Ben liked her boldness to ask him such questions. The ladies in thetonwould never think to be so honest and candid. They hired others to find out anything they wanted to know about his wealth.
“Mostly from farms, orchards, rents on my lands. I’ve been given a lot of land from the king. But most of it was my father’s. Thankfully, Lord Addinton didn’t get his hands on it.”
“So, you’re pretty rich,” she concluded.
“Yes.”
“What do you do with all that wealth?” she asked softly, glancing at him from beneath her veil of lashes. “Do you help or feed the poor, or, like Lady Prudence, do you consider the poor repulsive and beneath you?”
He flashed her an insulted look. But it was only to mask his guilt of ignoring the people she spoke of. “You’re poor, Fable. Do you think you repulse me?”
She smiled and shook her head, pardoning him and trusting him easily on his word.
He liked that it was so easy to make her happy. He liked that she didn’t dwell on Prudence’s unkind treatment. She seemed to even forget the man chasing her. He hadn’t, and hurried her along to the fencing house.
“What do you know about fencing?” he asked on the way.
“I know thin swords are involved and you get to say touche when you win!”
He laughed softly and then wondered how she’d managed to soften his armored heart so thoroughly.
“That’s part of it, yes,” he said with a nod and then a knowing curl of his lips. “Think of it more like a chess game. It’s the same, it’s outwitting your opponent. Being a step ahead–up here.” He pointed to his head.
“But we’re the chess pieces.”
His eyes danced across her face. “Yes.”
They entered the fencing house and saw that Sudbury and Prudence were already there.
After a brief greeting, Ben took Fable to the changing room and looked through the rows of clean white uniforms hanging neatly in an open wardrobe against the wall. He found the smallest one there, probably used by young John Frenton, his lieutenant’s brother.
“Put this on,” he said, handing her the uniform. “I’ll change around that bend.”
He found his uniform and walked off around a corner of the changing room. He began to undress, and the instant he did, she invaded every moment of his thoughts. He wished he were taking off his clothes for another reason. He remembered to breathe while he put on his white breeches and white military-style padded jacket, but she was there–in his head, happy while she ate, grateful while she sipped coffee, shining brightly while she soothed away his every care.
He blew out a deep breath and shook his head to clear it. This was no time to let his thoughts wander. He chose his foil and held his mask under his arm while he waited for her to finish changing.
He felt his iron control tightening his muscles by just being here. Fencing reigned in the warrior and helped him exercise his control as well as his speed. It was different when he practiced with his heavy sword, requiring the warrior to build muscles and stamina.
“Ready,” she sang rounding the corner to reach him.
Whatever he was thinking or imagining about her couldn’t compare with the vision of her. His eyes reveled in the sight of her in a uniform that hugged her body and showed offall her delicate female form. He felt his heart flip. It made him cough.
“It fits well,” he said like a fool.
He helped her choose her mask and a foil that felt comfortable in her small, gloved hand.
When they entered the fencing room, Prudence, who was there to watch Sudbury practice, gasped upon seeing Fable in a uniform. But when he turned to see how Fable was doing on the walk to the floor, he found her quickly looking away from him and blushing at being caught. She hadn’t even noticed Prudence and her disapproval. It made Ben smileagain.
After teaching her how to stand and what some words meant, she was eager to learn some moves. He stood beside her, and much to his sister’s indignation, showed her how to lunge and parry.
Being so close to her, holding her arms in the correct positions, feeling the heat of her cheek when he spoke against it, touching his fingers to her thighs to get her to spread her legs wider for a lunge, threatened to snap the iron control he prided himself on. He wiped his sweaty brow and fought to steady his breathing. What was wrong with him? All he could think of was holding her in his arms, kissing her. He rushed through the rest of the instruction and stepped away from her.
“Dip the blunt tip of your foil into that cup of ink,” he instructed her. “Everytime you land that tip on me, the point will be marked with an ink spot. Understand?”
She nodded, making her hair shimmer in the sunlight streaming in through the windows and muddling his senses.
As tradition dictated, he saluted her, and had her do the same before they put on their masks. He breathed and then forgot to again when she spoke.
