In the Dark with the Duke by Christi Caldwell Page 0,58
smiled in a bid to stave him off.
Hugh scowled, and then lifting her left hand close to his eyes, he inspected her fingers.
Tamping down a sigh, Lila stared at his head bent over her hands as he studied them. She should have expected that she’d never be one to possess one of those flirty, distracting smiles better suited to the innocent debutantes, fresh on the market with hope in their hearts. He looked up. “You broke two fingers.”
“Yes.” She held her right hand aloft. “And one on this hand,” she said in a bid to avoid another examination of the hideous appendages. The breaks had been so bad she’d thought to never again play the pianoforte, but then, after Peterloo, when she’d ordered the curtains drawn and locked herself away in darkened chambers, she’d not even wanted to survive. The idea of playing any instrument had been a secondary preference to death.
She braced for his pity. That hated emotion she was invariably met with by all: the servants, her family.
Only . . .
His gaze sharpened on her face. “How?” There was a guttural, raw quality to that utterance.
Lila’s heart did a little dance, for missing was pity, and in its place was a thinly constrained fury.
“And here I thought you didn’t want to know anything about my past, Mr. Savage,” she softly reminded him. And if she shared that with him? Her past would define her yet again, and every stolen moment of an existence outside of Peterloo would be gone. And she didn’t want this place, and this man, to become linked in any way to those parts of her.
Hugh motioned her back to the middle of the room. “Back to it.”
Back to it . . .
Three perfunctory words, all businesslike in nature, that gave Lila precisely what she’d wished for—freedom from any more questions.
So how to account for this unexpected rush of disappointment?
It is because you want to know the secrets Hugh Savage clings tight to, and you wish he had a like desire to learn about you, in turn . . .
“Mendoza’s style,” he commanded, walking a circle around her, and she struggled with the unfamiliarity of the movements as she got herself into that fighting stance. The muscles all down her left leg strained at the foreign motions she now put her body through. Hugh tapped her left elbow, guiding it into the proper position. “We’re going to stay here so you can feel how to move. First, where is your target?”
What was he saying? Knees bent as they were, she struggled to focus on his questions or directives or really anything he was saying. “I don’t have a target,” she muttered. She couldn’t maintain this position. Not for long.
“Find one. That’s the first rule of fighting.”
And she used his instructions as the break she so desperately needed. Lila came out of position and wiped moisture from her forehead. “Actually, I believe you have now given three first rules.” How very good it felt to again tease someone. Or it would have, had the intended recipient responded with a grin or a chuckle, or at the very least, not a dark scowl.
“I’ve given you three rules because you don’t even have the basic fundamentals of fighting. Now, identify your target.”
“I won’t.” I can’t. Not in the position he needed her to assume.
Hugh closed his eyes, and his lips moved in what had the whisperings of a prayer.
And given everything she’d gathered about the surly fighter, the last thing she’d taken him for was a praying man.
Opening his eyes, he tried again. “You require one. Even if it’s just an imagined one while you’re throwing at the air.” He came to stand opposite her. “Now, bring your arms up.”
That was the easier of the tasks.
“Not like that,” he corrected. “If the thumb is on the inside when you . . .” He went to grasp her forearm, but she stepped out of his reach. “What now?”
“I’m not looking to hit anyone.” Because it was important for her lessons that he know what her intentions and goals were.
Hugh wiped his hands up and down his face. “You asked for lessons,” he began again, as if trying to make sense of some riddle.
“I don’t want to hurt anyone, Hugh.” Not unless she absolutely had to.
He folded his arms. “You’re not making sense,” he said bluntly.
Taking a breath, she tried again. “I only want to know how to properly defend myself and others should”—we—“they need it.”