Chapter 14
Every time she fell, he caught her.
It somehow felt like a metaphor for the earl’s entire way of living. He seemed determined to catch any that he could in order to keep them from plunging into the consequences of the injustices of this world.
In practical terms, Ernestine couldn’t believe how he did it. She’d never thought of herself as a clumsy person, and she didn’t think she was being so now. Yet, in all her life, she’d never had to switch swiftly between her usual walking self to someone who used her parasol like a skewer.
He grinned every time he caught her.
“You must use your parasol as if it is the extension of your arm. If you do not,” he said, “you will not have the force to be able to significantly dissuade your opponent.”
“Are you certain you aren’t teaching me to fence?” she asked as she held her parasol before her and did her best to swashbuckle with it.
“No. Fencing will do you no good. Most gentlemen have been studying fencing since they were in leading strings. You’d need years to catch up.”
She let out a sigh. “I see. So this is neither fencing nor boxing.”
“No,” he said. “This is something altogether different. This is the art of womanly accoutrement fighting.”
He winked.
“What?”
“If you wish, we can progress from fighting with a parasol to a fan. Or a hat pin. Though a hat pin is risky. I don’t wish you to be put in the dock for accidental murder.”
She blinked at him again, then lifted her hand to her bonnet, which was perched atop her head and had not moved an inch. “My hat pin?” she queried.
“Has it never occurred to you that you could draw it out of the straw swiftly and then jab me with it?”
He looked so merry in his pronouncement, with his dark hair tumbling over his forehead, that it was hard to take him seriously. And yet he was clearly very, very serious.
“I confess I have never considered such a bloodthirsty action in all of my life. But now that you say it, it does sound rather appealing.”
He raised his hands dramatically, as if he feared her attack, though she couldn’t imagine him ever being afraid.
He was so large, so muscled, so beautiful, so much like the Roman etchings that she had seen in the books she had studied over the years whilst she had fallen in love with all things Italian, that she wanted to laugh out loud.
His supplicating move with his hands didn’t seem to fit such a large man at all, and yet it was very clear he wanted to make certain that she should feel completely at ease.
“Well then, do not give me cause, sir,” she said rather grandly, as she assumed a position an Italian might in the art of duello.
But, of course, ladies did not fight duels.
Perhaps there had been one or two over the centuries, but they were rare oddities, and she was not a rare oddity.
She was as mundane as they came. She knew it.
The only thing strange or unique about her was her desire to leave England and go off and live in a small villa.
And even then, she didn’t actually think that made her significantly different from a vast amount of English people who had gone off in hopes of cheaper living and more sun.
But she supposed it was the fact that she wished to remain single when she could marry that did it, because she knew she could marry. If she had to.
But the loss of her parents had done something to her heart long ago. It had frozen her. Locked her up in a prison. She knew how to be kind. But love? That emotion seemed to have disappeared with her parents under the waves.
She did her very best to be loving to her cousin and to her aunt, but she struggled. It always felt…hollow, almost as if she was pretending.
She didn’t know how to yield anymore.
She didn’t know how to give over and be truly herself.
No, she had to keep herself always in control, always protected, and the parasol was perfect for that.
It would just simply be one more layer of things to keep others at a distance, except for the fact that she kept ending up in his arms. Arms which were quite remarkable, arms that she found did things to her that she did not expect.
She had studied many gentlemen, being a wallflower, and none of them really impressed her.
Their physique could, of course, sometimes be remarkable.
Their attitudes even interesting, their intellects inspiring, but most of the time, she did not care for gentlemen.
She liked her cousin, of course. He was different than the rest. And the lords that the Earl of Seaborough seemed to know.
They seemed to be different too, though she usually wouldn’t have chosen to spend any time with them.
But now she was desperately glad that she had.
“All right then,” he said. “Let’s go again. So what are your points? Where are you going to strike me?”
“I can strike you on the top of your foot, which you seem to suggest is the best.”
“Yes, let’s practice that,” he said firmly, standing directly in front of her. “Now gaze into my eyes and tell me how utterly and devastatingly handsome I am.”
She rolled her eyes, then whacked him on the side of the arm with the parasol.
“Tsk, tsk, Miss Foxley. Violence is never the answer, except for when it is,” he said.
She laughed. “You, sir, make me want to let out a cry of rage, because you are so infuriating.”
“Oh, do go ahead,” he said. “I’d love to hear your cry of rage.”
“Never,” she guffawed. “Because we might draw attention.”
“And that would be so very terrible?” he queried.
She nodded. “Because then this would be over, or people might think you’re attacking me, or—”
“Oh, yes?” he prompted, his voice shockingly warm all of a sudden.
She cleared her throat. “Never you mind what people might think. I’m going to attempt to stab you in the foot with the ferrule of my parasol.”
“Good,” he praised, growing more serious.
“Now gaze up at me adoringly and tell me how very much you admire me, even though I’ve just said something truly terrible to you.
Perhaps I’m suggesting that I should take you in my arms and do dastardly things to you, and because you are a young lady, you should just say yes because I am a man.
Envision that, keep your wits about you. And attack.”
She let out a sigh. “You know how to put it quite accurately,” she said. “Why are men like that?”
He let out his own tired sigh. “Because no one tells them when they’re quite young that they’re really not that interesting.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Again, very accurate.” She cocked her head to the side. “How do you know this?”
He shrugged, which did the most delicious things to his shoulders. “Because I’m surrounded by men, and I’m not really like them.”
“You seem very manly to me.”
“Thank you,” he replied. “Now try to stab me.”
She tilted her head back and attempted to gaze up at him, swooningly.
His lips began to twitch.
“What?” she gasped.
“Do you think that looks adoring?” he teased. “You rather look as if you’re going to eat me for breakfast.”
“You look as if you might be too big of a mouthful for breakfast,” she said quite seriously.
His lips twitched again as if he wished to say something but stopped himself.
“Look,” he said. “Let your lips go all soft, purse them ever so slightly, and let your eyes go soft too.”
She did as he instructed.
His brow furrowed. “No, no, you still look startled.”
“Well, this is very much not how I do things,” she said. “I don’t swoon over gentlemen.”
“Not even me,” he whispered.
“Not even you,” she replied, though she was tempted.
“Right, I think I’m just going to have to do this.”
She snorted and declared, “You’re impossible, sir!”
She lifted her parasol and began to jab it down, but he got a hold of her wrist and whipped her around, holding her back to his front.
“You see, you showed me too soon what you are about to do. I could sense your intent.”
She laughed. “Could you, by God?”
“Yes, indeed.” Gently, he released her in degrees, as if he did not wish to let her go. “Let’s try it again.”
This time, she forced herself to hesitate, to lean in more softly. And said, “Could I not simply whack you over the top of your head with my parasol?”
“You could try,” he drawled, “but I am significantly taller than you, and it would be difficult.”
“What if I jabbed you in the chest like I did Allworthy?”
“You definitely caught him by surprise, and you opened the umbrella. I think that did you a world of good, but if you do that with the wrong man?” He paused. “Try it,” he said.
Feeling a hint of trepidation, she lifted the parasol and thrust it at his sternum. Much to her shock, he grabbed it and seized it forward. Her eyes flared, she let out a soft cry of dismay, and he yanked her forward to him.
“You see, you have given me all the power rather than keeping it for yourself.” He lingered near her, then gently released her, releasing the power back to her.
“It is best if you attack from below, where he’s not expecting it, and he can’t anticipate it.
Not easily anyway. And if you jab me in the foot… ”
“Yes?” she breathed, stunned by how his nearness suddenly made her feel at a loss of all her control, at a loss of all her rules, at a loss of her wish to be distant from him, from anyone.
And it wasn’t the parasol fighting. It was the fact that he cared so much about her.
“If you jab me in the foot,” he said again, his eyes dancing, “I can’t race after you. I’ll simply hobble as you make your getaway.”
Before she could think, before she could reply, she suddenly found herself whispering, “And what if I don’t wish to get away just now?”
His eyes flared. “You don’t wish to run away?” he asked softly.
“Not right now,” she murmured, making sure to clarify she meant only in this moment. “Right now I find that I am as you accused me of being.”
“And what is that?” he asked.
“Curious,” she whispered. “Curious about this, about you, about what you want from me.”
“What I want with us,” he said.