A Safer Distance #2
He entered without hesitation and took the chair adjacent to hers—the place usually reserved for her brother.
But rather than begin with the lecture she expected, Gideon poured himself a cup of tea with maddening leisure, as though this were an ordinary morning call and not the aftermath of a near catastrophe.
Beatrice made herself sit very still. Not fidgeting. Not rushing to explain.
Across from her, her brother’s fondest friend had the audacity to look handsome and untroubled while adding a single spoonful of sugar to his tea.
Stirred.
Set the spoon aside with maddening precision.
Then, as though discussing fencing footwork rather than the previous night’s near disaster, he said, “When a man has forward momentum, meeting him head-on is rarely effective.”
Beatrice blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“In a confined space,” he continued, as though discussing weather patterns, “if he has already closed the distance, you do not brace. You pivot.”
Was he…?
He lifted his cup. “You were attempting to hold your ground.”
“I was holding a blade.”
“Yes.” He took a measured sip. “But a blade is only effective if the point reaches him before his hands reach you.”
Beatrice blinked, and then raised her brows.
“You allowed him within arm’s length,” Gideon continued calmly. “Once he closed that distance, the advantage was no longer yours.”
Yes. That was exactly what had happened.
“If a man can seize your wrist, the weapon ceases to be yours. You must either strike before he closes,” he went on, “or move to the side the moment he advances. Not backward. Backward invites pursuit. Sideways forces him to turn.”
She pictured it then—the railing behind her, the gravel beneath her slipper, the fraction of a second she had hesitated.
“You braced,” he said gently. “You planted your feet.”
“I was not retreating.”
“I know.” His voice was not mocking. “But bracing assumes he will stop.”
The silence stretched.
“Simple physics,” he finished mildly.
Beatrice set down her cup.
“You have come,” she said carefully, “to critique my performance?”
“I have come,” he corrected, “to ensure you improve it.”
This was… not at all what she’d prepared for.
“So you are not here,” she said, watching him closely now, “to reprimand? To… forbid?”
“I know better than to forbid you anything.” The corner of his mouth shifted faintly. “It has never proven effective for anyone else, as far as I am aware.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“You are not going to summon my brother? Tell him he needs to send me back to Dasborough Park?”
“If I believed that was in your best interest,” he said calmly, “I would have insisted you go last night.”
As if he could—
“What about Hatherleigh?” she pressed. “Is he to be punished?”
Gideon did not answer at once.
Instead, he reached for his cup, as though the matter required consideration.
“I—and a few gentlemen of my acquaintance—convinced him that he would no longer find himself welcome in London,” he said at last.
Beatrice tilted her head. “Convinced?”
His gaze flicked briefly to hers. “Painfully.”
She studied him.
“What of the ladies outside of London?” she asked quietly. “Are they to endure his attentions unprotected?”
Gideon drummed his fingers on the table and then exhaled. “The convincing will have been exceedingly… memorable.”
Beatrice stilled. “Why would he not—”
Gideon cut off her words with a glance.
And something in his expression—something entirely without apology—told her enough.
Not the Thames, then. But rather a… reckoning.
Beatrice studied Gideon then. Properly.
When had her brother’s friend become such a… man?
His hair, still faintly damp at the temples, had been combed back with his usual restraint, though a few dark strands rebelled.
His jaw was cleanly shaven, the line of it uncompromising.
There was a faint shadow beneath his eyes—fatigue, perhaps—but it did nothing to diminish him.
If anything, it lent him a sharper edge.
And when he met her gaze steadily, his hazel eyes looked darker than usual.
She had known Gideon Rothmore for over a decade. Known the steadiness of him, the reliability. The quiet authority that had once placed him firmly in the category of safe.
But this—
This felt different. And altogether less comfortable.
He leaned back in his chair.
“When he stepped into you,” Gideon said, returning to their discussion of her fighting capabilities—or lack thereof. “Your mistake was assuming the weapon would be enough to make him retreat.”
Her jaw tightened. “I realize that now. It’s only… It’s so foolish! Why would he risk a potentially fatal wound for—for what? His pride? A turn in the gardens with a woman who doesn’t even want him?”
But that was just it, wasn’t it?
“It’s not rational…” she murmured, almost to herself. Frustrated.
Gideon held her gaze. “Men like Hatherleigh are not rational.”
“So what do you suggest?” she asked cautiously. “That next time, I hide out in the gardens with my bow and arrow?”
She would be the first to admit she would feel far more confident with a bow in hand.
Unfortunately, that would not solve the greater difficulty of knowing where to place herself or whom to watch in the first place.
Besides, she doubted society was prepared for Beatrice Beckman sauntering into one of their glittering ballrooms with a bow and quiver slung over her shoulder.
A pity, really.
She suspected it would be very effective.
“No,” he said. “But if you insist upon placing yourself between wolves and lambs, you need to know what to expect from the wolves.”
“I know. I had already thought of that. If there is a manual somewhere—something practical—I intend to find it.”
“A book will not be enough.”
Beatrice paused. “No?”
“No. A book cannot show you how quickly a man can close the distance. Or how to make a larger opponent lose balance before he thinks to use his strength.”
Her fingers tightened in her lap.
“What do you suggest, then?”
“I shall instruct you.”
She blinked.
Oh.
That might be much more effective.
“You will?”
“Yes.” His gaze held hers. “On one condition.”
Her suspicion returned at once. “Which is?”
“That if you intend to involve yourself in danger, you do not do so while leaving me ignorant of where to find you.”
Beatrice went very still.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Simply keep me informed if you decide to involve yourself in anything of this nature.”
Extremely limiting. And yet…
The benefit of his instructions in combat might be worth conceding to a small amount of oversight.
Still, she arched a brow. “You expect me to send word every single time I come across a gentleman taking liberties where he ought not?”
“Inform me of your schedule. I shall ensure I am present.”
Beatrice scoffed. “You do not mean to follow me about London all Season?”
He hesitated.
And in that hesitation, she realized the concession required very little of her.
“If it becomes necessary,” he said, too evenly, “yes.”
Her brows rose.
His restraint cracked.
“By God, Beatrice, you cannot continue walking into danger trusting that cleverness and a bodkin will be enough to see you safely out again.”
Beatrice bristled at that. “I was prepared to handle him.”
“You were fortunate,” Gideon repeated evenly, “because I was there.”
But he would not always be there. Had not been in the past. Neither was Dash. Not that she blamed them per se, but she’d learned well enough that she could not rely on the heroics of others, not even those she trusted. No woman could.
His gaze did not waver. “You could have been… injured.”
He seemed to have chosen that word with intention. Injured. Not compromised. Not ruined.
The distinction settled deeper than she would have liked, and for a fleeting instant, the past pressed too close.
Too much champagne. The clawing scent of roses. Insistent hands…
“You frightened me last night, Beatrice.” His voice was low. The words unexpected. “And I do not care to repeat the experience.”
Beatrice held her breath, and after a moment, let it out quietly…
“But you are not angry?” she asked as she lifted her cup, cradling its warmth with both hands.
“Oh, I am,” he said. “Furious, in fact.” He set his jaw and Beatrice stiffened. “But not with you.”
Oh. Well, then.
“When,” she asked, her voice steadier than she felt, “can we begin these lessons?”