Much Ado About Dukes

So filled with joy at his response, she began bouncing.

He, too, took up the action directly in front of her. “Follow me,” he urged.

She nodded and bounced on her toes back and forth, mirroring his movements.

Their bodies began to move in harmony, though they touched not at all.

Her limbs warmed; her breathing came faster. Their gazes held.

It was so remarkable to see him doing something, well, so unduke-like.

She had thought this would be full of aggression and domination and determination, but that was not the case. He was light and fluid and strong as he bounced about on his legs.

“Bend your knees,” he suggested. He crossed to her and showed her how his own long limbs were loose, ready. His hand came to her hip, then to her thigh.

His hand lingered just above the fabric of her gown. “The angle of your thigh allows you to support your body but be ready to move away quickly.”

Flicking her gaze rapidly away from his hand hovering just over her body, she bent her knees and followed his movement.

Her skirts began to swing, and she felt them brush his hand.

As if shocked, he pulled his arm up, and a muscle tightened in his jaw.

“Good,” he said firmly.

But with every bounce beside him, her full skirts swung about her legs and the hem cascaded over his boots.

She said nothing but reveled in the fact that he was so close. But this felt different. As their bodies synced, the air seemed to charge, to heat.

Though both were at ease in the lesson, she could not stop thinking about the way his body moved so breathtakingly beside her own.

A tension took hold of him as he abruptly moved away from her, and she realized he’d felt it, too. That symmetry and charge.

“Now we’re going to practice your guard, for while it is more fun to strike, it is incredibly important to avoid being hit.”

“Very good advice,” she said, watching his strong hands fold into fists.

He glanced to her hands. “Now you must put your guard up.”

“How do I do that?” She laughed, loving feeling something so unknown. Surely it was simply the boxing that caused her to feel thus?

It wasn’t his body moving with hers, mirroring hers, was it?

“You take your arms,” he began, bringing both of his forearms up. He tucked his elbows in toward his body and kept his fists just at his jawline. “And place them so.”

She looked at him, studied his stance, and did as he did.

“You are a very good student,” he stated, and as he turned, his waistcoat shone in the light spilling through the windows.

“Thank you,” she said, stunned that she liked his praise.

“Now let me help you to make small adjustments,” he warned. He studied her frame. It was assessing, but something else flickered in his observation. Something heady. “Because if you stand that way, you will be knocked over easily.”

“I will not,” she scoffed, doing her best to ignore the hypnotic pull toward him that was taking root in her center. “I may not be a man, but I am of stern stuff.”

Then without a word, he reached over and slightly pushed her shoulder.

She very nearly toppled over.