Reinforcements
Gideon was not dressed for society. No coat. No elaborate cravat. Only shirtsleeves, his dark hair not quite ordered, the top button of his shirt undone in a manner that ought not to have been noticeable.
It was.
He cut a bow. First to her, then to Persephone. Polite.
But when Beatrice met his gaze, expecting that familiar warmth, she found only composure.
Her smile faltered. “I’ve rearranged things a bit,” she managed, gesturing toward the mattresses. “Seeing as there will be more students than when it was only me being tossed about.”
There. Surely that deserved at least a flicker of amusement.
“Very sensible, my lady.” Not even a twitch of the lip.
Beatrice couldn’t help but to stare at him. Was he being formal because Persephone was present?
Gideon clasped his hands behind his back. “I’ve made a few additional arrangements, in order to ensure we make the most of our time.”
Beatrice stilled. “What sort of arrangements?”
Before he could answer, Mr. Drake appeared in the doorway. “My lady,” he said, “Lord Longstaffe.”
Beatrice blinked.
The viscount entered with the ease of a man fully confident in his welcome. His gaze took in the mattresses, the cleared floor, Persephone’s breeches, Beatrice’s attire—and paused.
“Well,” he said mildly. “Hawkins wasn’t exaggerating.”
Hawkins.
Beatrice glanced at Gideon, but his expression gave away nothing.
“Longstaffe,” Gideon said, stepping forward to greet him. “Good of you to come.”
“To this?” Longstaffe’s gaze swept the area again with unmistakable interest. “My dear Hawkins, I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Well,” Gideon said. “You may feel differently after one or two of the ladies throws you flat.”
Longstaffe’s eyes brightened. “There are worse fates.”
A beat passed.
Then, as though recalling there were ladies present, he placed a hand over his heart and added, “For educational purposes, naturally.”
Beatrice ought to have smiled.
She might have, had her thoughts not snagged on one stubborn fact.
Gideon had invited him. A man who she barely knew.
Not merely mentioned the lessons. Not simply asked for advice. He had invited another instructor into the room, into her undertaking, into the very heart of what she had begun.
She turned to Gideon. “He is your… other arrangements? She stared until he had no choice but to meet her gaze.
Gideon nodded. “Yes.”
At that, Beatrice narrowed her eyes just enough to send the words she could not speak aloud.
You arranged this without talking to me?
For the first time since he’d entered the room, something in his composure fractured.
A tightening at the corner of his mouth. A flicker of discomfort in his eyes before he answered her unspoken question.
“With seven ladies in attendance, assistance seemed prudent.”
“I had understood I was to assist.” The words came out evenly enough.
That had been the plan, had it not? Not necessarily spoken aloud, but…
Gideon’s gaze settled on hers. “You are to take part. But you are still a student.”
The distinction landed with the sting of a ruler across the knuckles.
“Oh.” Beatrice turned, very politely, to Lord Longstaffe. “How fortunate, then, that you were available.”
She was saved from having to express more gratitude than that when Mr. Drake returned again, this time announcing the arrival of the others.
Lark arrived first, bright-eyed and plainly delighted. Lady Theodosia followed, her composure wavering only when she noticed the mattresses. Miss Finch and Miss Harcourt came in after her, and then Lady Calliope Rensleight, whose gaze went at once to her sister’s breeches.
For one very polite moment, no one spoke.
It was Miss Finch who recovered first. “I see you were not jesting about the attire.”
“Not at all,” Beatrice said. “It was a purely practical suggestion.”
“Practical,” Lady Theodosia repeated.
Miss Harcourt glanced from Beatrice to Persephone, then, rather desperately, to Gideon. “Are breeches necessary, Lord Hawkins?”
Gideon cleared his throat.
Beatrice looked at him. So did every other lady in the room.
“In point of fact,” he said, with admirable gravity and an unfortunate flush beginning at his collar, “there may be certain maneuvers for which breeches provide greater—” He paused. “Greater modesty.”
Miss Harcourt blinked. “Greater modesty than a gown?”
“Yes.” Gideon’s jaw tightened.
Longstaffe, to his credit, looked away. Lark pressed her lips together.
Gideon clasped his hands behind his back. “The choice, of course, remains entirely yours. No lady will be required to wear anything that makes her uncomfortable.”
“Very well then,” Lady Theodosia murmured.
Beatrice could not tell whether she was amused, appalled, or already reconsidering.
Gideon appeared unwilling to find out. “Now. If we are all assembled, we had best begin.”
He stepped forward, taking the place beside Beatrice.
And despite her irritation—because Longstaffe’s presence was sensible, damn him, but Gideon had not thought to ask her first—her skin tingled at his nearness.
She forced herself not to shift away.
“Is everyone present?” he asked.
“Seven of us,” she said evenly. “Yes.”
“Then, ladies. Please, might I have your attention?”
The room quieted.
Gideon was good at that. Annoyingly good. He did not raise his voice. He simply occupied the space with the authority he’d been born with.
“Thank you for coming,” he said. “I know this is not the usual manner in which ladies are encouraged to spend an afternoon. That is rather the point.”
A few smiles flickered.
“I should like to begin without delay. Lord Longstaffe and I will keep the instruction simple and repeatable. Nothing too strenuous. Nothing dependent upon brute strength. You are not here to learn how to win a fight. You are here to learn how to create the moment in which you may escape.”
The room seemed to still at that.
“With luck,” he continued, “none of you will ever have cause to use what we teach you. But luck is an unreliable safeguard, and preparedness is infinitely preferable.”
A few of the ladies exchanged glances.
Beatrice watched their faces. Doubt. Curiosity. Nervousness.
She knew the feeling.
“You have all been taught how to be agreeable,” he said, reminding her of her conversation with Persephone earlier. “Those lessons have their place. But today, we begin with something rather more useful.”
Lark’s mouth curved.
Persephone murmured, “At last.”
Gideon brushed his hands together. “A demonstration, I think, will be more useful than another speech. Lord Longstaffe will assist me in proving that a man’s size need not give him the advantage.”
It was not that Gideon was small. Far from it. He was tall enough, broad enough, and composed in a way that made him seem larger than he was.
But Lord Longstaffe was larger still.
Half a head taller, broader through the shoulders, and altogether too convincing as an example of the sort of man most ladies would never think to challenge.
“I don’t recall you mentioning this would involve public humiliation,” Longstaffe said mildly.
Gideon glanced at him. “I thought that was understood.”
Longstaffe chuckled and then gave the ladies a grave bow. “Then I shall endeavor to be humiliated elegantly.”
That earned the first true ripple of laughter.
Then Longstaffe lunged.
Several ladies gasped.
Gideon moved—not away, but through. A turn, a shift, one foot stepping forward into Longstaffe’s space, and in the next instant, the viscount landed flat on his back upon the mattress.
The thud was impressive, causing an almost shocked silence.
Then Persephone laughed.
After that, everyone did.
Longstaffe stared at the ceiling. “I had forgotten how insufferable you are.”
Gideon offered him a hand. “Because you underestimate me.”
“My mistake.” But he rose, dusted himself off, and the lesson began in earnest.
They started with a simple hold, the same one Gideon had taught Beatrice to twist out of during her first lesson. Nothing dramatic. Nothing grand.
Except it was grand, in its own way.
Miss Finch, who had looked near tears when Gideon first took her wrist, broke free on her third attempt and stared at her own hand as though it had performed witchcraft.
Lady Theodosia required only two corrections before she began asking whether the same principle applied if someone seized one’s upper arm.
Lark laughed every time she failed, then succeeded so suddenly she nearly toppled into Longstaffe.
Persephone was quiet at first. Careful. But when she broke Gideon’s grip cleanly, delight flashed across her face.
“Oh,” she said. “That was not difficult.”
“No,” Gideon said. “It merely required knowing where to move.”
By the end of the first hour, nervousness had given way to flushed cheeks, untidy hair, and laughter. The ladies practiced with one another. Then with Gideon. Then Longstaffe. They failed, adjusted, tried again.
And improved.
Beatrice ought to have been wholly pleased.
She was pleased. Mostly.
But Gideon did not come near her.
He corrected Lark’s angle with a light touch at her wrist. Adjusted Lady Theodosia’s stance. Spoke softly to Persephone when she hesitated. Even Miss Harcourt received a brief, approving smile that left her visibly steadier.
Beatrice received instruction from Longstaffe.
Repeatedly.
It was ridiculous to be annoyed. Longstaffe was large, capable, and perfectly useful. Also increasingly difficult each time she escaped his grasp, which she supposed was the point.
But Gideon did not take her wrist. Nor did he murmur encouragement in that low, careful voice meant only for her.
Once, she caught him watching from across the room.
Their eyes met.
For a breath, the ballroom seemed to still.
Then he turned to answer Lady Calliope’s question.
Beatrice’s jaw tightened. This was absurd.
Entirely absurd.
She had not formed this society in order to receive Gideon Rothmore’s attention.
By the final quarter hour, the ladies were no longer merely enduring the lesson. They were flushed and laughing, and when Gideon suggested they end there, a chorus of objections rose at once.
“Oh, not yet,” Lark said. “Surely Beatrice ought to show us how it is properly done. She has had a head start, after all.”
Several gazes turned eagerly toward Beatrice.
Beatrice, who had resigned herself to keep to the edges, went still.
“I’m not really—” Beatrice began.
But Gideon turned. “An excellent suggestion.”
Finally, he looked at her.
The look was calm. Infuriatingly unreadable.
And still, Beatrice felt it as surely as if he had touched her.
Her fingers curled once at her sides before she forced them still.
“Very well,” she said.
The others moved back, gathering near the edge of the mattresses.
Beatrice stepped into the center, where Gideon stood opposite her.
“My lady,” he said.
“My lord.”
Longstaffe coughed into his fist.
And then, Gideon extended his hand and closed his fingers around her wrist. Gently at first, but then squeezing just tight enough to make the exercise challenging.
It was precisely what he had done to every woman in the room.
Still, heat shot up her arm.
“Alright?” he said quietly.
Beatrice gritted her teeth. “Of course..”
She turned her wrist as instructed.
He adjusted. Expected her to pull free.
Instead, she stepped in.
Her free hand caught his arm. Her foot slid behind his. A turn of her hips, a sharp shift of balance, and Gideon was no longer standing.
He came down on the mattress with a force that made the whole thing jump beneath him.
A collective gasp broke from the ladies, immediately followed by applause.
Lark let out a delighted laugh. “Oh, well done, Bea. You’ve given us all something to aspire to.”
Longstaffe folded his arms. “I approve of this lesson.”
Gideon lay still for half a second, staring up at Beatrice.
And then for the first time all afternoon, he gave her a real smile. Quick. Almost helpless.
Beatrice held out her hand, and after staring at it for all of three seconds, he took it.
His palm was warm but his gaze was warmer.
This.
This was what had been missing all afternoon. The man who looked at her as though she was not merely Dash’s sister, not merely a student, not merely a responsibility.
For one absurd, dangerous second, she thought things were going back to how they were.
Then his expression shuttered.
He allowed her to jerk him to his feet and then dropped her hand.
“Well done,” he said, with a bow so proper it might have belonged in a drawing room.
She stared at him. But he’d already turned to the others.
“That concludes today’s lesson. Tomorrow, we shall continue with holds from behind.”
The ladies began talking at once, bright with success, already discussing breeches and the excuses they’d be using to get away from their mothers.
Beatrice smiled when spoken to.
Congratulated Persephone.
Thanked Longstaffe.
But all the while, Gideon moved about the room with maddening composure, gathering his things, accepting thanks. Not looking over at her. Not even once.
When he finally took his leave, he bowed again. As though nothing at all had passed between them.
Beatrice simply stood in the middle of the ballroom long after the door closed behind him, hands curled at her sides.
The lessons were working.
The ladies were learning.
The Vigilance Society was taking shape.
Everything, in fact, was progressing exactly as she had hoped.
Which made it all the more infuriating that Gideon Rothmore had helped give her exactly what she wanted, then made himself the one thing she couldn’t have.