“So what do you suggest?” she asked cautiously. “That next time, I hide out in the gardens with my bow and arrow?”
She would be the first to admit she would feel far more confident with a bow in hand.
Unfortunately, that would not solve the greater difficulty of knowing where to place herself or whom to watch in the first place.
Besides, she doubted society was prepared for Beatrice Beckman sauntering into one of their glittering ballrooms with a bow and quiver slung over her shoulder.
A pity, really.
She suspected it would be very effective.
“No,” he said. “But if you insist upon placing yourself between wolves and lambs, you need to know what to expect from the wolves.”
“I know. I had already thought of that. If there is a manual somewhere—something practical—I intend to find it.”
“A book will not be enough.”
Beatrice paused. “No?”
“No. A book cannot show you how quickly a man can close the distance. Or how to make a larger opponent lose balance before he thinks to use his strength.”
Her fingers tightened in her lap.
“What do you suggest, then?”
“I shall instruct you.”
She blinked.
Oh.
That might be much more effective.
“You will?”
“Yes.” His gaze held hers. “On one condition.”
Her suspicion returned at once. “Which is?”
“That if you intend to involve yourself in danger, you do not do so while leaving me ignorant of where to find you.”
Beatrice went very still.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Simply keep me informed if you decide to involve yourself in anything of this nature.”
Extremely limiting. And yet…
The benefit of his instructions in combat might be worth conceding to a small amount of oversight.
Still, she arched a brow. “You expect me to send word every single time I come across a gentleman taking liberties where he ought not?”
“Inform me of your schedule. I shall ensure I am present.”
Beatrice scoffed. “You do not mean to follow me about London all Season?”
He hesitated.
