Page 20 of When He Was Wicked
“I understand,” she replied huskily.
“Good.”
Then he moved with swiftness and grabbed her from behind. A loud roaring sounded in her ears and she panted furiously.
“Relax,” he murmured, his tone gentle and soothing as if he spoke to a skittish horse. “It is only me. That panic you are feeling now…that helplessness, breathe through it, and take control of the situation. You can drop your weight. The surprise of it will break my grip.”
She complied and they tumbled. They repeated the exercise with him showing her various ways to escape his unrelenting clutch. With each success her confidence grew, and somehow, so did the anger inside of her. At one point when he held her down, the sense of powerlessness had been so great she had screamed her rage and frustration. And had gone for his eyes, a very vulnerable spot as he had taught her.
He had recoiled from her with agile speed and grace and grinned at her proudly. “As I said, very quick pupil.”
“My lord! I could have hurt you,” she cried, considerably distressed.
“I do believe it is time you called me James, especially after almost plucking my eyes out.”
Verity gasped and the man laughed. “Very well…James.”
His eyes darkened. “Thank you, Verity.”
They had another brief period of rest. She drank more water, nibbled on a delicious sandwich, and then they were back at sparring. Several moments later, she rolled away from him and scrambled to her knees. Every muscle in her body was sore; she could manage only a pained shuffle. “We have been training for over two hours,” she panted.
“Your endurance needs improvement. Giving up?” he drawled.
Verity grinned, amazed she could feel so sore yet gloriously alive. “Never.”
At least another hour passed in a blur of learning where to hit, punching, kicking, resting in between, and eating oranges. Now they lay on the floor, and she felt worn. “I never knew boxing involved learning about kicking a man…a man…you knowwhere,” she muttered, horrified to realized she still blushed at that bit of knowledge.
“I am not teaching you boxing.”
She turned her head to where he too lay a few feet from her. He stared at the ceiling, and she studied his left profile. The man was astonishingly handsome.
“You are teaching me how to fight,” she murmured.
“Yes. And fighting is unfair, gritty, raw, and violent.”
Something unspoken lingered in the room, and she felt uneasy. “You do not think I am capable of…of fighting if required. I am tooladylikeand gentle,” she said, with a reproving glance at the earl.
Yet Verity acknowledged it was a deep fear in her heart. What if all this risk was for naught. What if she never used the skills she learned and worse…what if she was called upon to use them and could not. The shame of it would kill her.
“While you are an apt pupil, you are very delicate.”
“I am stronger than I appear,” she snapped.
“Perhaps. If your brother will not defend your dignity when needed, a husband would.”
“A marriage will be announced soon.”
He jerked as if he’d been slapped.
“You are engaged?”
“No, but I am aware of the man whom I wish to marry. Well not the man himself but of his attributes and qualities.”
The corner of the earl’s mouth curled upward. “And what merits are pleasing to Lady Verity?” His smile was the most irresistible she had ever seen, and his tone was like dark velvet.
She blushed and looked away.
“Come now, your fierceness has been incurable so far, do not attempt shyness now.”
