Manor for Sale, Baron Included: A Victorian Romance (A Romance of Rank Book 1)

by Esther Hatch

  “You made the right choice on those.” He said with a nod. “This is Victoria’s home now.”

  Miss Duncan blinked rapidly for a moment, then cleared her throat and turned to him. “Show me how to punch someone so that they will fall like Mr. Ashton just did.”

  He smiled. “You forget yourself, Miss Duncan. Victoria is miles ahead of you. You don’t get to start with learning punches.”

  “What?” She shoved his shoulder softly. The memory of her fingers toying with the fabric of his waistcoat during their first meeting flashed through his mind. She was so comfortable with him. Was she this way with all men? “I don’t even get to learn one punch?”

  He put a hand to his middle where she had punched him earlier. “I believe you are a natural at striking. Most people can hit someone if they really want to. We are going to work on something that may come to you less naturally: footwork.”

  “Ah,” said Miss Duncan. She now comprehended the true reason she was taking her lesson separate from her sister, other than the fact that Victoria had seemed to want to get the two of them alone.

  Bless her.

  “Boxing is like dancing. You have to remain light on your feet, always ready to pivot and turn in another direction if needed. Your knees should always be bent and ready to push to either side.” He stood on the balls of his feet and bent at the waist, his arms instinctually raising to put his hands in a position to either block or land a blow. “Bend at the waist like this, arms up, and watch the person in front of you. That is the first lesson in boxing: how to move, and how to stand. Victoria got to skip all of these lessons. She has the distinct advantage of being very hard to send to the ground. But you, my dear, must start from the beginning.”

  The “my dear” slipped out without thinking. He had never taught a woman to box before. Victoria was a girl, which was very different. Miss Duncan hadn’t seemed to notice, though—a fact that didn’t disappoint him. It was as if calling her by an endearment wasn’t astonishing to her.

  Miss Duncan nodded her head and bent at the waist. She lifted her skirts slightly so he could see her feet moving about in the small bouncing steps he had illustrated.

  “Yes, that is good. You are a natural, just like your sister. Now, stop holding on to your skirt and put your hands up like mine.” She did as he said. He wasn’t sure why she had agreed to take a boxing lesson, but now that she was here, he could see that she was enjoying it. The slight wind pulled at the few curls that had escaped her coiffure.

  “Like this?” she asked. She was still dancing around, bouncing softly from foot to foot. Her arms were up but bent at ninety-degree angles instead of being out more in front of her.

  “Almost.” He stepped forward, conscious of his rough hands, but she would have to see them at some point. Her eyes followed his movements like a deer watching a hunter. He adapted to that philosophy and moved slowly so as not to scare her. He engulfed her small fist, not much larger than Victoria’s in his thick, scarred hands. Hers were softer than the silk of his favorite waistcoat and just slightly cooler than his hands. “Do you favor your left or your right hand?”

  “Right,” she said so softly he nearly missed it.

  He gently moved her hand up higher, taking her elbow in his other hand and positioning it to a wider angle. He then did the same with her left arm, only leaving that one slightly lower. Stepping away, he surveyed his handy work.

  Her form was good. “Have you ever seen men box?”

  “Definitely not.”

  “The actual striking of one’s opponent comes in bursts. Until one of them makes the decision to attack, usually the two men will dance around each other, looking for a moment of distraction or an opening.”

  “Like I was dancing before?”

  “Yes.”

  Miss Duncan kept her arms raised as he had shown her. She narrowed one eye just as he had seen many sparring opponents do. But on her, it was different. She was most likely trying to be intimidating, but he was more charmed than anything. He kept the line of his mouth straight. The last thing a boxing student wanted was to not be taken seriously. He began circling to his right and she followed.

  “Bright girl.”

  Her lips spread in a grin. “I can’t allow you to find an opening.”

  When she spoke her arms dropped slightly. He stepped in, closing the distance between them, and placed a soft jab onto her shoulder—a touch only, just enough to let her know she had let her guard down. She raised her arm to block but she was too late; all she could do was push his arm aside and away from her.

  “You dare strike a woman?” she asked in mock affront.

  “I do not dare. That is why I simply tapped you.”

  Miss Duncan took two quick steps forward and he threw himself to his left to avoid her. She grinned at his avoidance of her. “I don’t plan on holding back.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to, but you will have to find an opening first.”

  “You don’t think I can?” Her left arm was dropping, leaving open a hit to the body. He stepped in, but she was more prepared this time and took a quick step back. If he hadn’t been pulling his punches, he might have been able to land that one. Instead his hand met only air.

  Miss Duncan’s soft laughter was so out of place in his world of boxing that he landed flat on his left foot. If she hadn’t been so delighted with herself about missing his jab, she could have caught his kidneys with a quick hook. But she hadn’t noticed him losing his rhythm. He stepped away and went back to his defensive stance once again. “Well done.”

  She grinned. “Thank you.”

  “You could have capitalized on my missed hit, though. There is a reason why the blows come in bursts. Once one person strikes, there are usually all kinds of openings to look for.”

  “But you haven’t taught me hitting yet.”

  “What is this? The great Sally Duncan, former owner of British Vermillion Textiles is making excuses. I wouldn’t have thought you capable of it.”

  Her eyes narrowed and this time it was not in a charming way. He knew that look: pure determination. Miss Duncan wasn’t going to be satisfied until she had landed at least one solid punch.

  Come to think of it, it was still charming. Not only that, but her determination worked significantly in his favor. Not much more than an hour had passed when Victoria and Mr. Ashton made their way to the winter garden. Miss Duncan dropped her arms from her fighting position.

  “Have you already finished your lesson?” Miss Duncan asked, looking reluctant to end the lesson without having landed a punch.

  “It is starting to get dark. And Mr. Ashton is getting tired of me landing punches.”.” Victoria looked fairly smug at this announcement.

  It was starting to get dark; how had he not noticed? Miss Duncan turned to Jonathan. Her eyes darted over him: stomach, arms, jaw, shoulders; all the places she had tried unsuccessfully to hit him. Finally she met his eyes. “We’ll continue tomorrow, then.” It wasn’t a question.

  She picked up the hideous paper and returned to the house with Victoria. When they were a good distance away, Mr. Ashton placed a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder. “We may have opened Pandora’s box teaching these two young ladies to box.”

  Chapter 14

  Over the course of the next week Jonathan sparred with Miss Duncan every afternoon, save only one drizzly day. She and Victoria would always come out together talking about their latest project in the home, but without fail Miss Duncan ended up with him and Victoria with Mr. Ashton, a situation he had no desire to change.

  Miss Duncan was usually the winner with verbal sparring, but sometimes he managed to unnerve her and get in a witty jab of his own. On those rare times when she couldn’t think of a quick retort, she’d purse her lips and turn away. But she didn’t always turn away in time, and more than once he caught a glimpse of the smiles she tried to hide.

  With the physical sparring, he definitely had the upper hand. She was a quick study and had made vast prog
ress over the week, but he had too much experience dodging jabs, uppercuts and hooks for any of her blows to reach her intended target.

  Besides, she had an enchanting tell. When she made up her mind to take a swing, she would narrow her eyes just before her arm moved. With that forewarning, even her improved skill and speed hadn’t been enough for her to land a jab.

  He had considered allowing her to hit him. It wouldn’t be difficult to move too slowly out of the way. but he knew no matter how well he covered his allowance of an opening, Miss Duncan would see through him. Not only that, her determination to land a punch kept her coming each day.

  Would she even show up again once she had bested him? This afternoon was similar to all the others, with Victoria and Mr. Ashton in the statuary while he and Miss Duncan continued their lesson in the winter garden. They danced around one another. She circled to the left, then slowed and crossed her left foot in front of her right and began circling the other way. He held her gaze as they moved about, waiting for her to make the first move.

  Finally he changed his stance—not much, but enough to allow her an opening. She saw it, ignored it, and continued circling. He raised an eyebrow and stepped closer, tightening the circle as they continued dancing. She did the same and suddenly they were too close. Neither of them would have to step to throw a punch. It was a position he would never allow himself to be in if this were an actual fight, but with only a few feet keeping them apart he could truly study her face. Her eyes returned his gaze, but now one eyebrow was raised as if in challenge. Different moves kept playing in his mind—different ways he could topple her without so much as breaking a sweat, but instead he found himself circling and waiting, waiting for the telltale narrowing of her eyes to indicate she was going to throw a punch.

  And there it was. She pulled back her right arm slowly enough he could have landed a blow on her chin, but instead he waited to see what she would try. She jabbed her fist forward, aiming for his waist. With her intent so obvious, he sidestepped out of the way. She grunted in frustration, once again leaving the delicate skin of her cheek open. He was going to have to take that shot at some point, but touching Miss Duncan’s face? It was too intimate, surely.

  She went for him again, this time with her left hand, which was smart of her. If he was completely untrained he might have missed her movement, but once again he stepped away and blocked her punch with his arm.

  She tried three more times to hit him—once on the belly and twice aimed at his face, but she never landed anything. Her breath was coming rapidly, and a few more tendrils of her hair had fallen out. Miss Duncan lowered her head slightly, a sure sign she would be going for his body next.

  She swung. He sidestepped and this time he didn’t hesitate. He had ignored this opening for days. He gently brushed his thumb along her cheekbone in a quick smooth movement, and on the way back caught the tendrils of her hair. The soft curl slid through his fingertips, silken like the petals of the flower she had granted him in the garden.

  He shouldn’t have done that. The tips of his fingers tingled from the contact. He was supposed to be teaching her boxing, not finding excuses to feel the soft curl of that delicate hair just behind her ear.

  Miss Duncan stepped back and stopped dancing.

  His heart, which had been beating wildly, stopped. Had he offended her completely? Was she disgusted with his ungentlemanly behavior? What if she wanted to stop their lessons? He would have to resort to chasing Bernard over to her property in hopes of getting a glance at her again.

  She tipped her head to one side and examined him. She touched her hair. “I just need one moment. I have a few pins that are irritating my head while I dance about.”

  He hadn’t thought of that. Her skirt seemed quite cumbersome and he did wonder how she was so light on her feet while wearing all the garments that ladies did. On top of that her head had grown uncomfortable. Men did have some advantages besides strength when it came to boxing.

  He put his hands down and waited for her to adjust the pins.

  A long lock of dark hair cascaded down Miss Duncan’s back. Jonathan sucked in a breath. She moved her fingers to another part of her head, and a few more thick locks fell nearly to her waist. Each time she removed a pin, she would slide it onto the belt she was wearing on her waist. She wasn’t readjusting the pins; she was removing them.

  How exactly was he supposed to concentrate on boxing if Miss Duncan’s hair was down?

  Blasted smart woman. She had seen exactly how distracted he was by those few small tendrils and now she was going to take full advantage of that fact.

  “Lord Farnsworth.” She still had her hand in her hair, even though more than half of it was now free from the intricate styling.

  “Yes.” Why was his voice hoarse?

  “I’m so used to having my lady’s maid do things like this that I’m not good at it myself. I can’t seem to find one pin.” She turned her back to him. “Do you mind removing this last one?”

  He swallowed hard. That seemed like a very bad idea. He glanced up at the balcony of the house. No servants were outside, but what if one of them was watching through the window? Mr. Ashton and Victoria were still in sight, but they were busy working on jabs. “You want me to act as your lady’s maid?” He pretended to be affronted. Better to pretend jest than to pull that last pin from her hair.

  Her hair was dark—very dark, but it still managed to shine in the sunlight. When it fell from her coiffure, it fell in long, curling waves. A small part of one side was still up and his fingers itched to help her and see it join the rest of her hair.

  But that was a task for her maid. Or perhaps someday for her husband.

  Oh.

  He stepped back.

  “Lord Farnsworth?” She craned her neck around to see what he was doing. “Don’t be silly, you look nothing like my maid. Now stop moving backward and help me with this last pin so we can return to our lesson.”

  Was he being silly? He stepped forward, but the closer he got to that hair of hers, the more certain he was that he was not being silly—not at all. Undoing that hair would be extremely intimate.

  She was impatient with his slow progress and with a huff stepped over to him. “The last pin is somewhere above my left ear, but I can’t seem to find it. She spun and leaned her head back so that the top of it was only inches from his. “Do you see it?” she asked.

  His hands shook slightly as he raised them to the top of her hair. He could still leave. He could claim that Bernard needed to be fed or that he needed to tell Mr. Ashton something...anything. But he forged ahead. In a matter of weeks, something as mundane as taking a pin out of his wife’s hair would be no strange thing.

  He may as well become accustomed to it now.

  His fingertips were less than an inch away from her, but he couldn’t actually make them close the distance. Miss Duncan leaned her head back farther, and suddenly his lack of movement didn’t matter, for she had caused his fingers to land on top of her head.

  His fingers were encompassed by her rose petal hair. He didn’t dare move for fear he would end up running his hands down the length of her hair, following every twist and turn until his palm lay empty at her waist. He swallowed, then took a deep breath, closed his eyes and willed his hands to remain where they were.

  “A little to the left,” Miss Duncan said as if he were merely positioning a piece of furniture or hanging a painting on a wall. Ah, yes, his hands were in her hair for a reason, and it wasn’t the reason that was flashing through his mind at the moment. He pressed his fingertips around in her hair trying to find that last remaining pin. It had to be in there somewhere. Her hair couldn't have stayed up if it wasn’t. Just when he was about to give up and tell her to find her own blasted pin, his fingertip bumped a thin rounded object just at the nape of her neck.

  He grabbed the pin between his thumb and finger and carefully tugged. He had no sisters and his mother hadn’t ever asked him to help with her hair. Was he even do
ing this right? He didn’t want to hurt her.

  “I did it,” he said and held up the thin metal pin in triumph. The last of her silken hair tumbled down and swung into position like the last leaf of autumn joining its comrades on the forest floor.

  Miss Duncan spun and slammed her fist into his stomach.

  “Oof.” He doubled over, breath gone. Miss Duncan snagged the pin from his hand and placed it on her belt to join the others.

  She raised an eyebrow and leaned over him, a smug half-smile on her face. “I told you I could land one punch. I suppose today’s lesson is over now.”

  Jonathan held out a hand and straightened. His abdomen still smarted, but it wouldn’t for long; he had taken much worse. Still, her strike had caught him unawares and it had been solid. Miss Duncan had more talent for boxing than he had assumed. “This lesson is far from over, and you didn’t win. In order to win, you have to play fair.”

  “Didn’t I play fair?”

  “You distracted me with your hair.” She furrowed her brows and lowered her chin, giving him a look that screamed he was a nuisance to women. “Pin.” He added lamely. “You distracted me with that hair pin.”

  She pursed her lips together. “And that is an official rule? An opponent cannot ask you to remove a pin from their hair?”

  “Of course that isn’t a rule. Who would make such a ridiculous rule?”

  “So I won then.” This time she raised both her eyebrows as if what she wanted most in the world was for him to contradict her. She was ready for another war, and this one wouldn't involve fists. Intellect was her strength just as his was his fists. He would not win in that battle—not against Sally Duncan.

  “Fine, you won.”

  The smile that sentence brought to her face made him second-guess his decision to marry her. No woman should want to win against her husband quite that badly.

  But that smile also solidified something in his heart: Sally Duncan would always keep him on his toes. He would be dancing about in circles trying to keep abreast of what she was planning and then she would distract him. She would easily distract him, for the longer he spent in her presence, the harder it was for his mind to concentrate on anything else. And while he was caught off-guard by the softness of her hair or the different hues of her eyes, she would hammer him in the gut, and then give him that deuced smile.