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)
Honestly, she didn’t care if he was humiliated at school because of his lack of boxing skills. She had her own embarrassment to worry about. Like how she would ever look his sister in the eye, given how he’d reacted to her proposition.
It wasn’t like I asked him to touch me, kiss me, take my virginity. Although to be fair, it was something she dreamed about nightly now, since she’d met him. Not always the losing of her virginity, but having his touch on her.
“Did you speak with his sister?” Henrietta.
“No, I didn’t see Miss St. Martin.” She sighed and gazed around at the family she knew would never love her as she deserved to be. Without another word, she made her way to the back of the room and claimed her seat by the window.
The snow continued to slam against the pane of glass, and she bit back a shudder as she realized how cold it was outside. Then she thought about the children who were out there, not having the shelter or the warmth and protection of a home, and she wished she could help every one of them.
Tugging the blanket off the back of the chaise longue, she tucked it around herself as her family bickered amongst themselves, occasionally sending out less-than-kind words in her direction. She didn’t care. Right now, she was warm and dry.
I can almost forget how I just embarrassed myself.
Almost.
“My lord.” Richards stepped in the doorway.
“Yes?”
“The young Lord St. Martin is here, requesting an audience with”—a sniff—“Miss Rosamunde Fletcher.”
That brought her eyes wide open as a moment of panic swarmed her. Dear God, what if he told her father what she said? She scrambled to a more upright position and gripped the edge of the blanket even as her toes curled inside of her slippers.
“Send him in.”
“Very good, my lord.”
The door closed once more and everyone pinned her with their gaze but she merely shrugged, at a complete loss for words. At the last moment, she shoved to her feet. Her breath caught in her throat when the door opened once more. She ignored the slender form of Richards, the butler, and locked onto the far heartier physique of one Brenden St. Martin.
He hadn’t removed his coat or those shiny black gloves. Snow dusted the broad black shoulders and his hat, which he removed before tucking it under his arm.
“This won’t take long, my lord. I was having the most wonderful discussion with your daughter earlier, along with my sister. Miss Fletcher had mentioned that her brother was looking for some boxing lessons. And unfortunately, I had to check my schedule to see if I could accommodate.”
“You’re always welcome to our home, Lord Wetherstoft.” Her father rose to his considerable bulk and made his way to Bryn’s side, offering his hand.
Bryn didn’t take it. Instead, he simply stared at the head of her family. Eventually her father lowered his hand to his side.
“I know who you are, Fletcher, and I know what you spend your time doing.” He crossed his arms, looking extremely imposing and, dare she say it, attractive. “I heard you and your wife when I brought your daughter back, so let’s not pretend you like me and I won’t try to pretend I give a damn if you do or not.”
She was mortified, but even so, looked at the man standing without shame in her family’s sitting room. He spoke straight and true, not bothering to hide anything.
What would it be like to have the confidence to speak one’s true mind? Incredible, she imagined.
“Because I respect your daughter and she is my sister’s friend, I will do her this favor. I will train your son, but let me be extremely clear on one thing.” Bryn crossed the area rugs to where she stood before the chaise and reached out to touch her on the chin. His fingertips were cold, or rather, the glove was.
Didn’t stop the heat swarming her at the single touch.
Her parents glared at where he touched her. If he noticed he didn’t act like he did. Bryn glided his thumb along her chin before raising her head and angling it a bit to the right.
“If I ever see another mark on her face like I see now, I will not be so polite when I return.” He stepped back and shot her parents a look.
“She’s clumsy,” her mother interjected.
His scowl intensified. “I know the difference between a mark from stumbling into a wall versus someone with a ring striking flesh. And it won’t happen again.” A pause. “Right?”
“My daughter’s been promised to another man.”
Surely her face couldn’t get any redder.
Bryn didn’t miss a beat, he simply shrugged as he released her chin, leaving her bereft of his tender touch.
I must be losing my mind. He doesn’t care for me, he is merely making a point to my parents.