Page 39 of Married to the Lord

“I cannot help it if people make assumptions.” He shrugged. “It is strange for people to see this little wallflower bloom while her fiancé’s brother stalks her every step.” He cocked his head. “I congratulate you on noticing her so quickly. I’ll admit it took me a little while but you found quite a treasure there.”

“I swear to God, Jenkins, you’re begging me to hit you,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Do it.” Jenkins folded his arms. “You titled folk think you are something special because you’ve clung onto your money for so long but I’d love to see the man beneath all the shine.”

Miles chuckled. “If you think attacking my money or my title will bother me, you need to find another rung to cling to.”

“Miss Snow bothers you, though. Not that I can blame you. I did rather fancy getting between her thighs before your bro—”

Miles felt the give of flesh before he’d registered what he’d done. Jenkins doubled over and fought to draw in breaths. Miles’s knuckles throbbed slightly and he kept his hand fisted while heat roared through him. “You have no right to speak of Miss Snow,” Miles hissed.

Jenkins lifted his head. “And...you...do...?” he gasped.

“More right than you.” He put a hand to Jenkins’s shoulder, forcing him up against the wall. “You leave Miss Snow alone or I will show you how dark my past really was.”

Jenkins’s gaze flickered and a tiny smile dared to quirk on his lips before vanishing. “I will,” he rasped.

Miles searched his gaze then stepped back, allowing Jenkins to drop down to his knees. He drew in a breath of cooling air and looked up briefly, letting the raindrops spatter over his heated skin.

“Just so long asyoudo,” he heard Jenkins mutter as Miles stepped away.

He stilled. Jenkins was the sort of man who was determined to have the last word. He’d probably let himself be beaten to a bloody pulp and still be spitting insults. The man wasn’t worth it. Miles flexed his fist and eyed the door of the tavern. He hadn’t wanted to use threats. Hadn’t wanted to unleash his anger. It reminded him too much of who he’d once been.

He sighed. He needed a damned drink and no weak ale this time.

Ducking back into the inn, he ordered a whisky.

“Still throwing punches I see?”

Miles glanced at the man who approached him from the side. Damn it. There was no way this whiskey was worth it. “Nester,” Miles said in greeting then turned his focus back onto his drink, draining it quickly and slamming the glass down.

“Haven’t seen you around here for a long time.”

“For good reason.” Miles stood but Nester put a hand to his arm. The man had aged significantly in the past few years, his beard fully grey and his eyes slightly cloudy. Deep crevasse cut lines through his forehead and around his mouth. Tobacco stains tinged the edge of his moustache a dirty yellow color. His face had always told a story of rough living with scars and a twisted nose but Miles spotted a few newer ones that shone pink.

“We’ve missed you.” Nester looked to the whisky glass. “Looks like you missed us too.”

“That couldn’t be farther from the truth.”

“You should put those fists to better use than using them to beat soft lads like that boy.”

“My fists do not need a use.”

Nester grinned, revealing chipped, yellow teeth and gaps. Miles struggled to understand why he had ever looked up to the man. His only reasoning was that the man was so far removed from his father who had such high expectations of Miles.

“You can pretend to be some hoity, toity lord all you like but some people just don’t have it in their blood. You have fighting in you, my lad. Just look at you. Even in those posh clothes, you can’t disguise it. You were meant for more exciting things than sitting in some large house in the middle of the countryside, listening to rich people complain and gossip.”

Miles shook his head. “Sorry, Nester, I’ve put my fighting days behind me.”

He pursed his lips, making his moustache bristle. “We’ll see you back here soon enough when you realize what you really are.”

Ignoring him, Miles moved past and stepped outside. Jenkins had made himself scarce and for that, Miles was grateful. The last thing he needed to do tonight was prove Nester right—that under all the manners and clothes, he was no better than any of them.

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