14. Chapter 14

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 weight through me."

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 bush behind 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.

Robert did not even flinch.

"Not bad," he said with a slight nod.

She stood, relaxing her shoulders. "I could do without the condescending tone."

"I wasn't being condescending. I meant it. That smarted."

She wanted his hand to more than just smart . "Shall we go again?"

"Yes, I think that is a good idea." He got into his previous stance, a lock of his fair brown hair trailing over his brow, askew from his efforts. "Do your worst."

"I do not believe you can handle my worst."

His mouth lifted into another heart-stopping smile before he narrowed his eyes and concentrated on his task. Louisa focused on his hand, readying her feet and imagining her fist thrusting right through to his face. And then she threw her fist forward with every last drop of strength she had.

And fly forward it did, past Robert's hand, and straight into his nose. His head snapped back, and his hand covered his nose and mouth as he bent forward.

"Blast, Louisa."

She ran forward. "I am sorry!" Putting a hand on his shoulder, she bent down to get a better look at what damage she had done. "I had imagined punching through your hand to your face and I suppose I must have inadvertently adjusted my aim—"

"Inadvertently?" He straightened, tipping his head back as he held his nose. Louisa saw a small strand of blood trickle down to his lip. "I would say thinking of my face is a very advertent thing indeed."

"I really am sorry." She looked about, trying to find something to stop up his nose.

"Inside my jacket." His words were muffled behind his hands.

She spun toward him. "What?"

"Inside my jacket there is a small pocket with a kerchief. My hands are covered with blood or else I would do it."

"Oh, of course." She pulled his jacket forward, ignoring the fluttering in her stomach as her hand grazed his chest. How could she have been so inept at punching as to miss the hand that had been directly in front of her and punch her husband in the face? Her fingers inched across his broad chest. "Which side?"

"The left." He sniffed, and she cringed at the sound of blood muffling his nose.

She ran her hand along, trying to find the pocket. Where in the blazes was it? How hard could a pocket be to find?

"I know my pugilism makes for a fine figure, Duchess, but the blood is beginning to drip off my hands."

She stopped, her mouth falling open as she gazed up at his face. One eye was clearly visible from behind his hand, and it was staring down at her. Was he . . . flirting with her?

Fine. If that was the way he wished to play it, two could play at his game.

Taking her time, Louisa slowly ran her hand along his chest. No, that was not where the pocket was, but his remark would make him pay. He did not seem the type who was comfortable with physical affection, and she planned to make him as uncomfortable as possible after what he said. His one eye widened as a result of her meandering. Finally, she found the kerchief, pulling it free with a flick of her wrist. "There." She held it out to him.

He released his hand from his nose, snatching the kerchief from her. "Thank you."

"How is your nose?" She ran her hand across his shoulder, then trailed her fingers up his neck.

He shuddered, his one eye shutting with her touch. He swallowed. "It will be fine."

"I am glad. I would hate to think I broke it. We cannot have your handsome face marred with imperfection." Her fingers teased the hair just above his ear and a low groan sounded behind his hand. His shoulders immediately tensed, and he took a small step back, color creeping into his cheeks.

It was gloriously delicious. Who knew it would be such fun to make a decidedly stiff man crack beneath her fingers?

"Excuse me." He cleared his throat, then tipped his head farther back, scrunching his lids tighter against the brightness of the sun. "I suppose my nose does hurt quite badly."

"Oh, I see." Liar. She knew very well what elicited that groan.

He tilted his chin back down, glancing at her. And then his eyes narrowed. Dangerously. "Is something funny to you?"

"No, of course not." But the smile in her voice was clear, and he seemed to notice. Perhaps her husband was beginning to know her better after all.

He took a step closer, lowering the kerchief from his face. Well, at least the bleeding seemed to have stopped. And then his hand lifted toward her waist. But just as she expected the soft weight of it, he pulled his arm back.

"Well," he said, bending slightly at the waist and looking to the ground. "That seems a good place to stop our lesson today. I'm not sure my nose could handle another blow of that magnitude."

"All right." She cleared her throat. "Shall we try again tomorrow?"

"Yes." He wiped his nose. "Tomorrow will be good."

Robert nodded, fisting the cloth in his hand as he strode away. As he left, and Louisa turned to watch him go, a flash in one of the upper windows caught her eye.

It seemed her mother-in-law had been watching their interlude.