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She’d invaded his dreams for what had been left of the night: astride him in that bloody carriage, as dark as the cave in Bullock’s Museum, her fingers wandering at leisure, lips pleading for more against his bared pectoralis major.
At dawn, he’d descended to the basement for an hour, which had vaguely woken him for the day but–
The five chimes of St James’s faded and the door handle twisted.
“Pa?”
“Come in, Chloe.”
She pottered over, but her shoulders were rounded, lips glum. This wasn’t his girl.
“What’s wrong, pet?”
She clambered onto the bed, crossed her legs and looked grouchy. “I’ve been punching the straw figures you set up for me in the ballroom but…. All I could think was…for what? All this practising I do. What’s it for if I don’t end up being another Stokes?”
“Ah, Chloe.” He sat alongside and gave her a hug, yet a thought had been lingering for a day or so… “You can be whoever you want, of course, and this may seem an odd suggestion, but… You remember the Duke of Rothwell?”
His daughter nodded, jutting out her lower lip.
“Well, he mentioned the idea of an academy for ladies, with the focus on defence.”
Her blond mop cocked to one side. “What do you mean?”
“Well…” How to explain? “What would happen if two villains accosted you in an alley?”
“I’d squeal and pretend to be a weak-kneed damsel, then when they were close enough, slam one a poke to the belly followed by a mitt to the sneezer. The other would see stars after my nobbler to the noddle and a stamp on the old dew beaters. Then with a culp to the lughole, I’d scarper. After maybe a clicker to the gob.”
“Excellent, although a clicker to the throat might have downed one quicker and required less force.”
She nodded. “Hmm.”
“Now, what would your governess have done?”
This idea had coalesced after Miss Griffin had mentioned that the simple knowledge of how to protect herself imbued her with more confidence, and Seth of all people knew that was half the battle. If you scuttled through the streets in fright, the cats came out to play. If you stalked chin high, they may just think better of it.
Chloe tapped a lip. “Miss Griffin would end up with her skirts over her head. Most likely her throat slit. Which would be a shame, as I adore Miss Griffin.”
Seth winced.
“Indeed… So, she needs someone to teach her how to defend herself. I cannot do it, propriety and all that, and in any case, many women would not be comfortable with a man demonstrating.”
“But it’s not ladylike.”
“No. It is not seen as such, but I suspect in private that many, like Miss Griffin, would very much like to learn some basic techniques.”
“Hmm. Do you think I could?”
“Of course you could. But it also depends on your aspirations, Chloe. This would not be in a public arena with applauding masses, medals and prize money, but for personal satisfaction, passing your knowledge on and helping other women. Not only with defensive techniques but also the focus of one’s mind. All similar to what I do in the Academy, I suppose.”
“I’ve never taught anything before.”
“You are only thirteen–”
“Fourteen in November.”
“Quite. And this is merely an idea at this stage for when you’re older. But if you wished to try teaching, then I suggest you begin with Miss Griffin. Just some basic essentials for escaping a ruffian in the streets.”
“With thumping?”
