Scandalized by a Scoundrel (4 page)

Shifting forward in his seat, Norton sighed. “I think there’s something you should know about her. I don’t want to be a gossip, but it’s my understanding that this is common knowledge in the village. Apparently, her mother was killed by a pair of highwaymen when Miss Watson was only thirteen.”

Gabriel blinked, momentarily shocked. “Holy hell.” His gut clenched at the thought of something so violent befalling any woman. No wonder she carried a pistol. He grimaced, remembering how he had mocked her for it.

He thought of his own mother, who had died two years earlier from complications of a weak heart. He was still angry at the fact that she’d been taken too young, but at least it had been a natural death. The possibility of someone purposely cutting her life short was enough to make his blood run cold.

And he’d been a total arse to the girl.

He rubbed his eyes, hating the guilt that flared to life in his chest. He’d stupidly assumed her reaction to him had been about, well,
him
. He’d never imagined her defensiveness and standoffishness would come from a place of real fear or unease.

Norton set his drink down and crossed his arms. “After her mother’s death, Sir Elroy became something of a recluse. In the early days, there were whispers that Miss Watson was more or less running the household. Supposedly the baron has improved over time, but it’s my impression that she’s the one keeping things together.”

Looking Gabriel in the eye, he said, “She’s had more than her share to deal with in her life. Just try not to toy with her, all right?”

Gabriel nodded distractedly, pulling on his cheroot. He released a cloud of blue smoke and watched it rise toward the ceiling. How the hell was he going to make up for the way he treated her? Somehow, he doubted a simple apology would gloss over things.

He was a man of honor, damn it. He had to make some sort of amends. But how? What did he have to offer someone like her?

Nothing, really. To her, he was little more than a big brute of a man with boorish manners and—

Wait a second. That’s exactly what he had to offer her. Earlier, she had laughed off his teasing suggestion that he teach her some fighting moves. But a woman who had been through what she had, and who had admitted to trying daggers, swords, and even a hatpin for possible ways to protect herself, could clearly benefit from the confidence one gains when one can defend oneself without the use of a weapon.

If his expertise could actually help her while assuaging his guilt for having treated her so poorly, wouldn’t that be a win for both of them? Of course, after the way things had gone today, the real trick would be convincing her that he could help without getting himself shot in the process.

Chapter Three

“What are you doing here?”

The breathlessness in Amelia’s voice may have negated the stern tone she was going for. Lord Winters stood leaning against a tree at the exact place she had met him the day before, his arms crossed in front of him and a smirk already in place on his lips.

“And good morning to you, too,” he said, as though they hadn’t bickered like children yesterday.

Despite her determination to keep the encounter as impersonal and brief as possible, her heart gave a little flip at the sound of his voice. It was warm and slightly rough, as though he had just woken. His cheeks were smooth today, which was oddly disappointing. She drew a steadying breath. It didn’t matter what he looked or sounded like—it was beyond improper for him to be here now.

Yesterday had been an accident. But this? And really, had there been any doubt of her intention not to speak with him again? Her hands found their way to her hips as she narrowed her eyes. “It can’t be ‘too’ if I do not share in the sentiment. You are trespassing, as you well know.”

He made no move to leave at all. If anything, he leaned toward her a bit. “I do know. And I was testing a theory. Apparently, the firearms only come out for strangers. Good to know.”

She lifted a single brow. “I wouldn’t count on that.”

“I’m a soldier, Miss Watson, and a soldier always trusts his instincts.” He took a step closer and angled his head to the left. “Would you like to know what my instincts are telling me?”

“If they are any good at all, they are telling you to leave. Now,” she added, for good measure.

“Not at all,” he said, his smile somehow innocent and devilish at once. “They’re telling me that you’d like a lesson in how to defend yourself, in case you are ever caught without your trusty pistol. I’m certain you’d like as many ways to defend yourself against ill-mannered brutes as possible.” He winked, as though sharing a joke with her. He was bantering with her again. It was as though yesterday’s argument had never happened.

“It’s a wonder you’ve survived this long if your instincts are as faulty as that.” She lifted her head haughtily, determined to show him how foolish he’d been to come here this morning, and to prove that his dark, slightly disreputable good looks had no effect on her. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she said, preparing to sweep past him with all the regal bearing of a queen.

“See? My expertise could really help you. That bordered on pathetic, as intimidation goes.”

She glared at him. “I wasn’t trying to intimidate; I was trying to dismiss.”

“Either way, you failed dreadfully.”

Shaking her head at his gall, she said, “Are you always this belligerent?”

He didn’t even hesitate. “Absolutely. How else does one get what one wants in this world?”

It was like throwing pebbles at a brick wall. All her comments just seemed to bounce right off that magnificent ego of his. “What do I need to say to get you to leave, Lord Winters?”

“Nothing. I’m happy to leave—just as soon as our lesson is over.”

“I feel compelled to remind you that though I may carry a pistol, I am very much a respectable woman. Receiving lessons from a bachelor alone in the woods is
not
acceptable.”

He rolled his eyes, unimpressed by her remark. “It’s not as though I’m going to ravish you, for God’s sake. Don’t think of me as a bachelor. Think of me as a tutor.”

“I’m not hiring.”

“Lucky for you, I’m volunteering.”

Amelia let out a frustrated sigh. “You aren’t leaving until you get your way, are you.” It was a statement, not a question. She could see for herself that was exactly the case.

A single, decisive negative shake of his head was his only answer. And that ever-present smile, of course.

Annoyance tangled with a hint of anticipation. She hadn’t wanted him to come, and she knew very well he shouldn’t be there, but there was something a little thrilling about standing in the woods together, completely alone. “Fine. Ten minutes, and then your ‘lesson’ is done and you go home.”

Triumph lit his dark eyes as he nodded. “Agreed.”

Shedding his jacket and draping it over the lowest tree branch, he paused to roll up his sleeves. Each turn of the fine lawn revealed another couple inches of his corded arms, his muscles moving this way and that beneath his pale skin. Her fingers itched with the desire to discover if his arms felt as strong as they looked. If the muscles were as taut, and the skin as smooth as she imagined. She curled her hand into a fist, trying to force away the completely unwelcome musings.

This was exactly why she had fled his company yesterday.

“Did I scandalize you just now?” His voice snapped her attention back to his face, which was all smug male amusement. He’d caught her watching him. “Offend those proper, well-bred sensibilities of yours?”

Of course he would catch her staring at him like some sort of milk-toast maiden fresh from the schoolroom. Making a show of rolling her eyes, she said, “No, you didn’t scandalize me. I may be a female, but I’m hardly going to faint at the sight of a man’s forearms.” No matter how nice said forearms were.

“Really? What would cause you faint, then? A bit of bicep, perhaps? A glimpse of chest?” He finished with his sleeves and settled his hands on his waist with a rakish half-smile. “Either of those can be arranged.”

Oh heavens. She swallowed against the unwelcome flutter of nerves that thought elicited. Exasperated, she threw him an annoyed look. “And now you’re just trying to shock me. I thought I was supposed to consider you a
tutor
.” Still, she had to work to keep her eyes trained on his. His biceps? His
chest
? After glimpsing the splendor of his arms, she could only imagine what his chest would look like. The powerful build of a draft horse came to mind.

“Just a little harmless teasing. You English need to lighten up a bit. I’m sure in your circles, it’s considered vulgar to even say the word
chest
.”

“It’s vulgar in most circles, my lord. I assure you.”

“Oh? And I’m sure you’re very worldly, tucked away in your idyllic little corner of England. You’ve seen what, three or four counties in your life?”

It was three, but she wasn’t about to confirm it for him. She crossed her arms. “I may not be well traveled, but I can assure you, I am very well read.”

He didn’t quite roll his eyes, but it was close enough. “And do your gossip columns and novels give you vast insight into the human condition? That hardly compares with the knowledge one gains by actually experiencing a place. By interacting with people who are foreign to you and participating in cultures other than your own.”

He couldn’t know how desperately she wished to travel, how much she wished she could break free from the prison of Papa’s anxiety and experience what the world had to offer. Even knowing all the terrible things that people did to each other, thanks to the grisly reports in the paper, even living with the consequences of her mother’s attack, she still felt the heady pull of adventure thrumming in her veins. “You are determined to feel superior to me, aren’t you? It doesn’t matter that I read newspapers,
not
gossip columns, and am better versed in current events than most men. I don’t branch out from my home county, and therefore, I’m fit to be mocked.”

“Not mocked. Educated.” He lifted his hands, palms out. “And you couldn’t ask for a better teacher. I’ve had years of training in boxing, as well as some less civilized fighting. Should you ever decide to branch out from this little world of yours, I’ll feel better knowing your can hold your own.”

Out of nowhere, icy echoes of pain ghosted through her heart. Would things have been different if Mama had been taught to protect herself? Would she still be here today? Out of habit, Amelia’s fingers slipped into her pocket and closed around the reassuring weight of the pistol’s brass hilt. She was safe. She could take care of herself. And as much as she didn’t want to admit it to him, these lessons might actually help.

Drawing a steadying breath, she nodded to Lord Winters. “Very well. Consider me your willing student.”

***

It had been a gamble, coming here this morning. Gabriel couldn’t know if she walked at the same time every day or even on the same route. And if, by chance, she did come by, he had no way of knowing if he’d actually be able to convince him to let her help. Particularly since she didn’t know that he knew about her situation, and
especially
because of how they had parted yesterday.

But yet, somehow it had paid off.

She was right on all accounts: It was improper, imprudent, and certainly not the most intelligent thing for a man who wished to avoid the parson’s noose at all costs. But she was remarkable, and damn it, he wanted to help her in some small way.

He smiled, genuinely this time, and nodded. “Excellent. Let us start with making a fist.”

She scrunched up her nose as if he’d insulted her. “We needn’t start as low as that. I know how to make a fist, thank you very much.”

Smiling amicably, he said. “Mmhmm. Prove it.”

Pursing her lips, she sighed and held up a clenched hand. Predictably, her thumb was tucked beneath her other fingers.

“You do not know how to make a fist; you know how to break a thumb.”

“What?” She snatched her hand back, twisting her wrist in order to get a better look at it. “This is a fist, Lord Winters. Hand in ball. How else could you do it?”

“Relax your hand,” he ordered, and she promptly followed his direction. He stepped forward and slipped his fingers around her wrist. Her skin was warm and wickedly soft against his. He heard her sharp intake of air but pretended he didn’t. Otherwise, he’d have to release his hold, and he had no intention of doing that.

“‘Hand in ball’ is correct.” He curled her fingers into her palm, then gently tucked her thumb into place it. She gave no resistance, allowing him to guide her at will. Glancing to the fall of her dark eyelashes against her cheek as she looked down at their joined hands, he said, “You simply did the folding of fingers out of order.”

He didn’t move, even though his hand was still wrapped around her wrist. It was a light hold, the way one might idly curl one’s fingers around the end of an armrest, yet he could feel the flutter of her heartbeat hammering away beneath his palm. Had she ever been touched like this? She was no young miss, yet tucked away in this tiny community, had she ever had a beau? Had she ever wanted one?

She glanced up to meet his gaze, her eyes the color of the ocean on the most brilliant of spring days. Good God—when had he ever made that kind of comparison before? He was here to help her, not admire her eyes. Swallowing, he drew back his hand, Norton’s warning of last night flashing through his mind.

As if she were released from a spell, she blinked twice and looked back down. After a moment, she lifted her other hand and made another fist. “Better?” she asked, her voice slightly breathy.

He nodded. “Much.” He stepped back, trying to remember why they had fought yesterday. Things really had been going well before she pushed him away.

She really was unlike anyone he had ever met. He liked the idea of pushing her boundaries a bit. There were so few women who walked the line between proper and scandalous as she did, without fully committing to one or the other. To him, such ladies were the most interesting.

“Right then. Hands up.” He waited as she raised her properly formed fists. Compared to other females, her fingers were long and slender—just like the rest of her—but compared to the bear-paw hands of the men he was used to sparring with, her fists seemed delicate and absurdly feminine. The pretty blue-and-white gown didn’t help things. His lips ticked up in a small grin.

“What?” she said, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“Nothing,” he said, all innocence. He doubted if she would take it well if he told her how adorably ridiculous she looked just then. “Now, it’s important to position yourself so that you can be as well protected from a blow as possible.”

She promptly dropped her hands. “I’m going to get
hit
? Now, see, this is why I chose pistols. The person holding the gun will always have the upper hand.”

He pursed his lips. She wasn’t going to believe the importance of his lessons unless he proved it. “Take out your gun.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m your tutor and I asked you to.” He lifted an eyebrow, daring her to deny him. With an exaggerated sigh, she pulled the pistol from her skirts. He nodded his thanks. “All right, pretend I’m an attacker.”

“As much as you exasperate me,” she said dryly, “I’m not going to shoot you.”

“Never say I didn’t give you the chance.” He offered a little wink, and she rolled her eyes as she lifted the weapon and pointed it at him, her finger well clear of the trigger.

“Very well. I’m ready.”

Fast as lightning, he snatched the pistol from her hands and had it turned back around on her before she’d even registered what had happened. Her eyes sprang wide open in shock. She looked first at him, then to her empty hands, then to him again. “How in the world did you do that?”