“Well, look at what we have here,” he says, smiling widely. “Were you waiting for me?”
I actually look behind me to see who he’s talking to, and that’s my mistake—I should never have turned my back on him. He’s got his arms around me in an instant, and his alcohol-fueled breath is making me sick as he tries to press wet kisses all over my face and neck. I start to scream, but his hand clamps over my mouth. I struggle madly, my fingers clawing at him. I’m just about to rip out a handful of his hair when I feel him go flying, knocking me off-balance and sending me staggering down the graveled path. I barely have time to right myself before someone’s hand clamps down on mine and I’m pulled along the path and then out of sight through the middle of a bunch of bushes that snag at my skirts. I’m about to try to scream again, but as I’m pulled up against another hard body, a voice murmurs low in my ear.
“Easy, love. Didn’t mean to frighten you.”
I relax, sagging in relief.
“Finn,” I say, when I can get my breath again. “What are you doing here?”
“I saw your lump of a fiancé take himself off, and thought I’d step in to entertain you,” he says with a grimace. “I had no idea someone else had the same plan. Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”
“No,” I reassure him. “I am just really freaking tired.” I sink onto a bench nearby, taking my weight off my aching feet. These high-heeled buttoned boots are torturous. I look up and he’s staring at me with his arms crossed, and his hand is stroking his chin thoughtfully.
“Well, hello there, love,” he says huskily. “What brings you back again?”
30
Here I Go Again
I pull my gloves off and wave my sweaty hands in the air. “I’m trying to avoid someone,” I tell him.
“You’re not here on an assignment, then?”
“No. I sort of … quit.”
He looks amused. “Did you now? How’d that go over?”
I make a face. “I’m sure I’ll hear about it.”
“So this is a social visit?” His eyes brighten, and something in my stomach tightens in response.
“Uh … I’m supposed to be out with someone.”
He takes a seat next to me. “It isn’t me you’re dodging, is it?”
I smile. “No, it isn’t you.”
“Well, that’s a relief. It’d be a bloody shame to have you avoiding me anywhere.”
“I’m not allowed to avoid you,” I say. “You’re training me. At least, over there you are.”
“Whatever you need to learn, I’ll be happy to tutor, as needed.”
A devilish gleam lights his eyes, and I flush under his regard. “I think you’ve tutored this Jessa enough.”
“Apparently not,” he disagrees. “You need to learn how to fight dirty, love. If you were going to be living a life with a privateer, you’d be spending a lot of time at the docks—which are not always the most savory of locations, unfortunately.” He pulls me up to my feet. “Here. Let me show you something.”
He spins me around, knocking me off-balance again, and wraps his arms around me. I’m still out of breath, and I try my best to calm my breathing down. It must be the corset.
Sure it is, Jessa.
“The key to getting a man off you when he’s already got you in a stranglehold is creating some space,” Finn goes on. “This is best done with the element of surprise.”
He reaches out, taking both my hands in his, and sets his chin down on my shoulder as he instructs me. I can feel his cheek rubbing against mine, the stubble of the slight beard he has here. It feels incredible. And I have to remember to breathe.
He takes my left hand, curling it into a fist, and places it in the palm of my right hand.
“There now,” he says. “Wriggle your hands free any way you can, and get your fist braced in your other hand. Then use the added push from the fist into the open hand to propel your elbow back into his ribs or stomach. Aim lower, if you can. Go ahead,” he urges. “Give it a try.”
I turn my head, and I’m a hairbreadth from his lips. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Well, keep it gentle and keep it above the belt, then, if you please.”
He gives me a wink, and I can’t help but smile. I push with my right hand and drive my left elbow into his stomach, hearing the whoosh of his breath leaving him.
“Gads!” he complains. “You call that gentle?”
“Sorry,” I say sheepishly. “Now what?”
He straightens back up, rubbing his stomach. “Now that you’ve got him bent over, you can give him a knee to the head or slam your reticule down across his neck, provided you’re like most women and carry an arsenal in yours.”
I laugh. “I really have no idea,” I say. “Do I even know what a reticule is?” I wonder aloud. It’s coming to me.
“Your handbag.” He points at the bag lying on the bench next to my gloves. “With all that beading, you could have hit the cad in the eyes and blinded him for life.”