Chapter Six

The earl stood there, mouth moving but no words forthcoming. Rosamunde thought she may have killed him with her question. Perhaps it was like her family said, she was too fat to get anyone to look at her in such a way. And this man was repulsed as well.

She didn’t have a lot of, or any really, experience with men, but she thought she’d noticed some interest in his gaze. And she was fairly certain he’d been looking at her chest. But this, well, it was humiliating.

“I’ll leave, I apologize for asking such an inappropriate question. Have a good day, my lord.”

The door slammed shut before she could walk out of it. Facing the hard wood panel, she stared up at the darkly tanned arm overhead. Bryn had his palm on the wood and as she watched, his other settled on the other side of her, effectively caging her in.

She licked her lips but refused to turn around.

“Gotta give me a bit more time than that, love, to work this out in my head. It’s not every day I get propositioned to help a woman lose her virginity. And definitely not one like you.”

Tears sprang to her eyes and she fisted her hands at her sides, taking several deep breaths—which may not have been a good idea given how his scent seeped into her nose—and reached for the door handle.

“I get enough of that talk from my family. I’ll not stand here and take it from you. A simple ‘no’ would have sufficed, Lord Wetherstoft.” She pushed him aside somehow and made her way out of the house.

At least her father had sent her in the carriage so she didn’t have to walk the long distance home from Bryn’s place. And her father must have felt like splurging on his daughter, for the interior was warm with bricks. The moment she settled, they were moving.

Alone, she cried, making sure to wipe away all trace of the evidence before she climbed out and walked inside her childhood home.

“Well?”

It was like her family had waited against the window for her to return home. She’d not even got her jacket off and they were surrounding her.

“Did you see him?” Her father.

“Will he help me?” Lovell.

“Did you see his mother?” Henrietta.

“Was he as big in real life as he seems to be?” Harmony.

She held up her hands. “He’s thinking about it. I can’t promise anything but I asked.”

“If it means you sell yourself, then do it.” Lovell crossed his arms. “I need to learn to box. I will be a laughingstock if I am the only one in my class who can’t. Or if I am the worst.”

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.

The touch hadn’t been tender. It hadn’t been painful. Which to her equated tender. At least when it came from this man, but surely, she was allowed her fantasies.

“She was extremely clear about that when she spoke with me.”

“And you’ll help my son?” Lord Barberton asked.

“I’m not in the habit of saying things I don’t mean.” Bryn tugged on the sleeve of his heavy coat. “I would speak with your daughter alone.”

“That’s not wise, for an unwed woman to be in a room with an unwed male who is not family.” Her mother’s affronted tone made Rosamunde struggle not to roll her eyes.

“You sent her to my house alone and unchaperoned. I hardly think me speaking with her for a moment in this room will ruin her reputation.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Out.”

It amused her to see her family scrambling to do as he’d bid. Until the door closed them in together, she didn’t think about it, that he’d made them leave the warm room. It bothered her that she discovered she was nervous, again, because really, she’d damn near propositioned him.

“What can I do for you, my lord?”

He snorted and she looked up to find his amused gaze on her.

“Now you want to act prim and proper? We both know those kinds of women don’t do what you did earlier. And I want to make one thing perfectly clear.” He canted his head to the side. “Two things.”

She scrunched her fingers in the blanket as she retook her seat. “And they are?”

“I’ll help you and get the pleasure of pummeling your brother, but I will bring my family’s wrath down on them if they touch you like this again.” He dragged a knuckle down her face along the mark. “Point two is that earlier, I didn’t mean that how you took it. I meant a woman of means. You shocked me is all.”

A brittle smile in place, she gave him a nod, well aware of the dismissal. He still didn’t find her attractive and, for some unpleasant reason, that hurt. “Understood.”

His gaze dropped to her lips and lingered before he ripped it back up. “We’ll start tomorrow. At the academy.” His smirk had her toes curling. “You’ll accompany your brother.”

“I’ll what?” She forgot about the pleasure his look had sent through her and shot to her feet. “I can’t attend an academy for boxing.”

“You can and you will. After all, I’m helping you with your true request. That means I need to have you near me.” A wink and he headed to the door. “I will see you and your brother in the morning.” He pulled the door open and, beyond him, she saw her family scrambling back. “Not a minute beyond seven. I hate to be kept waiting.”

And he was gone, leaving her with her family, who watched her like she’d sprouted another head.

* * * *

“You’ve lost your head.”

Bryn shrugged at Falcon’s statement as he made sure the room they would be sparring in was warm enough for Rosamunde. The moment he’d set foot in her house, he’d struggled with the desire to drop her over his shoulder and take her away to his parents’ home. The place had been frigid. And not just the lack of heat, although he was smart enough to know when people were putting on a front.

And since he had already had Falcon dig into the family, he knew how in debt they were. Which meant Rosamunde was the one they were going to sacrifice to keep the others, the “pretty” ones, and the son, happy. More anger surged through him and he ground his jaw, ready to plant some punches against her brother. He’d heard from many how that family viewed her, the names they called her and how little they respected her.

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Why should I? I’m happy thinking about darkening her brother’s daylights. You’re going to say what you will no matter what response I have. I’m helping her, that’s all.”

“You don’t even know the lad’s name.”

“Nope. Don’t care either.”

“She’s not hoping you’ll be coming up to scratch, is she?”

“No.” He faced his best friend. “She’s promised to some old letch. Since Daddy’s gambling and Mommy’s spending habit has them dished up, she’s the fish to get them out of dun territory.”

“Why her?”

“Because I’m the worthless one.” Rosamunde’s matter-of-fact statement caught them both by surprise.

Bryn whipped around, an apology on his lips, but swallowed it the second he saw her expression. Cold. Emotionless. In other words, not the woman who had been blushing before him at his house.

“Miss Fletcher,” Falcon said, stepping forward, hand outstretched.

“No need to apologize, my lord. He’s your best friend, I’m sure he’s told you everything.”

He brushed a kiss over the back of her hand and Bryn wanted to knock him into next week.

“Not a lord. Feel free to call me Falcon.” A dazzling smile turned up his lips. One Rosamunde responded to.

“That’s Mr. Morgan,” Bryn snapped, moving them away from each other with a glare to his friend.

“Where’s the runt?” He took a deep breath before gazing down to her waiting green eyes.

“Lovell?”

Bryn shrugged, still not caring about his name.

“He was looking around.”

“But you came directly here.” He smiled as a flush seeped up her cheeks.

“You said you didn’t want us late.”

“Being in the building,” he said loudly, “but not here, is still considered late.”

She stepped back a bit and turned as her brother swaggered into the room. Bryn wanted to close the distance they’d just had put between them, however he stayed motionless, waiting.

Lovell had the same familiar, condescending smirk on his face as many of the members of peerage who came here did. Before they got their asses handed to them.

He sauntered up to where they stood and paused, hands in his pockets. “I’m ready.”

Bryn raked him with his gaze. “You’re late.”

The boy turned on his sister and snapped, “I told you to get here and tell him we were here. You’re fuc—”

Bryn had him by the throat and slammed him back into the nearest wall. “Watch how you speak to or about a lady, especially when it’s your sister. She was here. You were not. That’s completely on you.”

He gripped his throat and held him there, anger pumping through his veins like blood. In his periphery he noticed others watching but no one moved to interfere. And Rosamunde walked off.

So proud of her .

She found a seat and sat on the edge of the bench. He knew it was warm there for she was nearest to the fire.

Eyes slits, he focused on the piece of shit before him. “Understand?”

“Should probably let him get some air in there if you expect a response.” Falcon, always the peacekeeper.

Loosening his grip, ever so slightly, Bryn cocked an eyebrow. Lovell gulped, throat moving against his palm.

“Understood.”

His smile was far from nice. “I’m not working with you today.” Bryn walked off, heading over to where Rosamunde sat, flipping through a book she’d had in her bag.

“You said you’d help me,” Lovell protested as he dodged Bryn’s steps.

Rosamunde lifted her gaze to the earl and watched him carefully. He winked at her and never once turned to her brother.

“You said you’d be here on time. You want to box today, get in the ring with someone else. I’ll watch your form but I don’t work with people who don’t keep their word.” Bryn held her stare the entire time.

“Don’t even think about it, pup. Unlike my friend there, I will send you home beaten and bloody.” Falcon’s tone held a lot of promise.

Bryn sat beside Rosamunde as her brother walked around to find someone to spar.

“Would he really beat him that badly?”

He leaned back, resting his arms on the bench behind him. “Without a doubt and with no hesitation.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s an ass and was rude to you.” He hooked his ankles and watched two men climb in the makeshift ring.

The men milling around didn’t spare Rosamunde a glance. Women came in here all the time, despite many trying to say genteel women would never enter the academy, or ones of proper breeding. Plus they knew she was under his and Falcon’s protection. Which meant she wouldn’t be bothered.

Ever.

“I’m nobody.”

“I’m already moody, baby. Don’t push me.”

“Why are you calling me baby? I’m not your baby.”

He turned his head enough to see her face. Adorably scrunched up in confusion.

“And push you into what? I couldn’t move you if I tried.”

God her innocence delighted him.

“I like calling you that, but fine. I’ll find something else to call you.”

She lifted a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Rosamunde?”

Mine.

He chuckled. “No. That’s what everyone else calls you. I want something that’s just mine .”

Pupils dilating, she shrugged and dropped her focus back to the book in her hand.

He smiled and returned his attention to where Lovell sparred with Dennis. Falcon was by the men but his gaze was across the room, lips in a firm line of disapproval. Bryn followed the direction and knew why instantly.

His sister stood there, speaking to another one of the members. A decent man and an earl.

Emmett Appleby, Earl of Bloxam.

A thud grabbed his attention and Bryn found Lovell had been knocked down.

“No concern for your brother, baby?”

They watched him struggle to his feet, shake his head and put his fists up once again.

A sniff. “You mean my baby brother?”

He chuckled, low and intimate, in her ear, wanting nothing more than to curve his body around hers. “If that’s what you need to tell yourself.”