by Liz Tyner
‘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.’
He chuckled, softer, yet more lethal to her insides. ‘Perhaps, but she didn’t like to be disturbed at tea time.’ He leaned forward. His breath tickling her skin. ‘I would not have dared to wake her in the night.’
‘Oh.’
He’d unbalanced her and she didn’t quite know how he’d done it. She reached out, clasping his arm, and the skin of his forearm was soft. So much softer than she’d imagined, except she could feel—she could feel his muscles underneath. Almost to the blood pulsing in his veins and the very life of him.
She pretended to examine the mark about the width of a thumbnail, yet longer—but all she could think of was how alive he was. A tower of strength and thoughts and so much more and she didn’t understand any of it. How could one person have so much energy inside himself that she could feel it rushing into her body? So much strength inside him. Surely it was an accident. Surely.
He said something.
Her eyes moved upwards. ‘Of course.’ The response seemed to satisfy him and he didn’t even seem aware she touched him. She dropped his arm and moved back, but she was still thinking about skin. And one patch of it. With a scar in the middle. The scar was sad, of course—what she remembered of it. But the surrounding area just looked...warm.
‘You’d be best to stay near a chaperon at all times. Sleep with a maid nearby. A sturdy one.’ He raised his hand, touching the back of his forearm. ‘One who looks like she could pull a tree up by the roots.’
‘I’ve only met one person like that. A friend of my maid’s.’ The woman who would help Annie leave.
He raised a brow.
‘A—’ One did not associate with friends of the servants. Normally. And she didn’t want to lie. She looked down. ‘She’s a woman who can help with female pains.’ That was safer than telling him the crone claimed herself able to help any female with any ache, large or small, for a price.
‘If you have female pains, speak with Gavin. He is a good physician. The best. No matter how he acts.’
‘Oh.’ She looked at his face, and caught him studying her. Usually, mentioning any female pain sent her father into the next room.
Barrett’s eyes moved to half-open and he chose his words. ‘Now I realise, with the physician so close, it’s possible he might have diagnosed you with an ailment or two. But if he says you’re cured, you’re cured.’
‘I don’t like him.’
‘I understand. He annoys me. But he’s a sight more upstanding than I am. I possibly was switched at birth for a lightskirt’s son.’
She studied his face. An odd thing for him to say. ‘You do know him?’
‘We’ve met. Before your mother patronised him, he took care of my father. On occasion, he takes care of him still.’
She nodded. That explained why the two men were talking. But then she felt that feelin
g he’d told her not to ignore. The one that told her something was different than she thought. ‘And where did you meet?’
His eyes smiled again, daring her. ‘At a brothel?’ His brows darted up.
She examined his face and she knew he jested at her.
‘Gavin and I are the same age,’ he said. ‘I suppose we were about eleven or twelve when we met. At the brothel.’ Then he smiled again. ‘Don’t let me paint a wrong picture of the good physician.’ He shook his head. ‘The man would not touch a fallen woman if his life depended on it. He has the morals of a saint. I offered to pay for an—excursion—for him once and he declined.’ He touched his cheek. ‘I really should have been paying closer attention. He almost broke my jaw, but I deserved it.’ He chuckled.
She just stood there, unsure of the turn of the conversation. She didn’t get the jest he’d made. And he’d admitted to offering to pay for an—excursion. There was another world out there she didn’t understand.
‘Now let us see if you can break my jaw,’ he said, turning and grabbing a pillow and holding it at his side.
‘Wake up, Annie—’ he leaned so close she could not have fallen asleep if her life depended on it ‘—then punch.’
Her eyes and brain began to work together again.
She imagined the scar. His grandmother could not have done that. He must have been lying.
He moved the pillow higher. She tossed out a fist. So the man was a liar. Wonderful. She let out a tiny huff. A liar.
He stopped movement and looked at her, shaking his head. ‘Give it some pepper.’
She tried again.
‘The pillow is tougher than you are.’
She swung harder. Take that.
He moved it around. ‘Remember to look at my face when you strike out. Watch me. Not where your fist is going. Surprise. Is. Everything.’ His voice softened, but gained strength. ‘When you are the smaller person, surprise and wits are all you have. You have to use them.’
She dropped her shoulders. ‘I could never defend myself. I can’t.’
He brushed the pillow against her nose. ‘You can’t. Because men are so much smarter than women. No woman has ever been smarter than any man ever.’
‘You’re just saying that to taunt me.’ She moved forward, kept her eyes on his, and, with only a bit of pressure, stomped his toe. ‘Did you feel that?’
He smiled. ‘Better. Now hit the pillow like you mean it.’
She punched and kept her eyes on him. Then she swung again, following the pillow from the corner of her vision.
She hit until tendrils of hair plastered to her forehead. She reached up, brushing a lock from her vision, and then she looked at her hand. ‘My arm hurts.’
Strands of his hair had spiked and he heaved in a breath. ‘It’s work learning to defend yourself. Now all you need to do is practise.’
‘Can we practise tomorrow?’
‘I need to leave. I have to return to my own home.’
‘Well, I suppose that I am fully prepared to defend myself.’ Although she didn’t feel it. She would have to work on practising in her room. Anything could happen when she went north.
‘Against anyone younger than five years old,’ he said. ‘And don’t stomp my foot again.’
He held the pillow up. ‘Get a maid to help you with this.’
She shook her head. ‘We tried. Myrtle is the only maid I trust, but she gets confused. I will have to convince her that I’m not angry and that it’s a new soirée dance.’
He held out one finger. ‘Don’t forget. A man is sensitive in his private parts.’
She raised both her hands, palms up, and shook her head. ‘I am not going near there.’
He grunted. ‘I understand why your parents seclude you. It is for your own good.’
She clenched her jaw. ‘I am not a bad person.’
‘Well, so you’re not. That doesn’t mean there aren’t bad people out there. You can’t defend yourself, even against a five-year-old, if you’re afraid to muss your hair.’
‘I couldn’t hit a man in such a place. It’s indecent.’
‘Oh, my. How could anyone bear to be indecent?’
He then put his hands behind his back and bowed to her, still holding the pillow. ‘I beg your pardon, but I can have you ready to knee my knots all the way to Elba within a few minutes.’
He put distance between them. ‘But that’s not what you need to learn. Now I want you to punch me. Straight.’
He held the pillow at his chest. ‘Don’t use all the strength in your punch. The movement is what you’re practising. If you’re prepared and something truly happens, in the moment, your body will take over and you’ll hit with all you have. Your arm will ache afterwards, but you’ll be safe. And look at my face.’
She punched out.
‘Again,’ he said.
She hit and he moved the pillow to deflect the blow. Then she stumbled on her skirt, caught her balance and swung to the side. He blocked the thrust. ‘I could do better than that before I was birthed.’
She slugged again, this time for his face. Her hand brushed his hair as he pivoted to the side.
‘Infant.’
Again she swung, going right for the face. She missed as he leaned back.
‘Do not pause as you get close. And you’re like a windmill again. Do not let your anger override your fist. Hit straight.’ He made a fist and touched under his chin. ‘If you go with an upward movement here, it can take less force to knock a man back.’
She looked into his eyes. They stared back.
‘Don’t swing and hit my head.’ He thumped his forehead.
‘I would not hurt you.’
He laughed. ‘It is your hand we are concerned about. Heads are blocks of bone. A nose, a chin, a jaw and the temples are the places to aim for. Your hand will almost splinter if you punch my head. It’s blasted hard.’
‘I would imagine.’
Their eyes locked. Her breath came in rapid bursts. That lopsided smile he gave her held her close.
‘Pay attention,’ he said, diverting her attention. ‘I will not let you knock me out. Just go for it and don’t pull the punch. I’ll move. But you have to be ready with a second attack.’
She moved her fist backwards and then jabbed forward, throwing her weight into the punch. He caught the punch with the pillow.
‘Again. Follow up.’ She lunged with her fist, her whole body pivoting into the thrust.
‘Annie.’ Her father’s shout rang in the air. ‘Mr Barrett. What is the meaning of this?’
Her father stood in the doorway, still holding playing cards. The physician stepped behind him. Her father walked into the room, his eyes goggling and his mouth still open after he spoke.
She jumped back. ‘Nothing, Father. Nothing. We were just talking.’
Barrett glanced at her, gave her a half-second, exasperated stare as if to say talking? ‘I was teaching Miss Annie how to defend herself.’
‘Outrageous. Impossible. Insensible. In my own house. Under my roof.’ Her father sputtered, slinging the cards to the floor. His jaw wavered before he spoke. ‘I cannot believe a guest in my house would do such a thing.’ His voice rose. ‘Annabelle. Go to your room this instant.’
Annie took a step forward. ‘Which one?’
Barrett held out an arm, blocking her path. ‘She’s a woman. She has no brothers. She needs to know what the world is like should she ever be on her own.’
‘I...’ Her father’s face turned red to his ears. His shoulders tightened and he glared at Barrett. ‘She is my daughter. And you will not be teaching her what the world is like.’
Barrett’s chin went up. His stance firmed and his arm dropped, but it didn’t loosen. His chin jutted and he turned his head so that he looked at her father with a sideways glare. ‘The wo
rld is not all tea and biscuits.’
Her father sputtered. ‘Why, it could lead to...anything.’
‘Not with Mr Barrett,’ Gavin inserted before Barrett could answer, having appeared from the doorway. ‘He, uh, has a very delicate—improper to discuss in front of a lady—condition.’ Gavin spoke softly. ‘Sort of a delicate condition of the glands which causes a specific part of the male anatomy to be non-functional.’
Silence.
Her father stared at Barrett.
Barrett took a step towards her father, but he looked straight into Gavin’s eyes and Gavin moved so that her father stood between him and Barrett.
Gavin peered around her father’s shoulder. ‘Barrett, as your physician, I assure you it’s not altogether uncommon. Many men are im—Well, spared the rod, so to speak.’
Annie stared from one man’s face to the other. Everyone had some affliction. She didn’t see why one more added to the mix caused any irritation.
Chapter Six
Barrett shot a look at Gavin.
‘Gavin. Let us not discuss this subject in front of Miss Annabelle. To my room.’ Barrett bit out the words, fighting to keep from pulling Gavin outside by the neck.
Gavin dashed for the door.
Barrett looked at Mr Carson. ‘If you’ve any problem with any occurrence in this room tonight, I suggest you take it up with me. I began this.’
‘You’re only half-dressed. I know what you had in mind.’ Then his eyes flickered. ‘Er, uh... A cure.’
‘What I had in mind was to get back to my bed alone and try to get it through Miss Annie’s head that should she find herself unprotected, she will have to depend on her own resources to save her. I do not need a cure.’ His voice lowered. ‘If I’d had something else in mind, the scenario would have been quite different. I assure you.’
‘But you can’t—’
‘Never mind,’ Barrett growled, jerked his head to indicate his brother precede him and stalked after the man. Gavin rushed to Barrett’s room.
Barrett moved behind Gavin. He crashed into his room, kicking the door shut behind him to prevent them from being overheard. Gavin had lodged himself behind a chair.
