“I don’t know if I should feel more insulted for Monsieur Baujart’s sake or my own,” Garrett said dryly.
“I didn’t insult you.” Ransom stripped off his gloves and tossed them aside.
“You implied that I’m incompetent.”
Ransom turned to face her. “No. I’ve seen you fight. You’re an opponent to be reckoned with.”
“Thank you,” Garrett said, somewhat mollified. “For that, I’ll overlook your remark about my moulinet twirls.”
She saw the flash of an elusive grin. “A waste of motion, they are,” he murmured. “But very pleasing to the eye.”
Garrett realized this was the first time she’d ever seen him in good lighting. The stunning brightness of his eyes—blue from across the room—sparked an unfamiliar but pleasant tingling high up under her ribs, like delicately tightening knots. His features were ruggedly masculine, with that strong nose and geometric jaw . . . but the long sweeps of black lashes were a luxurious touch of softness . . . and when he’d smiled, she could have sworn there was the hint of a dimple in one cheek.
Ransom began to meander along a wall of framed illustrations of fencing positions, viewing them with feigned interest. Garrett was more than a little charmed by the hint of boyishness, as if he weren’t quite certain how to approach her.
He cut a splendid figure in the fencing uniform, a head-to-toe scheme of all white that usually did the male form no favors. The canvas jacket—buttoned on one side and closely fitted down to the high hip—tended to make the average man’s shoulders appear narrow and the waist look thick. The snug, flat-fronted trousers would highlight even the slightest tummy bulge. But on Ransom, the severely tailored garments only served to emphasize a physique of remarkable proportions. His body was lean, lithe, powerful, with no trace of softness anywhere.
Garrett’s gaze traveled from the broad shoulders down to the slim hips, and then even lower to his thickly muscled thighs. As it occurred to her that she was staring, she glanced upward, and blushed like a schoolgirl as she met his questioning gaze.
“I was just noting the unusual development of your quadriceps extensors,” she said in her professional voice.
His lips twitched. “Are you paying me a compliment, doctor?”
“Certainly not. It was merely an observation. Your physical build might lead one to assume you were a sailor, or a blacksmith.”
“I’ve done a bit of forging and pressing,” Ransom said. “But only light metalwork. Nothing so difficult as what a blacksmith does.”
“What kind of metalwork?”
He straightened one of the frames on the wall. “Locks and keys, mostly. I apprenticed for a prison locksmith as a boy.” Without looking at her, he added, “My father was a turnkey at Clerkenwell.”
Most prisons, including Clerkenwell, were unsanitary, hazardous, and crowded, as it was believed they should have a deterrent atmosphere. In her opinion, no boy should have been allowed to work under such conditions.
“A dangerous place for a child,” she commented.
His shoulders hitched in a shrug. “It was safe enough, as long as I heeded the rules.”
“Did you have brothers or sisters?” she asked.
“No. I was an only child.”
“So was I.” Although Garrett rarely volunteered personal information, she found herself continuing, “I always wanted a sister. My mother died when I was born, and my father never remarried.”
“He was a constable in E division, aye?”
Garrett looked up at him quickly. “Yes. How did you know that?”
“I read it in the newspaper.”
“Oh. Of course.” She made a little face. “Reporters insist on portraying me as a curiosity. Rather like a talking horse.”
“You’re an unusual woman.”
“Not really. Many thousands of women have the minds and temperaments to practice medicine. However, no medical school here will admit a female, which is why I had to study and train in France. I was fortunate to become certified before the British Medical Association closed the loopholes to prevent other women from doing the same.”
“What did your father say about it?”
“At first he was against the idea. He thought it indecent for a woman to have such an occupation. Viewing unclothed people, and so forth. However, as I pointed out to him, if we’re made in God’s image, there can be nothing wrong with the study of the human body.”
“And that changed his mind?”
“Not entirely. But when he saw the opposition I faced from friends and relations, it put him on his mettle. He can’t bear anyone telling me what I can’t do, and so he decided to support me.”
Amusement tugged at Ransom’s lips as he came to stand beside her. A shadow of whisker grain was visible beneath the close-shaven skin. His complexion was clear and fair, a striking contrast to his rich dark hair.
Slowly he reached out to take the cane from her. “We won’t need this for now.”
Garrett nodded, while a pulse tapped in her wrists, throat, the backs of her knees. “Shall I remove my gloves?” she asked, trying to sound businesslike.
“If you like.” Ransom set the cane on the floor, along the wall, and turned toward her. “This will be easy for you,” he said gently. “You might even enjoy it. In a few minutes, I’ll let you throw me to the floor.”
That startled a laugh from her. “You’re twice my size. How could I do that?”
“I’ll show you. But first we’ll start with something simple.” He waited until she tossed her gloves aside. “Do you remember what I said about the most common way women are attacked?”
“They’re choked from the front.”
“Aye. Usually against a wall.” Carefully he took Garrett’s shoulders and guided her backward until she felt her shoulder blades touch the hard surface. His big hands lifted to her throat, the fingers strong enough to bend copper coins. A frisson of alarm chased down her spine, and she stiffened.
Ransom let go instantly, his brows drawing together with concern.
“No,” Garrett assured him hastily, “I . . . I’m perfectly all right. It’s just that I’ve never had someone take me by the throat before.”
His voice was soft. “You’ve nothing to fear from me. Ever.”
“Of course.” She paused before adding wryly, “Although when I mentioned you to my father, he warned that you were dangerous.”
“I can be.”
Garrett gave him a superior glance. “Every man likes to think there’s a part of his nature that remains untamed and unsubdued.”
“You know all about men, do you?” he asked with an edge of mockery.
“Mr. Ransom, the male sex has ceased to be a mystery ever since my first course in practical anatomy, which included the dissection of a cadaver.”
That should have set him in his place, but instead he laughed quietly. “I’ve no doubt you can carve up a man like a jugged hare, Doctor, but that doesn’t mean you understand the first thing about him.”
Garrett regarded him coolly. “You think me naïve?”
Ransom shook his head. “I see no fault in you,” he said, with a quiet sincerity that threw her off guard.