Free The Rogue by Katharine Ashe Page B

said. “Supple. Do you shoot often?”
    â€œEvery day.”
    â€œWhy doesn’t your skin show it?”
    â€œMy maid files away the calluses.”
    He looked up at her face.
    â€œEvery day?”
    â€œI am the daughter of a duke. A gentleman does not expect to take a washerwoman’s hand when he asks me to dance.”
    Without warning he cupped the back of her hand and rolled the dagger handle into her palm. “Take care,” he said. “It is quite sharp.”
    Six years. For six years she had remembered the warmth of his skin, the moment when she had fled his caresses in the dark because she had been afraid of what she might do—what she might willingly give him. Now he held her and she wondered that she’d had the strength to flee.
    â€œHow sharp?” She could not command more than a whisper.
    He moved away. “I use it to cut saddle leather.”
    â€œHow often do you find the need to do that?”
    â€œNot often.” He folded his arms over his chest again and a smile teased the corner of his mouth. “That is why it is so sharp.”
    The dagger felt light in her grip, well balanced and natural to hold.
    â€œI am surprised this is so comfortable for me. Your hands are much larger than mine.”
    â€œIt’s a good dagger.” His voice was odd—low and somewhat hoarse.
    â€œNow you must show me how to use it.”
    â€œYou said you wished to know how to hold a dagger correctly. You are holding it correctly. Lesson over. The road awaits me.”
    She rolled her eyes. “Come now—”
    â€œ Sharp ”—he took a quick step back—“blade. Do refrain from speaking with your hands when you are wielding a weapon, my lady.”
    My lady , said without mockery.
    â€œThere. You have just taught me a second thing,” she said, readjusting her grip on the handle. “Stay for another thirty seconds and I’m sure I will learn all I must to whittle a stick, spear a fish, and skin a hare with this dagger.”
    â€œI have never speared a fish with that dagger.” He moved close again. “Only a man’s quadriceps.”
    â€œReally?” she exclaimed. “Is that how fencing masters spend their leisure?”
    â€œHe was poised to impale me with a bayonet. It seemed appropriate at the time.”
    â€œI daresay.”
    â€œBut I have in fact used it to skin a hare.”
    â€œHow did it taste?”
    â€œIt wasn’t mud. So, I would say rather good.”
    â€œThat was in Spain. Wasn’t it?” Six years ago he had just returned from the Peninsula. She had wanted to know everything about him, and she had asked and asked.
    â€œYes.”
    Neither of them moved. They stood close and she stared at the dagger in her grip.
    â€œWhy do you carry it in your boot now?”
    â€œSo that I have it handy to teach ladies whom I encounter in stables, of course.”
    â€œYou did not encounter me in this stable.” She turned her face up to meet his gaze. “You followed me in here.”
    â€œIt is the place one puts a horse, which I happened to have with me.” Pleasure glinted in his eyes that traveled over her features.
    â€œWhat else will you show me with this dagger now?”
    â€œHow to give it over safely to its owner so that neither of you get cut.”
    â€œNo.” She backed up. “I want to learn more.”
    â€œThe ‘please’ seems to have gone astray. Interesting.”
    She smiled. “Please.”
    â€œThis is a single-edged dagger. The edge is sharp, but the weapon is principally intended for stabbing rather than slicing, though it can be used for either.”
    â€œDid you slice or stab the bayonet man’s leg?”
    â€œA bit of each. You are a bloodthirsty girl, aren’t you?”
    â€œI am not a girl.”
    His gaze snapped to hers.
    â€œNot any longer,” she said.
    â€œTo fight like a street