“You need only name the day.”
Chapter fourteen
The sun shone brightly,birds singing and swooping in a romantic dance, bees drinking nectar from the garden’s blooms, and amidst all the light and happy things stood the duke showing Louisa the proper way to hold her hand in a fist.
“It still feels strange,” she protested.
Robert’s shoulders dropped, and he rolled his neck for the umpteenth time that morning. “It does not matter how it feels. What matters is the fact that your thumb will not break. And your feet.” He came closer, nudging her right foot with his to spread it farther.
“Please remind me why I thought this would be fun.”
“It is a matter of safety. I never said it would be fun.” But despite his words, he gave her a small grin before he stepped back into place. “Now, when you throw your fist, tuck your elbow into your side, and then as you bring your fist forward, you twist your shoulder. Like this.” He glanced back at her as he demonstrated the motion. “You see?”
Yes, she saw. But he did not seem to realize he himself was a very decided distraction. “I think I am ready to attempt it on a person.”
He raised a skeptical brow. “I am not sure you are.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about. But this whole process has made me very ready to punch someone.”
He wiped his mouth, trying to hide yet another smile. She wasn’t sure she had seen him smile so much in the entire month they had been married. “Very well. If you wish to try, I will be your aim.”
“Perfect.”
“Now, as you face me—”
“Yes, yes, I know. Firmly plant my feet shoulder width apart—”
“And when you throw your fist, think of thrusting your weightthroughme.”
Goodness. Their interruptions were starting to sound like a bickering married couple. “Am I aiming at your . . .” Her gaze trailed over his waistcoat.
“My hand.” He held a hand in the air, palm facing her, at the ready for her fist.
Louisa narrowed an eye, imagining his face on the palm of his hand. He was the most domineering tutor, and she wanted to shove her success in his face.
“Don’t get too cocky,” he warned.
She dropped her hand, throwing him a warning glance. “What makes you think I have any such feelings?”
“It is written all across your face.”
She squared her shoulders. “Nonsense. I am simply confident.”
“You were confident in the alleyway last week, and that did not fare too well for you.” His eyes gleamed, and she couldn’t decide if she wanted to laugh or push him into the thorny rose bushbehind him. Perhaps both. “Have you considered the possibility that the man had cheekbones of steel?”
“I highly doubt that. If anything, he looked a bit sallow.”
Her chin ticked to the side. “Put your hand back, please.”
He grinned as he slowly raised his hand back into place. “If you insist, Duchess.”
Her stomach clenched. How could it not, with a strong, handsome man calling her such a thing? He did not say it in a domineering way. He said it with a sort of intimacy. Louisa rolled her shoulder. “Your smiles are making me nervous.”
“Is this better?” He dropped the smile, his usual straight face taking residence once more.
She gave a quick nod. “Yes. Thank you, Your Grace. Now,” she said, raising her fist yet again, “let us get on with it.”
He hunched slightly, holding his hand up, and Louisa stared at it, picturing the face of the sallow alleyway man. And then she threw her fist with all her strength.
