not her governess. And she wanted to be just a wee bit wicked. “A lesson for a lesson, that was the agreement.”
“Yes.”
“And mayhap a kiss when we say goodbye?”
“Just one?”
“Aye, and you must promise not to fall in love.”
Harry took the lock of hair he’d tucked behind her ear and twirled it around his finger. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”