“My lady.” His hand remained at her waist, warm and steady. “There’s no shame in adapting technique. Every swordsman must work with their own physical realities.”
She met his eyes, searching for mockery or pity, but found only professional assessment. “You’re not going to ask?”
“About the extent of your injury?” His thumb moved slightly against her waist, an unconscious gesture that sent shivers down her spine. “No. You’ll tell me what I need to know to teach you effectively.”
Relief warred with something else. Something that felt dangerously like attraction. This wasn’t the rakish lord who flirted with duchesses. This was someone else entirely—patient, observant, astonishingly kind.
“The ankle doesn’t bend,” she admitted finally. “It’s… rigid.”
He nodded, processing this information. “Then we adjust. Here…” He shifted his grip to her hands, repositioning her. “Weight more on your right foot, left leg slightly back. Don’t fight against the rigidity—work with it.”
They spent the next hour finding adaptations that worked with her body rather than against it. Each adjustment required his touch, his proximity. By the end, Amelia wasn’t sure what made her more breathless—the physical exertion or the gentle authority in his hands as he guided her through modified forms.
“Enough for today,” he said finally, his voice rougher than usual. His hands lingered at her waist as he steadied her one last time. “You’ve done well.”
She looked up at him, suddenly aware of how close they stood, how his eyes had darkened as he watched her move through the sequences he’d created just for her.
“Same time tomorrow?” she asked, cursing the breathlessness in her voice.
He hesitated. “Are you sure this is wise?”
“No,” she admitted. “But I’m going to continue anyway.”
Something like admiration flickered across his features. Then his eyes dropped to her left leg, and his expression turned serious. “We’ll need to make some modifications to your practice clothes. The current cut of the trousers isn’t…” He cleared his throat. “I’ll have something more suitable made.”
She stiffened, pride warring with practicality. “I don’t need—”
“Proper equipment is essential,” he cut in smoothly. “For any student.”
They stared at each other for a long moment, the air between them charged with everything unsaid. Finally, she nodded. “Thank you.”
He stepped back, creating distance between them. “I have a prior engagement this evening. Perhaps I will see you at breakfast. Otherwise, seven tomorrow.” He paused at the door. “And leave your corset at home. You need to be able to breathe and move freely.”
He was gone before she could respond, leaving her to wonder how this man, this startling version of her husband, could unsettle her so thoroughly with just a few kind words and careful touches.
She wasn’t sure which was more dangerous. His previous rakish charm or this new, gentle competence.
