fourteen
Tristan lay on the dirty floor of The Octagon after his opponent had punched his stomach hard enough to make him nauseous.
Pain throbbed through his body—a war drum symphony that meant peace to him. Around him, a dozen dirty fights were ongoing. Heavy feet stomped dangerously close to his head, but he didn’t care.
When he reached that ecstatic state of calm, he didn’t care about anything. He didn’t care about George warning him to stop fighting, Winchester shunning him, Harris’s hurt looks, or the avalanche of emotions Effie woke up within him, including shame.
He blinked, and the lights came in and out of focus. Shadows ran over him, and he wished to be one of them. He wished to join the darkness and be done with.
He’d tried to kiss Effie, and she’d put him in his place with a few words. One word, actually.
He deserved her rejection because, even though he wasn’t as refined and sophisticated as his late mother would have liked him to be, he was aware a gentleman shouldn’t put a lady in a compromising situation, and he’d done that more than once.
Especially if the said gentleman hadn’t acted on attraction only.
Effie was beautiful, but he’d met plenty of beautiful women, and not one of them had made him lose his mind and control as she had. She was special but not because of her hazel eyes changing colour, her bright smile, or her glorious chestnut hair. Her kindness made her special. Her kindness towards him in particular.
She had no reason to be kind to him. Hell, he wasn’t kind to himself. But she was kind to him, and he didn’t understand why.
He shut his eyes as a man dropped next to him, brushing his shoulder. Shouts and thuds filled the stuffy air of the ring, but he was at peace.
He made a decision. Then and there, on the bloody floor of The Octagon, with his muscles screaming in agony, and his mind clear and free.
He’d decided to marry Lady Effie.
Effie gently heldthe tiny paw of Turi, Jane’s Pomeranian, as she bandaged it. The small dog was a perfect patient. He remained still, didn’t try to bite her, and let her apply creams and bandages to his paw without crying blue murder. His mistress, on the other hand, had a flair for the dramatics.
“Is it serious?” Jane paced on the carpet in her sitting room, only to stop to caress Turi’s head and start pacing again.
Her silk skirt flapped around her legs, distracting the dog.
Effie suppressed a laugh. She understood the deep bond between a human and an animal, and she wouldn’t make fun of that. But Turi only had a scratch on his metacarpal pad. Hardly deadly.
Everything that happened to the Pomeranian was a cause of worry. Turi was one of her regular patients.
“The cut isn’t deep, and while infections are a problem, I think Turi’s paw will recover soon. As long as he doesn’t lick it too much and keeps the bandage on.”
“Thank goodness.” Jane sat on the sofa, the back of her hand on her forehead. “When he started limping during his morning walk, I thought the worst.”
“Just make sure he doesn’t lick the wound. I could wrap a towel around his head to prevent him from reaching his paw, but if he doesn’t bother the paw, I would prefer leaving him free.”
“Thank you so much, Effie. You’re a godsend. My physician would never take a look at my Turi. He said something about a superior calling. And it seems veterinary doctors all live in the country, dealing with cows and pigs.”
“I know. I started practising on farm animals, too.” She packed her bag with gauze and disinfectants.
Jane hugged her. “I’ll always be in your debt. How can I repay your kindness?”
“Do not worry. Besides, I don’t have any official qualifications.”
Jane waved an elegant hand. “Tosh. I don’t care about that. You saved Turi’s life.”
That was an exaggeration that Jane repeated every time Turi had a minor illness.
“I’ll check on him tomorrow.” She closed her bag.
Making an animal and a person happy was her favourite thing in the world.
Turi licked her hand and wiggled his tail weakly. Likely, he wasn’t sure if she’d done him a good turn or not.
