His face contorted into a mask of helpless aggravation. Nothing irked Lord Brockway more than being out of control. She’d gained the upper hand, and she reveled in it. Ginny swallowed back the surge of satisfaction. The first she’d experienced in what felt like her entire year of mourning. Perhaps in an entire decade. Since the day the Marquis of Brockway had abandoned her to the wrath of her parents after promising himself to her. To their future. The minute he’d walked away, the outcome of her fate had been sealed. Again, she had to squash the pain in her heart, recollecting his promise to return to her, with no information for his leaving. Her parents had managed to marry her off to Maudsley within a mere ten days. Right then, her life had stopped.
“They would havemeto protect them,” he said softly.
“You!” The shrill of her own surprise stung her ears. “And who was there when Maudsley left me for dead on my bedchamber floor?”
Devastation seared his features.
Still seated, Ginny swiveled her body in the opposite direction, her heart crushed with guilt. It was true that Brock hadn’t been there to stop the blows, but she hadn’t been his responsibility at that time, and yet hehadput himself in peril to save her life. She dropped her head. “Forgive me, I-I shouldn’t have said such a thing.” Her hairline tingled like an itch that wouldn’t go away. She brushed her fingers across it.
The quiet was palpable before he spoke. “What sort of things are you planning to teach them?”
She raised her gaze, gauging the sincerity of his question. His expression showed concerned curiosity rather than sarcasm or disdain. Ginny tossed the crumbled remnants of the sandwich she’d mutilated on a plate and poured a dash more tea, forgetting the liquid that now soaked the carpets, desperately wishing for brandy.
No one had ever asked her such a thing. Of course, Lorelei was the only person to whom she’d mentioned her half-cracked idea. “Well, for starters, I-I might advise them to watch out for strangers. Perhaps explain how to be aware of others when we take to the park. Things of that nature.” Her spoon tinged against her cup. “At some point, I-I would—” She stopped, knowing he was not going to be so amiable to the rest. She inhaled. Deep. “I would like them to learn escape measures.”
“Escape measures!”
Hackles raised, she went on the defense, steeled her spine. “I told you. This is none of your business.” She took a drink of her tea and frowned. Dropped in a lump of sugar and a splash of milk.
He stilled the cup in her trembling hands. “You’ve already added four lumps of sugar.” His chest puffed out as if he was holding back a string of curses. He leaned back into his chair and let out a long-held breath in a calm, steady stream. “Your scheme will never work, you know. They are girls.Very young girls.”
At least he appeared calm. Until he shoved a hand through his hair. The sight startled her, took her back years to a place she’d wished never to revisit. At one time she’d adored running her fingers through his chestnut locks.
“You need a trim, my lord and adorable marquis. You must sack your valet at once.”
His laugh bounded off the stable walls. She grabbed his overly long hair with both hands, bringing his mouth to hers in an open-mouthed kiss that curled her toes. He tumbled her back in the hay, hovering over her. She’d learned his instructions well.
“Ginny? What is it?” His husky tones raced through her.
“Wh-what?” Oh God. Had she moaned? Aloud? Her cup landed on the table with a clank. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”
“I’ll admit”—he spoke slowly, seeming to weigh his words—“your notion regarding Irene’s and Celia’s safety is a good one—”
She opened her mouth to argue, but he held out a palm, staying her.
“But it may not be enough.” With each word, his irritation grew more palpable.
She jumped up from her seat and set a path for the windows, blinking rapidly. “I don’t care what you say,” she returned softly. “I can teach them to save themselves. I-I don’t need your help.” But she was afraid that was exactly what she needed.
Two schools of thought shot through Brock. The first was that she belonged in Bedlam. The idea of teaching young girls to defend themselves was ludicrous. Secondly, she might as well have driven a stake through his heart with that comment of leaving her for dead. If he hadn’t abandoned her years before, her parents would have had to kill him to keep him away from her. But he’d been nowhere about as she’d so succinctly put.
They’d handed her off to Maudsley within a fortnight of his departure. She’d begged him to take her with him. Of course, he couldn’t have taken her to the continent. There’d been a war going on. Within two days of leaving her, he’d found himself on the trail of villains. Even he’d had no idea how dangerous they would turn out to be. He’d learned soon enough.
The guilt on his head might as well weigh eighteen stone. It was a mass heavy enough to bury and suffocate him. Ginny’s husband had beaten her and, yes, left her for dead. By sheer luck, Brock had been standing in Kimpton’s foyer when Ginny’s note had arrived declining Lady’s Kimpton’s invitation to accompany her to the Kimptons’ country home. Every instinct and hackle Brock possessed had vaulted to the heavens with the force of buckshot. He’d known instantly something was wrong—
Brock shook away the horrors of that day to concentrate on this newfangled whim of hers. He wracked his brain for a way to talk reason into his obstinate Amazon. He, more than anyone, knew how stubborn she could be. How the devil was he supposed to keep her safe with such a mad scheme? Not mad, he corrected. Formidable. A formidable scheme. One she wished to teach her children, for God’s sake. He studied her through veiled lids, her dark, rich mahogany locks secured to the nape of that long graceful neck that he’d never been able to eradicate from his dreams.
Maybe, admittedly, the idea wasn’t half bad—teaching girls a way to protect themselves might be brilliant, actually—of course, if society learned what she was about, she’d be laughed out of town all the way to the wilds of America.
Hell, even if it was a brilliant idea, how the devil did one go about instructing nine and five year olds from the nefarious minds of rapscallions?
If anything, this idea had merit in one particularly important way. One he couldn’t pass up. To raise his honor in Ginny’s eyes, and, by the saints, she was handing him the perfect opportunity. Something warm and new blossomed in his chest. Hope. Hope and opportunity. He rose to his feet. “If you’ll allow it, I shall assist you,” he said slowly. The key in reaching through to Ginny was not to come across as too eager.
Her demeanor morphed into instant suspicion. “In what way?”
Annoyance reared its head in a quick surge, but remaining calm was essential and he was not known for being an idiot—to most. “I’m not sure.” Then, through a jaw clenched with frustration, he said, “How should I know? It’s not like Gentleman Jackson posts advertisements in theGazettesaying he now hosts instructions for young ladies. I need to think.” He paced to the window and back. This was the devil of a conundrum, but he had an iron will of his own. And this was a fight he intended to win. Instructing the girls would put him directly in her daughters’ company, which meanthercompany. His lips twitched with maintaining his complacency. These lessons could go on for years…ifhe played his cards right. “I should be able to come up with something useful.” Then he remembered, he was leaving with Kimpton. Damn. “Unfortunately, I have to leave town for a few days. We shall begin the minute I return.”
She was quiet for a long while, studying him as if he were a bug under glass.
