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‘Come on.’ He lifted both hands, open, beckoning Lucian to advance. ‘I am going to enjoy this. Who do you spar with?’
‘The Gentleman, of course.’ Lucian tossed aside his neckcloth and squared up to the other man. ‘I’ve seen you there, but I’ve never seen you fight.’
‘Thought I’d come across you at his saloon. Jackson’s a good teacher, even if he does live up to his soubriquet.’
Gentleman. That is a polite warning that this pupil will be anything but gentlemanly, Lucian guessed. And Ashe Herriard had grown up in India, learning any number of exotic tricks, he had no doubt.
As he closed with him the other man’s left foot shot out, aiming a high kick at his elbow. Lucian spun away, untouched and landed a punch on Clere’s ribs. Oh, yes, this is going to be fun.
*
‘Darling, can you see if you can find that album of prints of Calcutta? Mrs Galway was interested and although I left them on the side table in the Chinese Salon they aren’t there now. I cannot think where they have got to.’
‘Of course, Mata.’ Sara made for the library first, glad of an excuse to escape the knowing looks and whisperings of Lady Thale and Mrs Montrum. It seemed the logical place for an over-tidy housemaid to have put it and she took a shortcut from the side terrace where the ladies had been sitting out of the direct sun and through the rear corridor that led from the gardens into the flower room, the boot room and down to the basement.
A glance through the glazed back garden door as she hurried past brought her skidding to a halt on the worn ol
d flagstones. Two men were coming across the gravel from the direction of the stables. Staggering across, holding each other up. Ashe and Lucian.
Chapter Eighteen
Sara wrenched open the door and ran to them, nightmare visions of riding accidents blurring her vision. When she came to a panting halt in front of them they straightened up a little and she could take in their injuries and their clothing.
‘You’ve been fighting—look at the pair of you!’ Both had grazed and bloody knuckles, Ashe was sporting a split lip, a promising black left eye, a ripped shirt and seemed to be limping. Lucian’s right eye was bruised, the side seam of his breeches was gaping, there was a nasty graze on his left cheek and a footprint on his shirt over his ribs.
‘Sparring, that’s all,’ her brother said and winced.
‘Bare-knuckled without gloves? In your decent breeches? Kicking? You’ve been fighting, you horrible creatures. How could you? You are going to be brothers-in-law, for goodness sake.’ Oh, she could have wept, if she wasn’t saving all her energies for thumping the pair of them just as soon as she was sure neither had any serious injuries. ‘Come inside, quickly, before any of the ladies see you and faint dead away. Into the flower room, at least there is water in there and good light.’
‘Good light for what?’ Lucian asked as the two of them resumed their unsteady progress towards the house.
‘Checking you over and patching you up, of course, you pair of savages. Peter!’ One of the footmen came out of the door with a vase of drooping flowers in his hands. ‘Put those down for now and go and fetch me the bandages and salves. Hurry now.’
She got them into the flower room and sitting on benches. ‘Take those coats off, strip to the waist. Oh, let me help—have you broken ribs?’ she demanded as Lucian struggled out of his coat and began to tug at his shirt.
‘Doubt it. Just bruised.’ He squinted down at himself as Sara tossed the shirt aside and prodded the discoloured foot-shaped area. ‘Hell’s teeth. Yes, just bruised, possibly a crack.’
‘And you.’ She whirled round to her brother. ‘Why are you limping?’
‘Twisted my knee when I went down. And, no, I am not going to take my breeches off.’
Peter came in with the hamper full of salves and bandages. ‘Shall I stay, Lady Sara?’
‘No, thank you. Fetch hot water and some small bowls, would you please?’ She waited until he was out of earshot. ‘How could you both? Papa and Mata are happy for me—couldn’t you be, too, Ashe?’
‘I am. Cannock’s a perfectly decent fellow.’ Her brother shrugged, swore in Hindi under his breath and managed a lopsided grin at Lucian. ‘Can’t fight worth a spit, but otherwise, I approve.’
‘Can’t fight, you cheating excuse for a viscount?’ Lucian lobbed a wadded-up neckcloth at Ashe. ‘I had you down as many times as you floored me and you know it.’
Sara glared at them both. ‘Oh, I see. This is that ridiculous male thing where you have to knock seven bells out of each other and then you’re friends for life, is that it? Never mind that Mata has a houseful of guests, or that Lucian’s sister might be upset at the sight of him in this mess or I might be, come to that. And do not roll your eyes at me, Ashe Herriard!’
‘Are you certain you want to marry her?’ Ashe enquired, reaching for a wad of lint and dipping it in the cold water before he applied it gingerly to his eye. ‘She’s grown into a shocking nag.’
Lucian looked at her, his face as innocent as any young urchin explaining how it wasn’t his fault he’d come home bloodied, dirty and with split breeches. ‘I’ve got to,’ he said, sounding resigned but noble. ‘A gentleman doesn’t jilt a lady even if she turns out to be a virago and he was expecting a ministering angel.’
‘Well, the virago can jilt the gentleman,’ Sara retorted and put down the pot of calendula salve with a bang. ‘And you can minister to each other as you are such good friends now.’
She swept out and off to the library where the volume of prints was sitting in the middle of the table, which did something to soothe her. By the time she came across Porrett in the hallway she was calm enough to ask him to send Ashe’s valet down to the flower room. If anyone could make them halfway respectable in time for dinner it was Gorridge.
