“However, that can put you in an awkward position.”
“Oh, you realize that?” she asked sarcastically.
He shot her a look, clearly irritated by her constant interruption. “Some gentlemen lack basic common sense and judgment, and might not break off the kiss at an appropriate time. That is why we must teach you to box.”
“And you’re going to do all of this in one afternoon?”
He pulled out his pocket watch and flipped it open, his face a perfect picture of nonchalance. “No, I had thought just the kissing for this afternoon. We can see to the boxing tomorrow.”
“And you are trained in the sport of pugilism?”
“Of course.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “Aren’t lessons terribly expensive? I had heard that there were only a handful of instructors in London who are considered of superior quality.”
“There are always ways to obtain what one needs,” he said. He looked over at her with a raised eyebrow. “I believe you said I am the sort who always lands on his feet.”
“I suppose now you are going to tell me you are the sort who lands on his feet with his arms primed and ready to box?”
He laughed and made a few jabs in the air. “There is nothing like it to keep the blood flowing.”
She frowned dubiously. “It doesn’t look a very feminine pursuit.”
“I thought we had decided we weren’t going to subscribe to Mrs. Seeton’s view of femininity.”
“We’re not,” she retorted, “but we are trying to find me a husband.”
“Ah, yes, your husband,” he said darkly.
“I cannot imagine there is a man in England who wants to marry a lady pugilist.”
“You don’t need to be a pugilist. You just need to be able to punch well enough to show that you cannot be taken advantage of.”
She shrugged and made a fist. “Like this?”
“God, no. Don’t tuck your thumb in. You’re sure to break it.”
Elizabeth moved her thumb to the outside of her fist. “Like this?”
He nodded approvingly. “Exactly. But we were going to study kissing today.”
“No, let’s save that.” She thrust her arm forward a few times. “I’m rather enjoying myself.”
James groaned, not quite sure what was bothering him more—that he had to put off kissing her another day or that she had the weakest punch he’d ever seen. “No, no, not like that,” he said, positioning himself behind her. He let her bag fall to the ground as he put his hand on her elbow and readjusted the angle of her shoulder. “You punch like a girl.”
“I am a girl.”
“Well, that much I’ve always found obvious, but you don’t have to punch like one.”
“And how,” she asked, mocking a deep male voice, “does a man punch?”
“Girls, I’ve learned, punch like this.” He made a fist and moved his arm forward and back, his elbow never straying far from his side. “Men, on the other hand, put a little swing into it.”
“Do please demonstrate.”
“Very well. Back off, then. I shouldn’t like to injure you.”
Elizabeth offered him a dry smile and took a few steps back. “Is that enough room for a man?”