Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Splashing water on her face, she took a few moments to get herself under control as she looked at her reflection. There remained a faint mark on her face from her mother’s hit that would get worse before it got better. Something she would need to hide in public.
She cleaned her hand, ensuring this time to get it all out and put a bandage on it before she walked to the door, which flew open without a precursory knock. Startled, she stepped back, heart pounding.
Lovell stood there, his face pinched as if he were going to ask a question.
“Do you think he would teach me to box?”
“You can’t just barge into my room, Lovell. It’s not done. Knock.”
He waved away her reprimand, much like everyone else did in this house. “You were coming down, it is of no consequence. Answer me.”
She pushed by him and slammed the door behind her, nearly catching his hand in the process. He yelped and glared at her but she ignored him and walked to the stairs.
“Rosamunde!”
Pausing on the top step, she glanced over her shoulder at her youngest sibling. “What?”
The sharpness of her tone caused him to narrow his eyes. “Mind your tone with me.”
“You’re not my older brother, Lovell. You’re the youngest. Of all of us.”
“But I’m the only boy, and the most important.”
Rolling her eyes, she headed downstairs. He pounded down behind her.
“Tell me. Will he teach me?”
Once she was on the first floor, safely, she huffed and spun back to face him. “Will who teach you what?”
“The Mu…” She narrowed her eyes at him and he cleared his throat. “Lord Wetherstoft. And boxing of course.”
Golly. “No.”
A single word. Straightforward and decisive. Proud of herself for that, she continued to the dining room, where her family waited on them.
He hollered something else after her but she didn’t slow or acknowledge him.
“I don’t like being ignored,” he called after her.
I don’t either but have been my entire life. Deal with it. And damn if she didn’t feel extremely protective of the man who’d defended her today.
Her family looked at her when she walked in, all eyes zipping directly to the lingering proof of her mother’s hand on her face. However, no one said a word. Neither did she, opting instead to take her usual seat.
The lukewarm fare placed before her did little to rouse her appetite and yet she wasn’t going to refuse. Especially after knowing how lucky she was to simply have food on the table.
“You should help me,” Lovell persisted.
“Help your brother, Rosamunde.” Her mother’s words were sharp and dug into her raw emotions, waking up the anger she’d spent years keeping under wraps.
“No.”
Five sets of eyes landed on her. Probably more if she included the servants’. As if she’d not even spoken, Rosamunde kept her head down and ate.
“What did you say to me?”
“I refused to help your son. Before you ask why, I’ll tell you. You already hit me once today for being around the man, I’m not going to risk that again simply because your one son has decided he wants to make friends with an earl.”
Her father cleared his throat and she lifted her gaze to find his disappointed one on her.
“I am not sure what’s gotten into you, Rosamunde, but I’m not liking this behavior. You will be the best daughter possible until…” He paused.
“Until you are able to finish the transaction of selling me off?”
Not the slightest bit of shame crossed his face. “We are a family, and what you are doing is helping us.”
“No, you’re selling me because you can’t stop gambling and Mother can’t stop her spending habit. Don’t be altruistic and pretend this is for the good of the family. I’m nothing more than a means to an end and I have no doubt that if someone else offered up more money for me you’d make a deal with them, no matter what the French count thinks.”
“He’s Prussian.” Henrietta.
“Italian, you idiot.” Harmony, older than Henrietta by three minutes and thought she knew everything.
Rosamunde didn’t care. She wasn’t marrying him. And she had a plan on how to make that happen. All she had to do was get the assistance of one Bryn St. Martin.
* * * *
Jumping out of the ring, Bryn snatched the towel that Falcon tossed at him from the air. He dragged it over his face, cleansing away the sweat that dripped down. He’d been in the ring for the past hour working off his frustration.
That woman. Rosamunde. He couldn’t get her out of his mind. Was she what their snooty society considered attractive and beautiful? No. Rosamunde Fletcher had too many curves for her short height. Yet all he wanted to do was explore every single one of them.
He’d woken up this morning with his hand around his cock seconds after it had spilled all over his bedding, and her name on his lips. Damn, his dream had been something else. All her smooth skin the hue of a peach blossom, which he imagined would flush so easily in the throes of passion.