Hereford straightened his shoulders in false confidence. “Is there something I can help you with, Miss?”
“Teach me.”
He went still. “Teach you? You don’t mean… Teach you what?”
“Teach me to fence.” She lifted her chin. “You’re clearly qualified although I’d prefer the straightforward method, not the one you have reserved for your… mistresses.”
“This is absurd.” He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ignore the flush at her décolletage. “Ladies don’t fence.”
“Yet you teach the duchess.”
“That’s different. She’s… She’s…”
“Your lover?” she whispered as she stepped toward him. Her tone became teasing and seductive, making the hair on his neck tingle. “Willing to let you press against her while adjusting her grip?” Hereford closed his eyes briefly, letting her voice wash over his sensitized skin.
He opened his eyes, then let his gaze drift down to her mouth. “A friend, Miss Thornton. And careful. One might think you were jealous.”
“One might think you were afraid to teach me.” She took a step closer, close enough that he could smell her soap. “What are you afraid of?”
He studied her for a long moment—the way she refused to let her injury define her limitations. It was admirable, damn it all. Anddangerous.
“No,” he said finally, his voice firmer than he felt. “Find another hobby. Watercolors, perhaps.”
“Watercolors,” she gritted out. “How delightfully conventional of you.”
He exhaled, frustration evident in its tone. “Miss Thornton, while your enthusiasm is admirable, fencing requires certain physical demands.”
“Tell me, my lord, are all women incapable of meeting the physical demands or specifically the crippled ones?” Her voice was sharp enough to wound, and her lips pressed into a thin line.
“If you get hurt, I may lose credibility. Not only that, you will not do other women any favors.”
Her eyes flashed emerald with fury as she stepped closer, voice trembling with barely contained rage. “Do not pretend to care about women’s aspirations. You have no intention of teaching us anything beyond the path to your bedchamber. That’s where you prefer us, isn’t it? Silent and submissive?”
The muscle in his jaw ticked. “I take offense at your insinuation, Miss Thornton.” His lips curved into a smile. “I rather enjoy when women are vocal in my bed.”
Amelia recoiled, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly before she found her voice. “How perfectly characteristic.”
“You don’t know me at all,” he said softly, crowding her space until she had to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “Not even slightly.”
“Wonderful.” She lifted her chin, refusing to step back despite his looming presence. “Let us remain thus, shall we?”
“Let’s think practically for a moment.” He stepped back and walked in a small circle, regaining his composure before stopping to face her again. “How do you propose to lunge with a lethal weapon when you can barely maintain your balance on level ground?”
“I do not struggle with balance!” Her hands balled into fists at her sides. “Only on uneven terrain might I occasionally, but I always catch myself!”
“That is precisely my point! I won’t teach someone who presents a danger to herself and others during lessons.”
“We’ll be wearing protective gear!”
“Which may fail if you fall. The fact is, you need absolute control, but you’re at a constant disadvantage. Any misstep could—”
“I do not misstep!” She stamped her foot, immediately proving his point as she had to shift to maintain her balance. “I have not fallen, and I never shall!”
“Think with logic rather than pride, woman!” His voice rose with exasperation. “Fencing requires agility—bouncing, skipping, lunging, quick sidesteps—”
“I shall adapt! I always have. Just teach me the basics, and I’ll master the rest myself.”
“Why? Why are you so desperate to learn?”
She paused, schooling her features to one of vapid interest. “It’s exercise, which I need. It’s practical. It’s beautiful—like a dance with weapons. When I watch it, I feel… connected.”
His expression softened for a fraction of a second before hardening again. “And it’s forbidden to women. Isn’t that the real appeal? Or is this some publicity stunt for your newspaper?”
One would have thought he had slapped her by the way ice replaced the fire in her eyes. Amelia straightened her spine before speaking calmly. “Do explain to your student, the Duchess of Rutland, why some women are worthy of instruction while others are not.” She turned away, each word precise and cutting.
He watched her walk away, her gait measured despite her obvious fury. Guilt and self-loathing warred in his chest.
“Confound it,” he muttered, rubbing the stubble beginning to appear on his chin. The woman was impossible, an infuriating,illegitimate commoner. And completely wrong for him.
He was going to be glad to have refused her. He just didn’t know why yet.
