He looks up, his smile almost sad. “I’d like that.”
We hold each other’s gaze for much too long, and I take a deep breath. “Well, now that you’ve made me feel like a proper artist, perhaps we should join the others?”
I turn to go, but he reaches for me. Before he can touch my arm in an overly familiar way, he seems to remember himself and withdraws at the last moment. “We have the whole day tomorrow before the ball—what will you be doing with your time?”
I think of the drawing and the fox’s words and the possibility of seeing my grandmother. “Oh, this and that,” I hedge. “I should look in on Rose to tell her the good news about Bath.”
“Plenty of time then, for a training session with your sensei.” He grins.
“Oh, I …” I struggle to think of an excuse, anything to avoid being alone with him again, but then I think of his moment of vulnerability and I find myself nodding. “Of course. When should we arrange it for?”
“Traditionally, we should meet just after dawn to start the day with vigorous exercise, but I suppose we can make allowances for breakfast.”
I laugh. “Yes, I’m afraid dawn is out of the question. I’d be absolutely worthless.”
“After breakfast then.” He smiles and hands me my drawing.
I return the smile even as jittery nerves fill my stomach. I tell myself these are due to my meeting with the grandmother from another realm I’ve never even laid eyes on.
But of course, I’m lying to myself again.
With Monsieur Giroux so close to St. James Square and Colin’s townhome, James and I elect to walk the next morning. Well, this is not precisely accurate. I decide to walk. James reluctantly gives in after trying several unsuccessful attempts to convince me to take a car or carriage or any other transportation, really, but walking. But with the sun still making a rare appearance, I hold firm.
We stroll arm-in-arm without the need for a chaperone since James has the benefit of being both friend and family. With my fencing uniform at Monsieur Giroux’s, I’m dressed rather smartly for our outing in a black-and-white striped tailored dress. My hat is fashionably wide-brimmed, so much so that I must tilt my head at an angle to be able to speak eye-to-eye with James. This impeccable fashion is largely wasted on the morning London streets, everyone still in their beds from late balls and dinners, but I don’t mind. I didn’t wear the dress for anyone but myself. It’s my armor, my way of feeling beautiful and put-together and a lovely diversion from the roiling nerves at getting the one thing I always wanted: time alone with James.
Only now that I’ve gotten it, I find my fickle mind comparing him with Alexander. James is a delight to be around—now that I’ve moved past my embarrassment—but despite my nerves, I don’t feel that electric jolt run through me when I gaze at him, that feeling like being out in a storm. An almost dangerous feeling that makes my heart pound and my breaths quicken. It’s a sensation I have every time I think of Alexander, whom I barely know.
“What could you be thinking of?” James asks, his low, familiar voice bringing me back to the quiet streets in a rush.
I feel a flush coming on, so I keep the brim of my hat down so he can’t see. “Forgive me. I’m being rather quiet, aren’t I?”
“That and you seem to be having a quarrel with yourself—your eyebrows have been furrowed since the moment we left.”
I laugh, and I feel the tension in my face melt away. “I was debating whether I’d have time to work on my painting before the ball.”
James snorts. “You’re a terrible liar, Luce, but never fear. I can see that you are trying to put me off, so I won’t press.”
“Perhaps I was nervously thinking of my training session with you.” I tilt my face up at him so he can see my teasing smile, though I am partly serious. I still feel inept with a blade.
“As you should. This next session will be rather violent.” I come to a halt to better stare at him. “Don’t look so stunned. I’m convinced this will be a crucial skill for you, so I won’t shirk my duty to impart everything I know.”
“You’re serious? What if one of us gets injured?”
He pats my arm—being deliberately patronizing—as we continue toward Monsieur Giroux’s. “You have nothing to worry about in that regard. You’re just not good enough to cut me yet.”
I shoot him an incredulous look. “What a challenge! And how am I to respond? Deliberately aim to wound you?”
He shrugs as he opens the door for me. “If you can.”
I sweep past him in answer, trying rather unsuccessfully to hide my grin.
A servant hurries over to me, ready to assist me in changing into my uniform. “If you’re finished taunting me, I shall meet you on the floor shortly.”
“Oh, I’m looking forward to it,” he says with such a wolfish grin that, if it weren’t for living my whole life with a teasing older brother, I would be quite undone by.
So with a seemingly nonchalant shake of my head, I turn to follow the servant to the changing room.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more aggressive with me this lesson,” James says.
We stand facing each other, daggers in hand. Sunlight streams in from the full-length windows—strangely out of place. It seems that knives and daggers are weapons for dark alleyways, not elegant well-lit spaces. We picked up where we left off last session—at least, James tried to. I’d forgotten nearly everything he’d taught me before, so he was forced to spend the first half hour or so refreshing my memory.
I furrow my brows as I stare down at the dagger. “I don’t think I can. I’m used to the elegant dance of fencing … not something so …” I trail off, unsure of the word I seek.
“Vulgar? Uncouth? Yes, well, defending yourself with a dagger may be both of those things, but it may also save your life.” He relaxes his grip on his dagger. “For anyone else in as lofty a station as you, training you in defense would be wholly unnecessary and perhaps even ridiculous. The chances of an average lady of noble birth encountering a situation dangerous enough to require a weapon to protect herself is laughable, but for you, the chances are considerably higher. Just consider what happened to your sister.”
“You know I hate being reminded of that,” I say softly.
“I wouldn’t be a good friend if I didn’t remind you,” he counters. “I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you, Lucy.” His eyes meet mine, intensely serious.
I sigh, knowing I’ve been bested. “Very well. What do I need to do?”
“We need to practice disabling your opponent.”
“Disabling? Not disarming?”
He shakes his head. “You’re not strong enough to wrest his weapon away from him—and there are far too many opportunities for that to go horribly wrong. No, you must disable your opponent’s dominant arm—whichever hand is holding the weapon.”
“Disabling it is, then.” I glance down at the heavy dagger in my hand. “And … how would I go about doing that?”
“The best way is to sever your opponent’s tendons in his arm, just above the elbow.”
I feel the color drain away from my face. “You want me to maim him?”
“Lucy, your attacker will be trying to harm you or kidnap you. Yes, I want you to maim him terribly—so badly that he won’t be able to lift his arm to wield his weapon.” He takes a step forward and takes hold of my hand. Gently, he turns my wrist until the underside of my arm is exposed. He presses his finger onto a sensitive spot just above my elbow. “Here.”
I shudder—but it’s not a pleasant reaction. It’s one born of imagining stabbing my dagger into that spot on another human being.
“I don’t think—”
“You can,” James says firmly. “I imagine there’s little you wouldn’t do to survive if you were in such a position. You and your siblings are the epitome of survivalists.”
I let out a surprised laugh—more an unladylike snort if I’m truly being honest. “Oh yes, how hard we’ve had it as aristocr
ats born and bred.”
“You’ve had to keep hidden essential parts of yourselves. I admire you for it.”
His words bring a warmth to my chest, and I sink into the fighting position he showed me: balanced on the balls of my feet, ready to feint at the slightest provocation. “Come then, I shall try to dismember you.”
James pales. “Good God. Disable, not dismember. I’m rather fond of all my parts.”
He doesn’t give me time to laugh, though, as he lunges as fast as a serpent’s strike. I feint at the last possible moment, and he grins proudly.
“Now, next time you dodge me, I want you to come in close. Your attacker won’t be expecting that—he’ll be expecting you to flee.”
He lunges toward me again, and I immediately dodge left. James comes up short, still holding his arm aloft. “You’re in the perfect position now,” he says, still holding his arm in the air as though he has been frozen in time. “With my momentum carrying me forward, and you standing just there behind me, you can grab hold of me and disable my arm.”
I take a step forward, and then another, so close now it would be scandalous in any other setting. So close I can smell the spice of his cologne. I reach out and grab hold of his shoulder, my dagger hovering just above his inner arm.
James lets out a hoarse shout, and I jump back and drop my dagger. “Did I cut you?” I demand, my voice so high with fear I’m sure he can barely understand me.
But then, of course, it’s hard for him to understand me when he’s laughing so hard tears are streaming down his face.
I press a hand above my galloping heart. “I hope you’re happy,” I say to him with a glare. “I don’t think my heartbeat will ever slow.”
“Forgive me, Lucy, but I couldn’t resist,” he says after he finally gets a hold of himself. “Shall we try again?”
I let him apologize a few more times before I finally relent, and we practice until nearly stabbing him in the arm becomes a natural motion to me. By the end of the session, I’m so weary and sweaty I never want to lay eyes on a dagger again.
“I’ll ruin my dress should I put it on like this,” I say forlornly.
James looks as though the thought never occurred to him. “Should I send for the motor car?”
I smile in relief. “Yes, that would be lovely, thank you.”
“I’ll give them a ring on the telephone—shouldn’t be too long.”
He strides away, and I walk over to one of the mirrors to frown at my wild hair. As I try several times to smooth it into something vaguely resembling a sane hairstyle, I hear voices coming down the hall. Monsieur Giroux’s familiar accent is easily identified, but I don’t recognize the other low voice. When it becomes clear they will soon come upon me, I turn toward the sound reluctantly.
“Mademoiselle Sinclair!” Monsieur Giroux calls to me. “You must make the acquaintance of my newest fencing pupil. Indeed, I was most pleasantly surprised by his skill.”
“Actually, we’ve already been introduced,” Alexander says, entering the room behind Monsieur. Though he’s dressed in the classic white fencing uniform, his hair mussed as though having just removed the mask, he cuts as dashing a figure as he did in his tailcoat.
His smile is tentative yet hopeful, and I almost forget that I am a sweaty disaster in my fencing uniform instead of my beautiful black-and-white dress. “Alexander, what a lovely surprise—truly. I had no idea we shared an interest in fencing.”
“Nor I, but I’m pleased to discover it. Perhaps we can even have a few matches against each other.”
The thought of fencing against Alexander is such a heady one that I know I would be blushing if it weren’t for having red cheeks already.
“The two of you would be well-matched,” Monsieur Giroux says with a thoughtful nod.
“Forgive me for not having come to call yet,” Alexander says. “I hope you will allow me to do so sometime in the next few days.”
“Of course,” I say, surprised but pleased. Perhaps Colin hadn’t frightened him away after all.
“Is your schedule terribly full?”
“I’m to attend Lady Whitmore’s ball tonight, but after that …” I trail off, suddenly remembering our plans to go to Bath. “Oh, forgive me, I’d nearly forgotten the short trip we planned—”
“Lucy, the chauffeur should be here any moment,” James says, striding back into the room. His usually affable expression is wary as he takes in Alexander.
“James, may I introduce Alexander Radcliffe, Earl of Devonshire? Alexander, this is Lord Thornewood’s brother, James Wyndam.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Alexander says and puts out his hand.
James hesitates for only a moment before taking it.
“Lord Alexander is my newest pupil,” Monsieur Giroux says. “I was only just telling Mademoiselle Sinclair how well they’d do in a match.”
For once, James has no witty retort, only an uncharacteristic frown. “Well, you must forgive me, but I believe our motorcar is outside waiting.”
I shoot him a strange look, for when has he ever cared whether the chauffeur was kept waiting or not?
“If you’ll excuse me, Monsieur Giroux,” James says. “Lord Devonshire.”
Monsieur gives a polite bow of his head, and Alexander nods tersely.
“Yes, do excuse us.” I take a step toward James, eager to get him alone and determine why he is acting in such a rude manner, but I turn back. With a deep breath for courage, I manage to say, “Alexander, I do hope you’ll come to call.”
His answering smile is well worth it, his eyes warm. “I will be sure to. Enjoy the ball tonight—I only wish I’d known about it beforehand. I would have asked to escort you myself.”
“And now I’m very disappointed,” I say, my heart thudding wildly.
“Lucy,” James calls from the doorway, his tone sharp. When I turn toward him with an incredulous look, he says, “We should go. I promised Colin we’d be gone only an hour.”
I know this to be a lie for I heard Colin tell us to take our time just before we left, but I decide to not argue with him in front of Monsieur and Alexander.
“Yes, of course,” I say. “Good afternoon, gentlemen.”
I follow James out the door and will myself not to look back at Alexander longingly.
NINE
I hope you will explain your tone just now,” I say to James the moment we are safely in the motorcar. “I should think Alexander will think you frightfully rude.”
James shakes his head. “Lucy, honestly, I’m glad I walked in when I did. I was shocked to find you about to tell Lord Devonshire—Alexander, apparently, to you—that we are going to Bath.”
“I’m sorry, James, but I fail to see how that would be wrong,” I say, irritation turning rapidly to anger within me.
“What do you know of him? I myself know very little, and because of that, I dare say you shouldn’t be telling him anything of your comings and goings.”
I scoff. “You sound just like your brother. How could you assume anyone we aren’t familiar with is the enemy? He’s never done anything the least bit suspicious.”
“Did Lord Blackburn?” James counters. “All I can say about this new Earl of Devonshire is that he suddenly appeared the moment you debuted, and no one can vouch for him. Reason enough, I think, to keep our distance.”
“Then why aren’t you suspicious of Rose? We know so little of her, after all. Perhaps it’s all merely a ruse to get in close with me—perhaps she’s even feigning her illness!”
“I’m serious.”
I shake my head in disgust and turn toward the window. “So am I.”
“I just … I care about you, Lucy.”
The tone in his voice has me turning toward him in spite of my anger. I let out a sigh. “I appreciate your concern, James, truly. But I can only endure one overprotective gentleman in my life. It’s not as though I’ve promised to go off alone in a dark alley with Alexander, for goodness sake. And even if
he knew our plans to visit Bath, what of it? It’s not as if I won’t be surrounded by family at all times. Heavens, he’d have to fight his way through you, Colin, Robert, and Papa, after all.”
James laughs reluctantly. “Yes, all right. You’ve made your point. Though I don’t think you should discount your sister in that hypothetical battle—she’d probably be the most dangerous of all.”
We share a grin, and I relax against the plush leather seat. And James is wrong—Lord Blackburn may not have acted suspiciously, but it wasn’t long before Katherine became uncomfortable in his presence. The only thing I can think when I see Alexander is: how can I see more of him?
Later that night, after nearly two hours of preparation, we finally arrive at the ball given by the fashionable Lady Mary Whitmore. The gentlemen appreciate the famously delicious dinners she provides, and Wren finds her agreeable for the simple fact that she is eccentric enough to draw the attention away from everyone else—even the Earl and Countess of Thornewood.
As Wren and I alight from the motorcar we rode in—it takes two to transport us all—I run my hand nervously over the elaborate beading and embroidery of my blue silk gown. As soon as James exits his own vehicle, he strides over to me and offers his arm.
“You look stunning, as usual,” he says.
I will myself to relax. This is James, after all—the man I just spent more than an hour profusely sweating with as we fought each other with knives.
“Shall we go in?” Wren asks, her hand resting on Colin’s arm. The two of them make an incredibly handsome couple; Wren dressed in her beaded emerald chiffon and satin gown, and Colin in his tailcoat.
“Are we late enough to go straight in for dinner?” Rob asks.
“I hope so,” James says.
Wren rolls her eyes at them both as she and Colin lead us into the elegant townhome.
A butler greets us as we enter the foyer, and my gaze immediately roams all over the marble columns, the sweeping spiral staircase, and the beautiful paintings. Our shoes ring out as we follow the butler across the polished marble floor.
The Order of the Eternal Sun Page 8