Thornbrook Park (24 page)

“Excuse me?”

“You deserved it, bossing him around, expecting him to fall into line. Threatening to take away his inheritance? You are a bully, Lord Averford. I forgive you for it. I know you're a good man, and I know you were only trying to help Sophia get over her pain. She told me about your son.”

“Edward.” He nodded. “Our son, Edward. I haven't spoken of him in years, and suddenly I've said his name several times in the past month. It feels good, you know, to speak of him. I hate feeling like he's some sort of secret that needs to be buried because it pains Sophia to think of him.”

“Perhaps you need to tell her that. It might not hurt her to speak of him, too. She finally told me about him. I had no idea. She's still grieving the loss.”

“She blames me. I buried him before I told her that he'd died. I only wanted her to be strong enough to bear the news.”

“She thinks you blame her, too. You two really need to talk about him. But I leave that to you. I came to talk about Marcus. You can hardly blame him for how he behaved, as wrong as his methods might have been.”

“Beating me? And you call me the bully.”

“We both know who the bully is between the two of you, Lord Averford. You're older and in control of the estate, and you used your power to try to intimidate him. But Marcus isn't that same boy who used to fear you. I hope you can handle that. And you only goaded him into hitting you because you mistakenly believed yourself to still be the physically dominant one of the two of you.”

“Goaded him, did I? You weren't here.”

“Marcus wouldn't have hit you without provocation, Lord Averford. We both know it. I'm not here to rehash your argument. I simply wanted you to know what you're missing in not repairing your relationship with your brother. He's a good man, Lord Averford. Kind and tenderhearted, but strong and fiercely protective of the ones he loves.”

“You don't say.” Averford rubbed his jaw where there was still some light bruising.

“I have a feeling he gets that from you, actually. I don't know what he was like when you were boys, regretfully. But I know the man he is now, and he takes my breath away. You should see him with Brandon, the way he cares for the boy. He takes his responsibility toward the Coopers very seriously.”

“I know,” Averford agreed. “It's commendable.”

“And he's the only brother you've got. The way I see it, you would be fools not to make up with one another. I don't have my family anymore and I miss them all the time. What I wouldn't give for my brother to contact me.”

“I'm sorry for your situation, Mrs. Kendal. It's a damn shame for your family to be missing out on you. I'll take what you have said under consideration. That's as much as you're going to get out of me for now.”

“Fair enough. I'll take it. Thank you for listening to what I had to say.”

“Mrs. Kendal?”

“Yes?”

“For the record, I think my brother is a very lucky man to have your love. I hope things work out for the two of you.”

“Thank you.” Eve smiled to herself as she closed the door and walked off down the hall to rejoin her friends.

The next day without Marcus passed slowly, though Eve had a wonderful time catching up with her friends. She felt his absence acutely, and Thornbrook Park wasn't the same without him. At dinner, she informed Sophia that she would be headed to London, to Averford House, sooner than planned.

“I wish you all the best, my dear,” Sophia said. “I hope you find what you need.”

In the morning, she overslept and arrived in London later in the day than she'd planned. By the time she got to Averford House, she heard from Sutton that Marcus had already come and gone.

“Do you know where I can find him? Or when he might be back?”

“I believe he was spending the day with the Coopers, but I don't have their address. Brandon was with him.”

“Good.” She nodded. “His mother will be happy to see him.”

Not in the mood to shop or walk around London, she settled in the library with a book, hoping Marcus would return home soon.

Hours later, Sutton found her still with the book to share the news that they had a guest, a friend who had been with Marcus, Mr. Tom Reilly.

“Mrs. Kendal? What a lovely surprise.” Tom smiled in a way that set her at ease, his gray eyes twinkling. He held his hat in his hands. “I came to meet Marcus. I had afternoon appointments and I thought we were to meet back here, but it seems he went ahead without me. Or perhaps he left straight from the Coopers and assumed I would figure it out.”

“Figure what out? Where do you think he's gone?”

“He made arrangements for one final fight at the Hog and Hound before he heads into retirement from prizefighting.”

“Retirement? It's his last fight?”

“Yes. I don't think he was expecting you until tomorrow.”

She shook her head. “He wasn't. I came early.”

“So you did. I wouldn't wait up. These things go late. I hate to run off, but he's expecting me.”

“Mr. Reilly.” She crossed her arms. “If you think I mean to sit here tapping my foot until he comes home, you're mistaken. I want to watch him fight.”

“At the Hog and Hound? It's not quite a suitable venue for a lady, Mrs. Kendal. He'll have my head.”

“Wouldn't he prefer to know that you escorted me safely rather than that I set out on my own just as soon you left?”

Tom sighed. “It seems I'm doomed one way or the other. Get your coat. I'll hail us a cab.”

***

Marcus had planned to meet Tom at Averford House, but he had a change of plans when Prudence gave Brandon her blessing to attend the match.

“This one last night,” Prudence said. “He's obviously getting on so well at the farm, and he loves it so. Thank you, Marcus, for taking care of my boy. Bring him home in one piece. I mean to have him sleep under his own roof tonight, late as it is, and tomorrow, too. I miss him. You can bring him back to the farm another day.”

“A few days,” Marcus agreed. “Mrs. Dennehy said she could spare him and that she would take care of Scout while he's gone.”

“I can't wait to meet her,” Prudence said, and they were off.

Marcus figured that Tom would know to meet them at the Hog and Hound when he didn't find Marcus at Averford House. But Tom would have to settle for being a spectator. For tonight's match, Brandon was going to be Marcus's second.

Thanks to Eve, there was no rage left in him, only a demand for satisfaction. He was no longer the same man who needed to beat something senseless or to take punches just to ease his troubled mind. Being at Thornbrook Park had helped to heal him.
Being
with
Eve.

Unfortunately, possessing all of his mental faculties made it nearly impossible to stare across the ring at Smithy Harris and not be more intimidated than usual. The man was enormous. Marcus reminded himself that he had beaten Harris in the past, and he could best him again.

“Brains over brawn, eh, Brandon?” He had taught young Brandon that one didn't back down from a challenge, and he meant to prove himself triumphant.

Tom finally appeared at the side of the ring, holding out Marcus's gloves. He took them. American rules weren't quite as appealing with his knuckles still bruised from Gabriel's stony jaw. “Thank you. Aren't you going to come on up? Have a seat in my corner?”

Tom shook his head. “Not today. I don't want Brandon to feel I'm supervising. You're in good hands. I'll be in the crowd.”

Before Marcus could protest, Tom was off like a shot. Marcus supposed Brandon was all the support he needed. He stripped down as the crowd cheered and whistled, took his corner, and waited for Jameson to call the crowd to order. Jameson called for seconds and young Brandon stepped up in the ring. He shook hands with the troll Augustus Hantz, haggled with Jameson, and came back with a look of triumph on his face.

“American rules.” Brandon crossed his arms over his chest.

“Really?” Damned impressive for the kid to win Jameson over to American rules, after all the times Tom had failed. Why did it have to be now? “Isn't that the way of it, then?”

“No. I'm joking with you.” Brandon laughed. “I tried, but they were having none of it. Queensbury rules. Get your gloves on.”

Marcus tried not to sigh with relief. “Queensbury it is.”

“Well,” Brandon said, once Marcus was ready. “What are you just standing there for? Dance around. Warm up. Just like you're always telling me. Do you want to be an easy target?”

Marcus bounced from foot to foot, trying to get worked up, trying to get angry remembering Oliver Lawson poised behind Eve, knife raised. At last, he began to feel it, not the black, mind-numbing rage, but a good solid wave of righteous anger. Anger would serve. He jumped around taking swings at the air.

“Good,” said Brandon. “Stay solid.”

The crowd began to chant, some calling out for Thorne, some for Harris. For once, Marcus was minutely aware of every little thing that went on outside the ring. The whips came down to drive the crowd from the ring's edges and Jameson called his name, an introduction. He held up his hands to the crowd. A few of them applauded. Next, Jameson called out Harris, and the crowd erupted with cheers and exclamations. They loved Smithy Harris. For the first time, Marcus realized that the crowds were there not to support him, but to see him beat.

“You're going down, Harris.” He pointed at his opponent. If he couldn't win them over with size or power, he would have to rely on bravado. He pumped his gloves together. He could hear his name now from the crowd, their chants a little louder. Perhaps he had won over a few of them.

Harris merely laughed, a deep throaty rumble that swayed any few Marcus had inspired back to Harris's corner. Doubt him, did they? He would fight harder to win them over. He simply wasn't going to be taken down.

As soon as the bell rang, he pounced with a right jab that took Harris by surprise but only seemed to fuel the blacksmith's lust for Marcus's blood. Harris lunged. Marcus sprung backward. Harris delivered a solid hook, but Marcus ducked and came up behind him. Marcus rained some light punches on the giant's chest, but weaved and dodged a one-two solid return. The bell rang. Marcus went back to his corner.

“Some nimble footwork out there,” Brandon encouraged him as he handed him his water. “Keep it up.”

Back in the ring, Marcus faced Harris with a jab-hook-jab combination that sent the giant staggering for all of a second before he steamed forward with retribution blows headed for Marcus's jaw. Marcus bobbed, ducked, danced, and ended up back in front of Harris with a square blow to the chest and one that landed straight between the giant's eyes. Harris wobbled on his feet but then seemed to get his bearings. He landed a crooked punch to Marcus's chin as the bell rang to end the round.

“Just keep wearing him down.” Brandon sponged at the blood dotting the corner of Marcus's lips. “Remember to keep moving. Don't let him get you next time.”

“Sure, boss.” Marcus tried to smile but his mouth was tight with swelling. “I'll try.”

“He's been favoring his left side. You might try coming at him from the right.”

“Thanks.” Marcus felt warmth spreading in his chest and knew it was his pride in Brandon. The lad made a capable second.

The bell rang again. Marcus had never been so aware of the crowd, the noise, and his opponent. He was used to looking at everything through a black haze, but it was all so clear to him suddenly.

He didn't run at Harris directly this time. He came at him from the right, as Brandon recommended, and he noticed the bruising under Harris's right eye, where he knew he had not laid a glove. Someone else had landed a blow there recently. It was a weakness that Marcus could manipulate, and he needed all the help he could get. He jabbed, ducked, danced to the left, and came at Harris from the right with a sound left hook. Harris never saw it coming. Marcus slammed his gloved fist directly into Harris's jaw and Harris swayed, steadied, swayed again, and went down.

Jameson leaned over him, counting, “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six.” Marcus breathed heavily from exertion as Harris managed to lift his head and groan, then drop his head back to the mat. “Five, four, three, two, one.” Jameson lifted Marcus's arm, his win confirmed. “Knockout! Thorne wins the match!”

Brandon couldn't manage to stay in his corner as Marcus was pronounced the champion. He ran at Marcus and hugged him around the waist, unconcerned with the film of perspiration Marcus had worked up.

“You won! I knew you would.”

“I'm sorry, Brandon,” Marcus said, meeting Brandon's gaze. “I appreciate your support, but I know you probably would have liked filling your pockets more.”

“What do you mean? You won!”

“Yes, but—”

“I bet on you, you dolt. This time, I took my chances on you.”

“Oh.” Marcus smiled. That Brandon believed in him enough to bet on him, even after Marcus went down to Harris last time, meant the world to him. “Now what did I tell you about placing wagers? I believe I've warned you against it, young man.”

“Pfft.” Brandon rolled his eyes. “I'll stop when you stop.”

Marcus nodded. “Good answer. We've both just retired from boxing and betting.”

After the thrill of the fight and the win, he didn't need it any more. In his mind, he knew what he wanted. He wanted Eve. And he meant to have his chance. Eve was worth any risk.

***

Tom Reilly hadn't wanted to bring Eve to a rough place like the Hog and Hound, but she had insisted. How could she stay away?

Seeing Marcus in the ring, stripped down to his bare chest, she felt overcome by a sudden wave of longing. That man, the mass of muscle and sinew before her eyes, was the man she'd given herself to time and again. The memories gave her a secret thrill.

It was too late to say anything to Marcus before the match, and Tom Reilly kept her a safe distance from the ring, insisting that Marcus would personally hold him responsible, should anything happen to her. No matter. She could see well enough from their seats at the back of the room. She watched Marcus jab at the air, bouncing from foot to foot, as he waited for his opponent to climb into the ring with him.

A young man in shirtsleeves and tweed trousers, his brown hair falling into his eyes, offered Marcus a pair of gloves. When Marcus smiled and took the gloves, she could see the pride shining in his eyes from across the room.

“He let Brandon Cooper in the ring with him? Is it safe?” she whispered to Tom.

“He wouldn't let any harm come to the boy. He loves him like his own.”

“I see.” She could tell that they'd grown very comfortable with one another, young Cooper and Marcus Thorne. And then, her gaze caught on another man just climbing over the ropes. More like stepping. He was tall enough that he didn't really need to climb, exactly, and so thick with muscle that he made Marcus look like a schoolboy. A cold bolt of fear shot down her spine. She reached for Tom's arm.

“Tell me that's not his opponent.”

“Smithy Harris, that's him all right.”

“Marcus means to fight him? The man's a giant, like something out of a story book.” She stood and called out. “No, stop! Stop the match!”

Tom tugged at the hem of her coat, encouraging her to sit back down. “Hush.”

“Mr. Reilly, this can't go on. He'll—he'll be killed.” And before she even had a chance to tell Marcus that she loved him.

“He has faced Smithy Harris before, don't you fret.”

“And won?”

Tom laughed. “Well, not exactly. Once, it was a sort of a draw. Marcus managed to tire Harris out before he could land a solid punch. And the next time, Harris laid Marcus flat. I think he felt that one for a week afterward, maybe more.”

“Oh, but Tom.” The two fighters walked toward each other in the ring. She bit her lip nervously. She didn't want to look, but she couldn't look away. “Marcus!”

“It hasn't even started yet,” Tom explained. “Just introductions. It doesn't start until after the bell rings.”

“Then, there's still time to stop them.” Her heart raced, frantic.

“Not a chance.” Tom put his arm around her to keep her calm, or to keep her seated. She wasn't sure which.

Then the bell did ring, and she felt helpless, cringing with every jab at the man she—oh yes, she knew now for certain—the man she loved. As soon as this was over, if he lived, then she would tell him. There was no use wasting another moment.

The bell rang again, and Marcus remained on his feet. She applauded. “That's it, then? It's over? He's survived.”

“That's just the first round,” Tom said. “I never should have brought you here. I should have known that you couldn't bear it. Let me take you home.”

She straightened up, determined. “No. I'll contain my nerves. I'm sorry. I can bear it. I will.”