Читать книгу To Win A Wallflower - Liz Tyner, Liz Tyner - Страница 13

Annie waited. And waited. She crossed her arms, sitting straight on the chair. Tapping her foot. He was taking his time. But she wasn’t going to go back and knock again. She would let him know just what she thought of him for keeping her waiting. She could tie a corset faster than he could manage a few waistcoat buttons.

She would tell him that surely combing a bit of hair didn’t take nearly as long as putting it in a knot on top of the head.

Guilt grew in her, but she brushed it away. He thought she wanted to learn to defend herself in case something happened in her own household, but she wanted to be stronger in case a highwayman or a cutpurse might be in her path.

Punching out at a pillow was like punching a pillow. And poor Myrtle tried, but no matter how she rushed at Annie it was a little like swatting a gnat.

When he stood close, trembles of fear started inside her. Or something. It was not the same as Myrtle, who Annie feared she’d injure, or the pillow, which slept through the attack.

Goodness, he took his time.

Her mind stopped thinking of how long he’d taken when he strode into the room.

He hadn’t put on a waistcoat. He hadn’t tied a cravat at the neck of his shirt. He was bare—naked under his clothing—just like he’d been in the bedchamber.

It hadn’t seemed so wrong when she’d been the one trespassing. But for him to walk about in an area where anyone might see him... That little triangle at the top of his shirt, for instance, where the shadow made a V. That was frightful—frightfully fascinating.

She stood, the movement making her feel bigger and not quite so overpowered as she was in the chair.

She put her hands behind her back and clenched them into the fists he’d been talking about before, but she didn’t care whether the thumbs were on the inside or outside, just that her hands were secured.

He kept getting taller and broader in her eyes and that wasn’t possible. Her eyes told her his head didn’t touch the ceiling and he walked through the door frame easily enough, but still, he did seem bigger. Perhaps it was the darkness in his eyes.

She really should search out an undernourished footman to help practise her defence. That might be much—less daunting.

‘You took a bit of time to get here,’ she said, covering the lump in her throat with strength in her words.

‘I was hoping you’d tire of waiting and leave.’ His voice reverberated into the room. He looked past her and then at the floor, a small negative movement in his head. He had two pillows clasped in one hand. She didn’t know how she’d missed seeing those before.

He tossed the pillows on to the chair and one tumbled to the rug.

Whip-fast, he stood in front of her, hardly giving her legs any room between the chair and him.

He leaned closer, bringing the scent of a rosewater shaving soap so close she would never think of roses as delicate again. She could almost see the reflection of the thorns in his eyes. He moved closer and she had to tilt her head all the way back.

‘The first rule. The rule that is hard and fast—’

She’d read about pirates, but they’d all been worlds away. This man was in front of her and she didn’t quite know which direction to step. He surrounded her. And she couldn’t even see the V in his shirt and he wasn’t touching her, but her body didn’t know that. When she breathed in it seemed to pull him closer and closer, but he couldn’t actually be moving against her. His eyes held her in a vice.

The strength left her body, but she couldn’t fall back into the chair. His hand snaked around her and rested against the small of her back, trapping her upright. Lightning moved through her body and the sensations of his hand seared into her back.

‘The rule is to never, ever, put yourself in a position without thinking about whether it could be dangerous to you. Such as this one.’

‘This shouldn’t be dangerous.’ She croaked out the words. ‘You’re in my father’s house.’

‘You cannot depend on a father, a husband or a brother to protect you.’ His words were so close they no longer fanned against her cheek, but the air moved from his lips to hers. ‘They may avenge you, but by then, you can’t undo anything. You can only learn to live with it.’

‘If you wish to scare me, you are.’ But no matter how scared she was, she was going to make her own way.

‘I wish to terrify you.’ His voice scraped into the air. ‘You need to remember. You need to keep this inside you any time you hear a little warning voice and not let the fluffy curls your maid took hours perfecting swab that thought away. That little voice is there to keep you alive.’

Her heart pounded in her chest.

‘That warning voice you hear is the only voice in the world that can see to your interests. That warning voice is the heart telling you what the brain cannot fathom. It responds to a movement the corner of your eye caught, but the brain didn’t decipher. A smile that is fake. An arm with too much tension in it. Listen. To. It.’

She touched her neck. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘When your eyes are looking at fashion plates, the brain still functions. If someone walked into the room behind you and disturbed the air, the nose may get a whiff of the shaving soap—a scent that is too small for the brain to grasp. Instinct picks up on it. We are nothing more than animals that have formed better shelters. When you suddenly feel something is wrong, don’t brush away that thought. What if you act on it all the time and it is wrong half that? That’s still half that it helped you in a way nothing else could. What if it is right only one time out of a hundred and that is the time your life is saved?’

She shuddered. ‘You make the world sound so evil.’

‘Oh, dear me.’ He put a finger to the side of his lips. ‘I do believe it is.’ He cocked his head to the side.

‘You are a hideous man.’

‘I had a pint with a bodysnatcher once and I decided I’m not the only one who is. That is the problem. He told me if I’d pay him he’d prove it and deliver a body to my door—but I couldn’t keep it because he had a customer waiting for one. From the amount of dirt packed under his nails, I suspected he could do it.’

She didn’t move.

He swept a bow to her and then moved forward. ‘Prove to me that you can defend yourself.’ He grasped both her arms, enclosing her.

Her breath stopped.

‘Now fight back.’

She gulped air to be able to speak. ‘You’ve got my arms. I can’t move.’

‘What can you move?’ he asked.

‘Nothing.’

He stood, perfectly still. ‘Think about it.’

‘My legs. But they’ll tangle in my skirt. I can’t even kick.’

‘Then take your slipper and scrape down my leg. You’ll be able to stomp my foot that way.’

She moved, raising her leg, but he jumped back, pulling her off balance and towards him. ‘But not today, sweet. I may need to walk tomorrow.’

‘You need to let me go.’ She pulled at her arms, but he didn’t release her.

He lowered his voice. ‘I will.’ He shook his head and his voice softened. ‘But don’t you ever wake me again.’

‘I will never wake you again. Just let me go.’ She shook her arms, but he didn’t loosen.

‘One last thing. You have another weapon you’ve not used. And please take care. I plan to eat tomorrow and teeth are handy for that.’

She looked at him. He dropped her arms and stepped back.

‘Your head. That block of wood can do damage rising up to crash into my chin.’ He reached up and tapped at the side of his head. ‘And don’t forget about the weight of your body. You can drop your knee a bit and twist with your hip and turn towards me, taking some of the weight from your legs to pull me off balance if you can.’

He bent his knee and twisted, moving his shoulder down and around.

‘And you can surprise me. If I’m pulling you into me, then lunge against me, perhaps, to get me off balance. But whatever you do, try to stay off the ground. You can’t fight back well there. It’s possible, but you’re going to have to get up to escape and that takes time.’ His voice became a wisp. ‘You need to do everything you can to run to safety.’

She put her hand over his touch, regaining her own skin. ‘Were you just born knowing this?’

He laughed. ‘I’ve spent my fair share of time at Gentleman Jackson’s.’ He looked away, reminiscing about something. He put his hand to his neck, rubbing just under the collar, kneading the muscle. ‘And I don’t seem to feel pain like others.’ He chuckled. ‘A handy skill to have.’

‘Not feeling pain?’

‘Well, I’m aware of it. I know if someone twists my arm behind my back that it doesn’t feel well.’

‘Oh.’

‘It just doesn’t matter at the time. Or later. What matters is that I let someone get that close. They should be on the floor with my boot on their chest.’

‘Oh.’ She looked down at his toes. The first one was big and on the bony side. The others were thin, longish, though not well defined in the shadows. ‘It must take a lot of effort to get those into boots.’ She looked up. ‘I guess that’s why you didn’t wear them.’

‘It seemed a waste to put them on just to take them off again in a few moments.’

‘Of course.’ She raised her eyes, moving up the length of him.

‘Has anyone ever twisted your arm behind your back? Your sisters in play?’ His voice was flat.

She didn’t move, afraid to commit. ‘I should think it doesn’t hurt very much.’

‘Turn around.’

‘I think that might be breaking your first rule.’

‘Turn around.’ His eyes darkened and his voice roughened.

She studied his face and nothing inside her warned her about him. She turned around.

He put a light touch on her shoulder, only touching her with two fingertips. No other part of him neared her. His hand slid forward and down an inch. Sensations jumped inside her, tightening her stomach. Heat. Warmth. And a shiver from his breath on her neck. ‘Now, let me—’ His left hand touched her wrist, slowly clasping to hold her in a gentle vice.

She swallowed.

‘Relax.’ He shook her wrist a bit. ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’

She gasped.

‘Tell me when it hurts and I’ll stop.’

Gently he began pulling her arm behind her back. She tiptoed with the pressure. Then words rushed out. ‘Stop.’

He released her. She stumbled forward and then turned. He watched her.

She rubbed her arm. ‘You must have been around a lot of toughs in your youth.’ She spoke softly, slapping down the inner warning voice. The one her mother had instilled. ‘At the brothel?’

His head turned, as if he’d not heard her correctly. And his jaw relaxed. He seemed to have a moment finding words, but his eyes reflected humour.

‘Those were the good people.’ He laughed, his head falling back, and his eyes locked on the ceiling for a moment. The rumble of his voice stirred into her insides, causing a flutter.

‘Yes, I was around a lot of toughs. On a daily basis.’

He pushed up one sleeve and moved to the light. A scar ran the inside of his arm. She turned her eyes away. The man had a lot of skin.

‘It’s just a small one. Grandmama’s poker got me.’

She steeled herself and looked. A small indention. ‘Your grandmother cannot have been as bad as you claim.’