teacher, Mrs. Lavery, who’d inspired the colcannon the servants had enjoyed for their evening meal. The teacher of history and geography was there too, a pretty widow named Mrs. Chalmers who had light brown skin and alarmingly intelligent eyes.
Also present were two students who were almost grown and preparing to become teachers themselves and a pair of footmen who looked visibly relieved that Jack had joined the group tonight. Miss Carpenter had introduced them as her assistants. Jack guessed they usually played the part of attackers being slammed to earth, or otherwise having the large masses of their human bodies used as levers against their own safety.
Jack groaned and stood, rubbing his shoulder. “It didn’t feel like I landed well. Mrs. Redfern heaved me like a sack of cabbages.”
Marianne beamed at him.
“You w-weren’t hurt,” said Miss Carpenter. “N-not r-really. Kn-knowing how to fall is as important as kn-knowing how to get away.”
“Or attack,” he grumbled. Yet he felt lifted by the response, as if he’d somersaulted over Marianne’s head with skill rather than landing by ungraceful chance.
Miss Carpenter then broke the group into pairs to practice holds and escapes, settling one of the footmen with each of the students and the two other teachers with each other. As this left Jack with Marianne, he stood by her side and murmured in her ear, “Turnabout is fair play. I’ll have you on your back in a minute.”
She choked, covering a laugh. “Presumptuous, aren’t you?”
Jack realized how his words had sounded. “Hm. More like loose-tongued. No, that’s not any better, is it? You’re still laughing.”
She pressed a hand to her mouth and nodded.
He folded his arms, but completely failed at sternness. “Fine, then. Laugh. I’m a man with manly urges, and I’m not ashamed of it.”
After he’d kissed her earlier, he’d thought about it all day, since chopping cabbage didn’t prevent a man’s mind from roaming. She’d liked the kiss; she’d deepened the kiss. And then her clever, organized mind had cleared its throat and interrupted them, and she’d been all business again.
But throughout the day, he’d caught her looking at him. Confused, as she’d said, and sometimes biting her lip. Remembering the kiss, or the taste of strawberries, or the honeycomb he’d found carefully wrapped and hidden behind the new sugarloaves in the pantry.
Maybe he wasn’t the only one with urges.
Marianne pivoted to face him, a foot of space between them on the mat. “Your manly urges didn’t keep you from being thrown like a—how did you put it? A sack of cabbages?”
All right, maybe he was the only one with urges. “Do your worst, Cook. I’ve handled more cabbages today than you, and I’m not a bit afraid.”
“You were going to have me on my back, I think you said. Would you like to try it?”
Through the wide windows, the sky still held the final shreds of daylight, while branches of candles kept their corner of the ballroom glowing warm and welcoming. Oh, she looked saucy, her eyes shining and hair glinting auburn in the candlelight. She still wore her faded work dress from the day, but her hair was plaited now and pinned into a coronet about her head. It looked playful yet regal, and if she didn’t stop laughing, he just might pluck out those pins and give reality to his promise.
“I’ll not only try it,” he said, “I’ll make it happen.”
He scrutinized the other pairs for clues, soon understanding why the footmen were willing to allow themselves to be flung about. Miss Carpenter was settling the hands of one of the students on a footman’s wrist, instructing the young woman to tug the man’s arm forward. As the student obliged, putting pressure on the man’s elbow joint, his expression looked anything but discomfited. It was half an embrace, the lucky fellow.
As Miss Carpenter moved along to the next pair, demonstrating the lunge and tug, Marianne faced Jack.
“You’re watching what they do? Let’s give a different move a try. Come at me as if you’d like to kick me in the midsection.”
Jack regarded her doubtfully. “I like your midsection. I don’t want to kick it.”
“If I’ve learned my lesson from Miss Carpenter, you won’t even come close.” She looked about. “Here, we’d better stand over one of the mats.”
Dubious still, Jack stepped back. Then he strode forward, one great step and another, and turned on the ball of his foot to kick out sideways toward Marianne.
Though he’d expected some skullduggery, he hadn’t foreseen her quick movement. She seized