I Spy a Duke (30 page)

“You are my wife, Vivian.” He rose from his chair, crossing to the door before turning around. “I am never going to take your choices away from you. You must find your own path–but I hope it's with me.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The next morning, Vivian stood in the center of the small clearing, waiting for James. Nixon had escorted her to the copse after breakfast. While she still found his brute size intimidating, she’d discovered that Nixon was quite nice. He’d told her a few stories of his past work with James as they walked into the forest, though she suspected the names of their associates had been changed to protect their identities.
A rose by any other name would smell just as sweet,
Shakespeare wrote. Maybe it didn’t matter what name James went by—as long as his feelings for her remained the same.

She ran a hand down the sea-green muslin of her simple day dress, one of her old gowns from when she’d been a governess. Northley had smacked her hand away when she’d reached for her fencing trousers, claiming that if she was going to fight, she ought to learn to do so in the clothes she’d normally wear. She supposed Northley had a point—though it was slightly disconcerting to have the maid speak about fighting so authoritatively.
 

Though her old dress still fit the same, it didn’t feel right on her anymore. In a little over a fortnight, her life had changed so much. She was constantly spinning, readjusting as another new bombshell hit her and disrupted her hard-won equilibrium. Her brother had been a spy. Sauveterre was an operative. James was one too, and his sisters. At this point, she’d started to wonder who in her acquaintance
wasn’t
a covert agent.
 

She took a deep breath, lowering herself down on an overturned log toward the end of the enclosure. Nixon’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t comment. She liked that about him. He’d told her earlier that they were going to be training in self-defense today.
 

Which would put her one step closer to being able to defeat Sauveterre.

She reached up, untying the knot that tied her bonnet under her chin. The most important thing was stopping Sauveterre from hurting other people. And making him rue the day he ever met her brother. That goal had not changed—perhaps it was the only thing that still remained the same.

Arden emerged first from the woods, James on her heels. Vivian’s heart soared at the sight of him. He held back, surveying the thicket, his Roman nose wrinkling as he thought. Scruff dotted his chin, giving him a rugged appearance. He wore no coat, his white cambric shirt straining against his broad shoulders as he strode forward, content there was no immediate threat of danger.
 

And though she could not explain it, though he’d dealt a vicious blow to her established order two days prior, she felt safer now that he was here.
 

He came toward her, brushing a kiss across her cheek. She leaned into him, but in a second he was gone, standing in the center of the grove with Arden and Nixon.

“First, we’ll demonstrate the moves, and then you can try them out,” he said. “I want you to feel confident that you’ll be able to defend yourself in any given situation.”

She nodded. “I understand.”
 

To start with, he led the group through a series of stretches to prepare them for the exercises. Once they were ready to begin, he gestured for Arden and Nixon to face each other, while he took a seat next to her on the bench. “The point of any self-defense technique is to give you a chance to escape. The agents you’re fighting with—or against—have years of experience. They can take care of themselves. I don’t want you to put yourself in unnecessary danger. Do you understand, Vivian?”

 
“Leave the gallantry to the professionals?” She did not tell him that she’d already started imagining making Sauveterre bleed.

His eyes narrowed, and she suspected he knew she’d lied. Her emotions were too transparent around him. If she did accept his offer, how would she ever be a proficient spy when she couldn’t lie effectively? It seemed impossible.

“First, we’re going to discuss soft targets. Do you know what those are?” Upon her negative response, he tapped his left eye with one finger, then his ear. “I want you to remember this: eyes, ears, mouth and nose. Throat, groin, fingers and toes. Say it back for me.”

“Eyes, ears, mouth and nose. Throat, groin, fingers and toes,” she repeated, cocking her head. “It sounds like a nursery rhyme I’d teach Lord Thomas.”

“Good, then you’ll remember it better,” James said. “Those are the areas of your body that no matter how strong you are, remain susceptible to attack. So if you’re in a confrontation, you want to go after the soft targets.”

Vivian surveyed her hands. “But how will I possibly have a chance against someone who is, say, twice my size?”
 

“No matter how strong you are, it still hurts like the dickens when someone hits those softer areas,” Arden replied. “Say Nixon comes at me from the front. I divert him with both thumbs jammed into his eye sockets.”

“What will that do?” she asked.

Nixon grimaced. “It’ll bloody hurt.”

“It’ll send a sharp jolt of pain through him, and gives her enough time to either combine that with another move—like a knee to the groin, or a strike with her elbow to his mouth—or leave the area entirely.” James reached forward, tapping her ear.
 

“I could also have slammed my palms upon his ears,” Arden added. “That would daze him, again giving me a better chance at escape.”

Vivian touched her eyes, then her ears, and onward. “So the main goal in any attack is to get away.”

The main goal in any attack against Sauveterre would be to strike him dead, but somehow she didn’t think James would agree with her.

“There are three most likely attacks: a sudden onslaught from the front, a throat grab, or an approach from behind,” Arden said. “Watch what I do when Nixon tries to attack me from the front.”

Nixon came at her, crowding her aggressively. Arden slapped him in the neck, stunning him. Nixon reeled back, landing on the ground. Arden extended a hand, pulling him back up.

 
Vivian’s jaw dropped. “How was that possible? You hit him once and he went down.”

“It’s about knowing
where
to hit.” Arden ran her finger down the back of Nixon’s neck. “There’s an artery here, you see? If I slap with the palm of my hand, it affects Nixon’s ability to breathe. When he falls, I have a chance to get away.”
 

She demonstrated it again with the same result. Nixon fell to the ground, and Arden ran.
 

James reached for her hand, helping her up from the bench. “Now it’s time for you to try. And don’t hold back—no matter what you do to me, I’ve had much worse. I will gladly take whatever pain you deliver it means you’ll be safe.”

One glance at his face told her he meant it, too. This man, this spy, had dropped everything to defend her. He was not the man she’d believed he was. Perhaps he was better. His words of protection were not empty promises. She knew undeniably as he rolled up his sleeves and stood back from her that he’d rather die than let her fall into the hands of a villain.

For all she knew, she’d be dead now if he hadn’t intervened.
 

She gulped.
 

Clenching her fists at her side, she took a step forward. James approached her, swinging his arms and getting into her space. She reached up, slapping him. When at first, she didn’t hit the right area he had her repeat the move. It took her several tries, but finally she slapped him with her palm out, and he went down.

“Oh!” She exclaimed, running to help him up. “That
does
work.”

He grinned at her, brushing the dirt off his breeches. “You did marvelously. You remind me of Arden when she first started training.”
 

She blushed. “Thank you.”

“Songbird’s the best we have,” Nixon chimed in, heading back to the middle of the makeshift ring for the next exercise.

Arden laughed. “Flattery will not gain you reprieve from arse-kicking.”

Nixon shrugged. “’Twas worth a try.”

“A noble effort,” Arden agreed. “Fruitless, but noble nonetheless.”

They taught her how to break a throat grab by wrapping an arm around her adversary’s neck and forcing him backward. The time passed quickly, as they practiced each move until she could complete it successfully. By early afternoon, she understood the basics of evasion. Slowly but surely, she became more at ease with the steps, gaining fluidity in her movements.

When it came to show her an attack from behind, Arden and Nixon reassembled in the center of the clearing. “Say I don’t notice that Nixon is behind me. Ideally, he’d stay still after grabbing me and I could stomp on his foot and then run. But most likely, your assailant will be focused on trying to grab you and move you to a different area.”

The icy hand of fear twisted her gut. If Sauveterre captured her, he’d try to transport her somewhere else, away from Arden and Nixon. Away from James. She’d known this would be hazardous, but to hear the likelihood expressed so flatly made her doubt her course of action.

And it was not just the peril, but the idea of being apart from the man who sat on the log beside her, his thigh pressed against her own. She’d thought originally that the nearness of him muddled her mind because around him, she could not help but want things she’d never imagined possible. A future filled with sensual encounters like their embrace in the carriage. An equal partnership where she could make her own choices but never be alone.
 

But now she wondered if that hope for a better day was the only thing separating her from being an animal like Sauveterre.
 

James leaned forward, whispering in her ear. “We’ll keep practicing this. You don’t need to be scared. You’re safe here with me.”

She believed him. So many things had changed, but that one fact remained. She’d always be safe around him.

She needed to know how to stop Sauveterre from taking her away from James. Though she might not understand his spying, she did know that she wanted to be with him.

She laid her hand on top of his. “Let’s do it.”

Nixon winced but assumed the position. He came at Arden, his arm across her throat. Holding onto his arm, she threw her head back, smacking into his jaw. When he was stunned, she stuck Nixon’s groin as hard as she could, then elbowed him. Once he faltered, she slammed her foot into his knee. Nixon fell to the ground, groaning.

Vivian yelped, as James winced in sympathy. “That didn’t look pleasant.”

“It wasn’t,” Nixon groaned. He lay on the grass for a moment longer, his face contorted in pain. “If they didn’t pay me so bloody well—”

“Well, we do,” James reminded him. “Besides old chap, you’ve kicked our arses plenty of times.”

Pushing himself up from the ground, Nixon’s snickered. “That’s true.”
 

“We call that move the Albatross,” Arden said.

“Why’s that?”

“Because once you’ve been hit there, it’s worse than a shackle around your neck,” James answered. “Worst impediment ever.”

Though pain still darkened his face, Nixon spared Vivian a slow wink. “Plus, it was more proper than calling it the Nutcracker.”

Arden rolled her eyes. “You’ll have to excuse these boys. After a few years, they simply shouldn’t be allowed to socialize.”

Vivian smiled. “You don’t need to watch your language around me. I don’t mind.”

“Korianna will be so pleased,” James remarked drolly. “Back to work, everyone.”
 

He had her demonstrate each counter-attack multiple times, until they were both sweating and exhausted. Around noon, they recessed for nuncheon. Northley had packed a picnic basket for the occasion with cold meats, cheese, and bread.
 

Arden exchanged a glance with James. Vivian couldn’t tell what silent communication had passed between them, but Arden took Nixon’s arm. “There are a few documents I’d like to go over with you back at the house.”

“But, nuncheon—” Nixon stared longingly at the picnic basket.

“This can’t wait,” Arden insisted, tugging on Nixon’s arm.

Giving one last languishing look at the basket, Nixon allowed himself to be led away from the grove. In a moment, they were gone.