The Unquiet Heart by The Unquiet Heart (epub)

Author:The Unquiet Heart (epub)
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Epub3
Publisher: Pegasus Books

Chapter 18

When I arrived at Warrender Park Crescent, I was shown not into the parlour like any other guest, but into the library, where Gregory Merchiston stood, sleeves rolled up and his knuckles taped.

He looked away as I removed my jacket, leaving me clad in a starched ivory blouse and thick serge tweed skirt. I felt my mouth go dry and my heart thump beneath my ribcage, so loud I was sure he must be able to hear it.

The door closed, leaving us alone. Merchiston handed me a roll of bandages. I opened my mouth to remonstrate, but he shook his head firmly. I wrapped the gauze around my knuckles tightly, flexing my fingers to see how much movement it allowed me. Satisfied that I was prepared, I took my place standing across from him. Next to us, the fire crackled and popped, providing an excuse for the flush that stained my cheeks. Even the normally sallow professor looked positively rosy.

‘Hit me,’ he said softly.

I swung.

Before my fist could even connect with his face, he had my wrist captured and my arm bent behind my back. His grip was loose, but it took me by surprise.

I did the only thing I could think of, and brought my knee sharply up right below his belt.

He doubled over, swearing profusely.

The housemaid pushed open the door. She looked at me nervously. ‘Should I call Mrs Chalmers?’

Grateful for her concern, I shook my head. ‘No need, Flora. Professor Merchiston was simply teaching me how to fight.’

She grinned. ‘I think you’ve got the hang of it, Miss Sarah.’

‘Painful as that was,’ Merchiston winced, ‘it was hardly the most effective stratagem.’

‘Then why are you crying?’ I asked, unable to keep the smirk from my voice.

‘I am not crying,’ he muttered. ‘My eyes are merely watering from the soot. Next time, kick your assailant sharply in the shins. It will make it harder to grab you and still produces the desired effect. Particularly if your opponent is a woman.’

We were silent then, remembering my struggle against Fiona Leadbetter, my friend and mentor who had found herself so worn down and desperate in her attempts to help women in trouble that she had turned to murder. She had lured me into her trap by charm, not force, and I doubted that all the boxing lessons in the world would have saved me had it not been for Merchiston’s timely entrance. As it was, he insisted that I learn the rudiments of fighting, whether I returned to the slums or not. Knowing that violence could occur as easily in a town house as a tenement, I had accepted his offer, and so we found ourselves sparring in the privacy of Randall and Elisabeth Chalmers’ library.

‘Your stance is all wrong,’ he grumbled. ‘This is a fight, not a tea party.’

He grabbed me by my upper arms and shoved me backwards. I found myself pressed against the bookshelves, and suddenly my breath was gone. My chest tightened, and although my fists were clenched so hard my knuckles hurt, I could no more lash out than I could fly.

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