Which he’d do, as soon as he could trust his conscience had suffered sufficiently, by way of his body.
Thunk!
“Ay!” exclaimed Everson, shaking out his gloved fist. “Sorry, Tre…mayne.” The man was out of breath. Also likely knocked askew by how many he was landing. No matter what side of the fist one was on, a sharp punch was jarring.
Just thinking about Thea kissing things better almost made it worthwhile.
Thea.
His smile bloomed even as Everson landed an unexpected punch solidly on his cheek.
“Eh, now…” Daniel shook his head, rolled his shoulders. Sweat flew from both. “B-been practicing?”
Everson grinned. “That I have.”
Good man. Let him get in a powerful one. Daniel knew he deserved it.
So he suffered another. Then another.
Then finally started weaving and ducking, fighting back, if only to a point.
Responding automatically now, his body doing what he’d trained it to for more years than he could count, his thoughts flitted back to dinner last night, to Elizabeth’s startling observation during the second course…
“So tell me, brother dear, what’s put that smile on your face?”
Wylde cleared his throat. “I’m wondering who put the gouges in his neck.”
Rather than sputter or blush prettily, as she would have in the past, his sister gave him a frank look, one of curious appraisal. “I believe Wylde has the right of it.” Though he still sensed a definite air of reserve about her, she left off frowning at his neck and glanced at her husband as though seeking his advice. All evening, Daniel had sensed a new awareness between them. “What think you? Could it be the same person who did both?”
Wylde grinned like a court jester. “Aye. Most definitely. Tremayne—care to enlighten us as to her identity?”
“I would not.” And though it galled him to be the source of amusement for anyone, he could withstand the discomfort given how his predicament seemed to bridge a bond—however tenuous—between Ellie and her husband.
“It matters not who she is,” Elizabeth said warmly. “If she makes you this content, I like her already.”
Content? Was that the strange emotion besieging him since yesterday? Contentment? Nay, for it didn’t come close to conveying the hunger he felt to be in Thea’s company again—and he’d just left her—“their”—mirrored bed an hour ago!
“Daniel,” Elizabeth’s enthusiasm arrested his attention, “shall I apply myself to conjuring you a happy ending with this mystery woman?”
Wylde gestured with his fork and his voice held a bit of a bite. “Before you go spreading herbs and blessings to all and sundry, best conjure up one for yourself, wouldn’t you think?”
“Wylde!” A sharp tide of crimson swept up Ellie’s neck.
He stared at them both. Wylde appeared indolent, relaxed yet alert, his concentration fixed solely on his wife. Elizabeth was ill at ease. Not mad exactly but definitely irritated about something.
Daniel unglued his back teeth. (Easier to snarl that way.) “What the d-d-deuce is”—going—“on?”
“What’s wrong with us?” Ellie interpreted incorrectly. But the gist was the same.
“Eh.” A single-syllable grunt that didn’t come close to expressing his worry and concern.
Ellie waved her napkin (probably hoping to cool her face off). “Nothing a little time won’t cure, dear brother.”
He didn’t believe that for a moment.
Wylde put in wryly, “Nothing a few good tuppings won’t fix.”
Now that, Daniel believed.
But the way Ellie was strangling on her last breath told Daniel he’d best lighten the mood. So he twisted his lips into a semblance of a smile. “Pr-pr-pr—” Deep breath, think it out. Quickly now. Problem? Nay, already tripped over that one. Trouble? Difficulty? Nay. Nay. Bad time? Nay times infinity! Shit.
So he barked, “Things not flowing ’tween the sheets, that it?”
“Daniel!” Elizabeth shot a panicked glance behind him.
He looked over his shoulder and saw the footman, eyes deliberately averted.
Damn. “My ap-p-ologies.”
As though it didn’t matter whether everyone was privy to the situation between him and his wife, Wylde lounged back in his chair. He took up his wineglass, letting it sway from a loose hold, giving the appearance of a man without a care in the world. “If you must know, old chap, the problem isn’t what happens between the sheets, it’s getting her there: between them.”
With a cry, Ellie jumped to her feet, outrage and embarrassment mingled in her expression before she fled, leaving Wylde to plead his passion for all things political, the servants to clear the table around them (neither gentleman being inclined to move, the wine within easy reach and relocating elsewhere an unnecessary effort).
Leaving Daniel to worry over the affairs of men and women—did the course ever run smooth? But mostly leaving him to nod and pretend to be listening to Wylde’s natterings while instead, he was thinking of Thea. Imagining the following day when they’d again carry on their budding flirtation, thanks to her bewitched quill and his bemused footman…
Boom! Ker-thump!
Pain exploded behind his cheekbone.
Everson put out a hand to steady him.
Daniel blinked. Damn. That’d been the hardest one yet—what he got for woolgathering.
“I’m think…ing,” Everson panted, “that’s…enough for…one day.”
Daniel slung an arm around the other man’s solid shoulders. The gesture was one of friendship; in truth, he was still seeing stars and didn’t want to land on his face this close to exiting the ring.
The men made their way to a corner and toweled off. Still standing, Daniel addressed his companion, who’d sunk wearily onto a bench. “Everson?”
Everson looked up from where he unwound the wrapping on his left hand, fingers flexing with each freeing revolution. “Aye?”
Daniel opened his mouth to apologize. To confess how rudely he’d treated—
But no. Wasn’t that the coward’s way out?
It was the man’s son he owed an apology to. “Would like…to call. Is t-t—” He scrubbed the damp towel over his throbbing face to muffle the words. “’Omorrow a’reeable?”
“Call? At my home, my lord?” He’d obviously flustered Everson. They’d known each
