“You don’t seriously expect me to hit you?”
But he nodded. “Wouldn’t hurt for you to learn a few things about defending yourself.” He lifted his chin. “Go ahead. Take your best shot.”
This was ridiculous.
Although not at all proper, the prospect of slamming her fist into Stone Spencer’s face was tempting enough for her to delay her return inside. Double the satisfaction if she could erase the smirk from his mouth.
She squeezed her fingers around her thumb, surprised to feel her heart racing. “You won’t hit me back?”
Anger flared in his eyes. “I’ll pretend you didn’t just ask me that.” Another flick of his chin. “Go on then. Give me your best.”
It had sounded so simple initially, the idea of throwing a punch. And it wasn’t as though he hadn’t provided her with proper motivation. But when push came to shove, all in all, the notion of punching his face felt rather awkward—and not at all fitting of a lady.
“Come on now,” he goaded her.
She raised her fist and tensed her muscles, garnering courage.
“Oh, that’s going to do wonders, when he reaches for your bodice and places his other hand on your—”
Tabetha stepped forward and sent her hand flying before he could utter another insulting word.
But she experienced no satisfying thwack. The blighter had captured her wrist in midair.
“First of all,” he said as though she hadn’t just tried to hit him, “remove your thumb from inside your fist.” Keeping one hand wrapped around her wrist, he repositioned her fist with the other.
Her hand all but disappeared in his.
“Instead of spending the time teaching her students to converse properly, paint a tolerable landscape, and other such nonsense, Lady Agatha ought to provide her students on how to handle a suitor who gets out of hand.” Frowning, he nudged one of her feet with the toe of his boot. “Ah, yes, I can see we’re going to need to work on this. Perhaps we can stop somewhere when I take you driving tomorrow.”
“I’m not about to spar with you in Hyde Park during the driving hour.” Tabetha jerked her hand free, startled at the sparks of awareness his touch had sent through her. “I’m fine.”
“In the future, keep your thumb out. And don’t be afraid to use both hands. And step into it.” He illustrated his instructions, not quite on his toes, but with a bouncing step.
“If you can’t stop a punch, redirect it—deflect it.” He punched his hand toward her mockingly, and she waved a hand, pushing it away.
“There you go.” He teased her with another, tapping this one along her chin. “And don’t discount the value of ducking.”
She scowled at him. “Duck yourself, Stone Spencer.”
He grinned and then pretended to take another swing, barely grazing his fist along her chin. “Redirect and duck.”
He was enjoying this.
“I’ll remember that.”
He shot out a hand slowly, and she pushed it aside. She refused, however, to duck.
“Like that.” The dratted gent jerked his chin in approval.
“I’m returning inside now, Mr. Spencer.” If anyone were to catch her pretending to box with this blighter, her reputation—which was only just recovering from her sister’s unfortunate scandal not quite a month before—could suffer irreparable harm.
And she didn’t want to keep the duke waiting.
Mr. Spencer ceased his dancing around and glanced toward the doors to the ballroom. She couldn’t help but notice his jaw ticking. “Run along then,My Lady. The next set is about to begin. We can’t have you spoiling your chance at becoming a duchess.”
He was right, and yet he couldn’t have sounded any more insulting.
She turned abruptly to go but his voice mocked her one last time.
