Noble Scoundrel - Amy Sandas Page 0,67
to learn how to properly defend myself and my brother. If you’re incapable of taking me seriously, perhaps I should seek another teacher.”
Something hot and ferocious flared up inside him at the thought. No way in hell.
Pushing off from the wall, Mason started toward her, stopping once his feet reached the thick Persian rug. “I’ll train you.” The words came out in a near growl.
Her breath was long and steady as she stared at him. He half expected her to change her mind and leave. But not this woman. She’d committed to a path and wouldn’t be deterred. Sure as hell not by him.
Giving a nod, she replied, “Fine, then. Let’s begin.”
“Remove your boots.”
“Is that really necess—”
“Yes.” If she asked, he’d explain how he believed it was important for a novice especially, to feel balanced and connected to their base. No movement could be wholly effective without proper foundation.
A frown. An exasperated sigh. Then she strode to a chair that had been pushed to the edge of the room and sat down to remove her boots and stockings.
Mason refused to think of how attractive her bare feet and ankles were. He needed to get his head into the task at hand if he were to provide anything of value in this training session. Despite his confidence in his ability to protect her, he didn’t disagree with her desire to have some means of defending herself—same as Freddie—if, for some inconceivable reason, he failed to do so.
Stepping forward, he met her in the middle of the rug. Though she stood still and appeared fully composed, Mason detected the tension in her jaw and the light flush pinkening her skin.
“All right, then,” he said. “Attack me.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
Grinning, he made a beckoning gesture with both hands. “Come at me, duchess. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
She hesitated, her spine stiffening. “You want me to throw a punch at you?”
He shrugged. “A punch, a kick, a full-on charge. Whatever feels right.”
Her gaze swept over him, swiftly assessing his large form—lingering a bit on the thickness of his thighs, the bulging muscles of his arms, and the span of his shoulders—before returning to his face with a flash of irritation. “Nothing feels right. You’re nearly twice my size and famously undefeated in the ring. What on earth could feel right about attacking you?”
Mason chuckled. “Smart girl.”
The comment earned him a swift glare. “Is this an attempt at discouraging me?”
“In any fight, you’ve gotta be aware of the strengths and weaknesses of your opponent. And yourself. A straight-on attack wouldn’t be an effective strategy for someone of your stature and lesser strength against someone larger and more skilled. Anyone you’re likely to come up against will undoubtedly outweigh you, have a greater reach, and more experience in physical contests.”
“Exactly why I’m here, Mr. Hale. To gain experience.”
“Right,” he noted as he walked a slow circle around her, intentionally stalking, forcing her to home in on him with her full awareness. “You’ve identified your disadvantages. What are your advantages?”
Her gaze narrowed as she followed his movements from the corner of her eye, as though she suspected some sort of trickery in his question. When he slipped out of her line of sight for a moment while crossing behind her, she made a soft sound of exasperation before turning her head to catch sight of him again on her other side.
He arched a brow, awaiting her answer.
“If I’m smaller than my opponent, won’t I be quicker as well? More agile?”
He gave a short nod. “In many cases, but not always.”
His response seemed to frustrate her. Good.
“I’m clever,” she said in a clipped voice.
Mason laughed. “D’you think a person can’t possess both brawn and brains?” He passed behind her again, noting the way she fisted her hands at her sides.
“The men we’re up against are mercenaries, hired thugs who care for nothing but coin.” Her tone was growing heated. “Whereas I have a passionate cause to protect against them.”
“You do. Avid personal motivation will certainly get you into the fight. It can also make you reckless and impetuous. I wanna know what’ll keep you standing to the end.”
She planted her fists on her hips as he stepped in front of her. “Again, isn’t that what you’re here to teach me?”
He smirked. “Why would I bother teaching a pampered young lady from Mayfair? A soft gentlewoman who’s likely never experienced anything more physically challenging than a polite little trot through the park? Someone who’s grown up in luxury with