“Yes.” Giff watched the emotions cross her mien as she thought. Anger combined with calculation. He was very glad he was not on the receiving end of that letter.
“I will say my guardian has informed me that you intended to wed me merely for my dowry.”
“He will of course deny it.”
“He would.” She was quiet for a minute or so. “I will say that I know for a fact he is betrothed to another women. I am appalled he would court me when he is promised to another. Do not approach me again. I will have nothing to do with a person who would betray the trust of another no matter her status.”
That was actually a very good way to put it. And it was something he couldn’t explain away. “I think that might do it.”
Alice stared at the paper on the table. “I would really like to send it on foolscap.”
That might indicate to the cur how low she thought him. However, it would not set the tone that she was too good for him. “But you know you must send it on pressed paper.”
“I know.” She took a piece of pressed paper from a small stack.
“As soon as you’re finished, we can get to fisticuffs.” Giff hoped that would make her feel better. She was so brave. Still, at some point she would have to admit her pain. Hopefully, she would be able to do it while hitting him.
CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO
Alice led Giff to a back parlor where the servants were just finishing rolling up the carpet and pushing furniture against the wall. Her footman put his bag with the boxing gloves on a chair. A similar bag was on a small sofa.
How to begin? He raked a hand through his hair. “Right, then. Never having boxed with you before or seen you box, I would like to get an idea of your technique and strength.”
Her finely arched brows were drawn together, but she nodded. “I understand. How do you want to start?”
“Well”—he grinned—“pretend I’m Normanby and you’re hitting him.” Palms facing out, Giff held up his hands. “Strike my hands as hard as you can.” Alice appeared a bit uncertain, but made fists, keeping her thumb outside of her clenched hands and struck. The punch was harder than he’d thought it would be, but not as hard as he suspected she could hit. “You’ll have to do better than that to break his nose.” The next strike was more forceful. “You can do better than that. Picture his face.” She punched so hard the force almost knocked Giff back a step. “That’s better. Now punch his chin with the most powerful upper cut you have.”
This time she did cause him to step back. Alice began hitting harder and faster. Soon he was wishing he’d worn his gloves. Her face was flushed with anger and hurt. Tears began running down her cheeks, and she started to sob. “How could he have done that to me?” The anguished words sounded torn out of her. Her arms dropped to her side. “Why me?”
The next thing Giff knew she was in his arms. He held her close, not wanting to let her go. “I do not know if it will make you feel better, but he didn’t care who it was. He just wanted the money.”
Alice gave a little hiccup and laid her head on his chest. The hairs at the back of her neck were damp. He wanted so much to kiss her, but that would have ramifications he was certain she was not ready for. “He was not honest about it.”
She was correct. Many men needed to marry money, but a gentleman would be truthful, honorable about his needs and offer something in return. “No, he was not. If you ever do have the opportunity to strike him, don’t let him know what you are going to do. You are quite strong, but he is larger.”
“That is good advice.” With her face against his coat, her voice was muffled.
Giff wondered how long it would be before someone came in and put a stop to him holding her. From the corner of his eye Worthington and his lady entered Giff’s vision. “We can do this again if you would like.” Placing his hands on her arms, he stepped back then held up one palm. “I think the next time I’ll wear my gloves.”
Alice glanced at his hand and up at him. Her blue eyes were still watery. “I did not mean to hurt you.”
Giff was glad she’d had the strength to redden his hands. “I encouraged it.” More than ever, he wanted to murder Normanby. “Do you feel better now?”
Although her cheeks were tear streaked, she smiled. “I do. It is rather amazing that hitting something can make one happier.”
Again, there was a reason, other than exercise, for Jackson’s salon. Giff took one of her hands. Her knuckles were red and chaffed and starting to swell. “You had better get some ice on these.”
She winced. “They do hurt a little.”
“Alice,” Lady Worthington said. “St. Albans is correct. We should take care of your hands.”
“Of course. I would not want them to swell.” Alice glanced up at Giff. “Would you like to accompany me for a carriage ride this afternoon?”
He made a short bow. “I would indeed. Shall I meet you here?”
She nodded slowly. “Perhaps you would like to join us for tea at three o’clock as well.”
More than almost anything in the world. “I will see you then.”
