Scandalized by a Scoundrel (5 page)

He handed it back to her, ignoring her question. “Again.”

The wind ruffled the glossy mahogany curls surrounding her face, but she paid it no mind. Furrowing her brow, she palmed the grip, widened her stance, and aimed for his chest. “I’m not certain what sort of trick—hey!” Relieved of the weapon once more, she pressed her lips together and glared at him with reluctant admiration.

He grinned this time, passing the gun back and forth between his hands. “You were saying about having the upper hand?”

“Yes, fine. I do believe you have made your point.”

A woman who could concede a point. He definitely liked that. “You, Miss Watson, are a very good sport.”

“And you, Lord Winters, are a dreadful one.” But there was a hint of amusement in her words. She held out her hand for the gun.

“Gabriel,” he said on a whim.

Her eyes jerked up to meet his. “I beg your pardon?”

Now that it was spoken, he found that he liked the idea of her using his given name. They were in the middle of the forest. What would it hurt if they did away with the formalities? “Do me a favor and don’t call me Lord Winters. The last three Lord Winters were real bast—er, unpleasant men.” The understatement of a lifetime.

Her expression was dubious. “You can’t be serious. I hardly know you.”

“What does that have to do with anything? It’s my name, just as yours is Amelia.” He let the name slide over his tongue, enjoying the feel of it. “See? Neither one of us burst into flames for the use of it.”

She shook her head, clearly unconvinced. “It’s a sign of respect. I haven’t given you permission to use my Christian name, so therefore you should not. Now,
Lord Winters
, give me my gun, please.”

“Fine—I shall call you Miss Watson, and you shall address me as Gabriel, out of
respect
for my wishes. So, try again. Give me my gun…” He raised his eyebrows expectantly, waiting for her to finish the sentence.

Her lips pressed together in a mutinous line. Blowing out a breath, she said, “Give me my gun, Viscount Winters.”

“Try again.”

“Give me my gun, Major Winters?”

“No. And for the record, I was a lieutenant.” With a sad shake of his head, he tucked the gun into the waist of his pants at the small of his back.

Her mouth dropped open. “What are you doing? Give me my gun,
good sir
.”

“Do I look like a
good sir
to you?”

Her hands settled at her hips, pressing the fabric of her bodice tight across her chest. “No, not at the moment. Give me my gun, you knave.”

“Knave? What, have we found ourselves back in time? Shall I run and find a lance and codpiece? Wear a suit of armor and joust for the king’s entertainment?”

There was a definite flicker of amusement beneath her stern expression. “Blackguard? Rake? Scoundrel? Let me know when I hit on the one that most closely describes you.”

“You already know what will get me to relinquish my ransom.”

“Ransom, indeed. You’re being unreasonable.”

“Now, now. I’m not an unreasonable man. You may get it back in one of two ways. Either ask for it
respectfully
”—he purposely teased her with the word—“or take it yourself.” What was it about her that was so imminently teasable? Even knowing what he did of her past, it was so easy to volley with her like this.  He liked to think it lightened that heaviness he kept glimpsing in her eyes.

Frustration crinkled her nose. “Neither of those are acceptable, as you well know.”

He angled his head and put a hand to his ear. “I’m sorry, what was that? You don’t wish to have it back?”

“Lord Winters—”

“Gabriel.”

“
Gabriel
, give it back.”

He wasn’t prepared for the drop in his stomach the sound of his name on her lips caused.
Jesus.
After all that teasing he hadn’t expected to be the one affected by their play. Forcing his lips into a smile and ignoring the sudden hammering of his heart, he pulled the pistol from his waistband and presented it to her. “Now, was that so hard?” His voice fell just shy of the glib tone he was aiming for.

“Yes,” she said, giving him an arch look. She snatched the piece from his hands and shoved it into her skirt pocket. Stepping back, she folded her arms over her chest. “You do realize you will have to get used to people calling you Lord Winters?”

All too well. The last four months had been proof of that. “Unfortunately, yes. But it will take time for the words to represent something other than what they have in the past.”

A soft breeze rattled the leaves around them, and she brushed an errant strand of hair from her eyes. “Were they really as bad as all that? The previous viscounts, I mean.”

He gave a soft, humorless laugh. “And then some. My father and his sons from his first wife were cut from the same cloth. Large, overbearing men who liked to use their size and status to intimidate others.”

She pursed her lips, her eyes sweeping up and down his frame. “Imagine that.”

His jaw tightened. She was making the same comparison everyone always did. “Yes, I look like them, though with darker coloring. But I’ve never reveled in belittling those around me in order to feel superior.”

“Of course not,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “Forgive me, I was only teasing.”

He raked a hand through his hair. “No, forgive me. If anyone has a right to point out my faults, it’s you. And I apologize for that. You weren’t wrong when you accused me of being an ill-mannered brute yesterday.”

Her eyes softened as she offered a wry smile. “If you were a brute, then I was a shrew. I think it best we simply pretend the whole episode never happened.”

Her words eased the guilt that had plagued him all night. Returning her smile, he said, “I think that is an excellent plan.”

“Now see? Clearly you are your own man. Based on what you’ve told me, I very much doubt your father or brothers would have apologized.”

He scoffed, nodding. “Suffice it to say, the three of them made my life hell growing up. An apology never once crossed their lips, even when Geoffrey broke my nose when I was seven. I was relieved beyond measure when my father died and we moved back to America.” Why was he telling her this? He straightened, pushing aside the distaste the memories caused. “The positive side of it is that I learned from an early age the value of defending oneself, no matter one’s size, which brings us back to our lessons.”

Chapter Four

Amelia hadn’t expected to hit a nerve with the man. Clearly, there was a lot more to his past than she’d realized. There was no mistaking the pain that had flickered across his face as he spoke of his family. Her heart hurt for whatever torture they had put him through.

Despite her piqued curiosity, she didn’t protest the change of subject or ask any more questions. Instead, she raised her fists to just below her chin. “Is this right?”

The wariness eased from his face as he inspected her position. “Not bad. Be sure to plant your feet shoulder width apart for better stability. Good. All right, let’s see what you’ve got. Hit me.”

Hit him? Her determination to follow his instructions faltered. “I can’t hit you, for heaven’s sake.”

“What, are you afraid that you might hurt me?”

“No…”

“Then hit me. One shot, just to see your technique.”

She let her arms drop a few inches and widened her eyes at him. “I don’t
have
a technique. And back up—I’ll hit in your direction.”

For a moment she feared he would push her, but instead he sighed and stepped back. “Your move, princess.”

Narrowing her eyes, Amelia repositioned her hands and threw a delicate punch straight out. She felt more than a little ridiculous, but at least she’d done it.

His hands went to his hips, clearly unimpressed. “Where do you suppose is the strongest part of a man?”

Not a question she was expecting. Of their own volition, her eyes roamed his body and landed on the widest target. “His chest?”

“Exactly. So if you are aiming those dainty little fists of yours at a man, where do you suppose is the least effective place to hit him?”

She lifted her gaze to meet his. “His chest?”

He grinned. “Very good. I suggest aiming for the places that are most vulnerable. His stomach and ribs”—he moved a hand to the flat plane of his abdomen—“are good, but the jaw, nose, and temple are probably better, especially if it is unexpected. Try again.”

Nodding, she swallowed and got back into position. She eyed his green-and-gold-striped waistcoat, trying to ignore the way it tapered toward his hips. Aiming for his lower ribs this time, she punched the air.

“Much better.” Approval lightened his tone as he smiled. “Although, if you really want to cause some pain, you could aim a bit lower.” Her cheeks flared with head as she realized what he meant, but he kept right on with his instructions. “Make sure that when you punch, you don’t think about stopping at your target.”

He demonstrated, allowing his fist to stop short. “Instead, pretend you are punching right through it. That’s when momentum will help.” He struck out in a long, smooth arc, his hand nearly touching his opposite shoulder at the end of it. “Ready? This time, I want you to use my hand as a target, and be sure to follow through.”

She, of all people, knew how to hit a target. Concentrating this time, she reared back before throwing all her weight into her punch. Triumph flared as her fist hit his palm with a resounding smack, but it was immediately doused when she stumbled forward. A squeak of alarm escaped her at the same time his fingers closed on her fist and his other hand darted to her waist to steady her. The heat of his hand instantly penetrated the light muslin of her morning dress.

“Steady there,” he murmured, his words spoken startlingly close to her ear. “Are you all right?”

Sucking in a breath, she stepped back as soon as she had stabilized. “Yes. Thank you. My apologies.” Once again, heat crept into her cheeks, and she looked down, studiously smoothing a hand over her skirts. Though he had released her, the warmth still lingered where his hands had been.

He shrugged. “No apologies necessary. You’re an excellent student; it was my fault for not anticipating how much resistance I’d need to give you. Would you like to try again?”

“No,” she said quickly, offering a sheepish smile. “I think I have the principle. Thank you for the lesso—”

He waved a hand, cutting her off. “No, I think you are right. I don’t expect you to go around picking fights, so I don’t imagine you’ll need much practice in this position. It’s probably more important to start with fending off advances. Grab my wrist, and I’ll demonstrate how to break a hold.”

He held out one hand, and she looked to it with a raised eyebrow. Grab his wrist? Staying here with him seemed less and less prudent as the morning progressed. Still, even as she knew she should leave, she didn’t really want to. Not yet, anyway.

She’d never met anyone like him, and heaven knew she probably wouldn’t again. The shock she had experienced yesterday had faded somewhat, and she wasn’t so much afraid anymore as intrigued. He’d be gone soon, so why not be bold? Why not indulge that part of her that wanted a little adventure? Especially when he was teaching her valuable skills.

Taking a fortifying breath, she reached out and wrapped her fingers around his wrist. Just as when he had steadied her, her heart raced at the simple contact. For a moment he was still, and she wondered what he would do if she slipped her hand down a bit and laced her fingers with his. Lord, what an absurd thought. Just when she was about to lose her nerve and let go, he yanked his hands sharply downward, breaking her hold.

“Did you see how I did that?” He was all business now, his voice taking on the authority of a true instructor. Did he sense that she was doubting the wisdom of her decision to stay?

Copying his lead, she nodded briskly. “I think so.”

“Good. Always tug toward the place where the opponent’s fingers come together. If you try to pull toward his palm or back toward yourself, you’ll just be wasting your energy. Also, be sure to turn your wrists so the little finger faces the direction you want to move your hand.”

With no more warning, he grabbed her arm, imprisoning her wrist in a firm hold.

Her first instinct was to jerk backward, despite what he had just said. It was just so startling, having his hand on her so possessively. As he’d predicted, her move did nothing to dislodge his hold. Biting her lip, she tried again, this time following his instructions. When she was able to break free, Amelia grinned. “It worked!”

His stern expression of a moment ago vanished as he returned her smile with one of his own. “Imagine that. Perhaps you’ll have a little faith in me now.”

“Perhaps,” she allowed, lifting her chin imperiously. It was rather empowering, successfully defeating someone of his size and strength. “Let’s see if we can duplicate the results.”

She held out her arms, holding her breath for the moment his skin would touch hers. He readily complied, closing his hands around both her wrists this time. A sparkling sensation raced through her and landed low in her belly, fizzing like soda water. Their position was no more intimate than dance partners preparing to waltz, yet her whole body hummed with his nearness.

Her gaze flickered up to his. His brown eyes were as rich and warm as strong coffee. He watched her, waiting for her to move. For the space of a second, she considered leaning into him. What would he do if she lifted her lips to his? What would it feel like to finally be kissed? Her heart pounded even harder at the thought. She
had
to get a hold of herself.

With a sharp jerk of both her arms, she freed herself from his hold. Heart still thundering, she took a step back and drew in a cleansing breath. The air around her was still flavored with his scent: the crisp smell of soap with warm hints of leather and spice.

This was dangerous. Not in the way she’d originally thought, when she first feared he might harm her, or even when she worried for her reputation. No, it was dangerous because every minute she spent with him, she seemed to find him that much more attractive. He made her feel stronger than she would have imagined she could without the benefit of her pistol. That was very heady indeed.

She was the one in danger of stepping outside her normal rules of behavior, and that was
not
acceptable. Rallying her wits, she said, “Well, I do believe our ten minutes are up. Thank you for the lesson.”

Lord Winters’s brows came together in surprise. It was abrupt, she knew, but she had to step away from the oddly charged atmosphere between them. He ran a hand through his dark hair, pushing it back from his forehead. “We’ve only just started. There is much more to learn, I assure you.”

“Yes, I’m certain there is, but I must get back. My father worries if I’m late returning to the house.” She smiled, ignoring the part of her that rebelled against leaving him. “I appreciate your time and talent, my lord.”

He grimaced but didn’t correct her. “It’s my pleasure, Miss Watson. For tomorrow’s lesson, I think perhaps we’ll focus on more defensive moves like the wrist-hold break.”

Tomorrow’s lesson? A thrill raced through her, even as she shook her head. “Lord Winters—”

“Gabriel,” he cut in, quirking a brow.

“
Lord Winters
,” she said firmly, “it would be most imprudent for us to meet for another lesson.”

“Yes, I agree.” He slipped a hand beneath her palm and lifted it to his lips. He pressed a warm kiss to the back of her knuckles, shocking her with the feel of his lips against her bare skin. “Which is exactly why I shall be here.”

She swallowed and tugged her hand back the moment he pulled away. “I’m sorry to say you will be wasting your time, as I shall not.”

He shrugged and went to retrieve his jacket and gloves. “Your prerogative.”

“I mean it. I won’t come.”

His smile was slow and entirely too confident. “Good day, Miss Watson. I’ll see you in the morning.”