“Gideon.”
He entered without hesitation and took the chair adjacent to hers—the place usually reserved for her brother.
But rather than begin with the lecture she expected, Gideon poured himself a cup of tea with maddening leisure, as though this were an ordinary morning call and not the aftermath of a near catastrophe.
Beatrice made herself sit very still. Not fidgeting. Not rushing to explain.
Across from her, her brother’s fondest friend had the audacity to look handsome and untroubled while adding a single spoonful of sugar to his tea.
Stirred.
Set the spoon aside with maddening precision.
Then, as though discussing fencing footwork rather than the previous night’s near disaster, he said, “When a man has forward momentum, meeting him head-on is rarely effective.”
Beatrice blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“In a confined space,” he continued, as though discussing weather patterns, “if he has already closed the distance, you do not brace. You pivot.”
Was he…?
He lifted his cup. “You were attempting to hold your ground.”
“I was holding a blade.”
“Yes.” He took a measured sip. “But a blade is only effective if the point reaches him before his hands reach you.”
Beatrice blinked, and then raised her brows.
“You allowed him within arm’s length,” Gideon continued calmly. “Once he closed that distance, the advantage was no longer yours.”
Yes. That was exactly what had happened.
“If a man can seize your wrist, the weapon ceases to be yours. You must either strike before he closes,” he went on, “or move to the side the moment he advances. Not backward. Backward invites pursuit. Sideways forces him to turn.”
She pictured it then—the railing behind her, the gravel beneath her slipper, the fraction of a second she had hesitated.
“You braced,” he said gently. “You planted your feet.”
“I was not retreating.”
“I know.” His voice was not mocking. “But bracing assumes he will stop.”
The silence stretched.
“Simple physics,” he finished mildly.
Beatrice set down her cup.
“You have come,” she said carefully, “to critique my performance?”
“I have come,” he corrected, “to ensure you improve it.”
This was… not at all what she’d prepared for.
“So you are not here,” she said, watching him closely now, “to reprimand? To… forbid?”
“I know better than to forbid you anything.” The corner of his mouth shifted faintly. “It has never proven effective for anyone else, as far as I am aware.”
