He grabbed the butler’s upper arm, surprised by the firmness of the muscles he found there. This man was definitely prepared to do battle for her. “I don’t need to be announced. Where is she?”
Brewster studied him for a heartbeat, two, hisjaw tense with displeasure. “She’s in her chamber of solitude. Down the hallway, descend the stairs at the end. But I’d approach cautiously if I were you. She doesn’t take kindly to being disturbed.”
He resented that this fellow knew intimate details of her that Marcus didn’t. He wondered if they were lovers or had ever been. How free was she with her affections? If not for his need to see punished those who’d lured his father to destruction, he’d walk back out the door, leave the two of them to their work and whatever else they shared. Instead, he followed the directions given, quietening his steps on the stairs when he heard the grunts and harsh breathing. Was she with a man now, taking him into her body? Would that fellow kiss the wound on her breast? Plow his tongue into her mouth, know the flavor of her?
Marcus knew he should pause, head back up, and wait for her in the parlor. But some perverse part of him wanted—needed—the reminder that her favors might be easily given, that the camaraderie he’d begun to experience with her would never be more than two people sharing a single purpose, even if their pursuit of it stemmed from different reasons.
When he did finally catch sight of her, relief washed through him, followed by a quick, forceful tightening of his gut. She was alone, her back to him, her derriere outlined in exquisite detail because of the taut trousers hugging her form like a second skin. Her shirt, similar to what he wore, was snug, billowing only slightly with hermovements. Secured by a wide ribbon, her hair had been pulled back and up, so the long strands dangled very much like a horse’s tail, swinging to and fro as she dashed forward and back, side to side. Bouncing on bare feet, she darted in with a tightly balled fist to hit a padded square attached to a metal bar secured to a stand that allowed her target to swing around when she struck it. When it nearly completed its arc, she belted it again, sending it back the other way. The contraption reminded him of a jousting quintain used by a knight to perfect his aim at delivering blows with his lance. She was sparing her mark no quarter.
Exhibiting grace, strength, power, and determination, she stole his breath, and he feared she’d pocket it and never give it back. He wanted to take hold of that tail of her hair, wrap it around his knuckles to secure her in place—against his chest so he could tip her head back and claim that mouth presently set in concentration. He’d never wanted anything more in his life, not even the dukedom. “Imagining that’s my nose?”
Chapter 9
Esme jumped back, out of reach of the oscillating arm, and swung around. He’d come back. She’d worried all night that he wouldn’t, that he’d roam the streets and seek shelter in a doorway somewhere. But he looked clean and tidy. Had recently taken a razor to that magnificent jaw of his. She wondered if he’d gone to his brother, stayed in his company through the night. Standing before her now, he made it impossible to think clearly, to do anything other than stare and take in every aspect of his presence. Christ, he was naught but trouble for her. She should command he leave immediately. Instead, she took a step forward. “Don’t flatter yourself that I give you any thought at all.”
Flatter yourself that I think about you constantly, that I could not sleep for thinking about you.
One corner of his mouth lifted slightly asthough he’d detected her lie, and then it dropped, and a deep somberness settled over him. “I apologize for my rudeness and abrupt departure last night.”
“All this time you thought he was innocent.” The first hour after he’d stormed out, she’d sat in her chair, contemplating his expression and the agony she’d seen reflected in his eyes until she’d finally realized what she’d witnessed. If she’d not had so much scotch coursing through her veins, if she’d not been so saddened by the sorrow that she might never see him again, she’d have figured it all out sooner.
He gave a slight nod. “More fool I.”
“It’s only natural not to want to believe the worst of those we love.”
“If he was capable of such a heinous act, who is to say I am not as well?”
“You are the one to say it, make it so. You are not your father, just as I am not my mother. I would never in a thousand years strike a child, especially for something as trivial as mud on her frock because she wanted to see where the toad got off to.”
With his jaw clenched, he nodded toward the quintain. “So perhaps she was the one you were imagining there.”
“No, you had the right of it. It was you.”
Dropping his head back, he laughed, the sound big, bold, and beautiful, one that could capture hearts, was threatening to thaw hers. He was far more dangerous than the men in thealleyway—he could make her yearn again for things she could never hold. A man who would stay at her side no matter how difficult it might be, who would look beyond her flaws to find aspects of her worthy of love.
“I deserved that,” he said when his laughter was no longer echoing between the walls.
“Yes, you did.”
“I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to your blunt honesty.”
She very much doubted he would be in her presence long enough to get used to anything about her. Once his quest ended, he’d have no reason to stay.
He glanced around the room, at the swords and rapiers on one wall, the pistols in the glass case, the sandbag hanging from the ceiling, and the small boxing ring with its padded floor. “Brewster called this your chamber of solitude.”
“He knows not to bother me when I’m here—without an invitation.”
“You’d hone your defensive skills better if you had an opponent.”
“Brewster sparred with me until I broke his nose. He did not take it well.”
“After my behavior last night, I suspect you’d very much like to break mine.”
To break his would be an unforgivable sin, to ruin the perfection of his features. Nature had taken great care when lining up his bone structure, the edge of his nose a sharp blade, his jawstrong, his brow broad, and his mouth full, enticing. It promised wickedness.
She’d been concentrating so much on his fine features that she nearly missed that he had shrugged out of his coat and tossed it aside, onto a nearby bench. “What are you doing?”
The waistcoat joined the coat, and he began undoing the buttons on his shirt. “Providing you with a sparring partner. I could use the practice and need to loosen my shoulder.” Reaching over his back, he grabbed the cloth, pulled it over his head, and flung it onto his coat. He dropped down onto the bench and removed his boots and stockings. Even the man’s enormous feet were attractive. Was there any aspect of him that was flawed? It was deuced irritating.
