Page 65 of Snapdragons
“I’ve seen Martin fight as well,” Aldric said, “and he isn’t as fast as you are. I think speed is the Cornish Duke’s greatest asset.”
“Even if I were quick enough to evade his blocks,” Niles said, “I cannot hit as hard as most of the opponents he has defeated.”
“But land enough blows and you’ll have the same impact,” Kes said.
“I do not intend to simply not try.” Niles began to get the impression that his friends feared he had abandoned hope altogether. “I’ve learned over a great many matches that approaching the ring knowing what my disadvantages are decreases my chances of being carried away limp and lifeless.”
“Best watch yourself, General,” Lucas said. “Puppy is vying for your role as master strategist.”
Though Aldric could give the impression of being hardened and distant, those who knew him best were well aware that he was thoughtful and considerate and not easily offended. To Niles, he said, “Add this to your stratagem: knowing your disadvantages is helpful in avoiding an unmitigated beating, butknowing youradvantagesis helpful if you want to win.”
Niles emptied his lungs in a woosh of breath. “I wouldn’t mind winning.”
Aldric gave a single, almost curt nod, then held up one of the horsehair cushions again. “Hit the one that’s up.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Niles thought it a goodsign that he was neither exhausted nor sore when his afternoon’s exercise ended. Experience told him the aching muscles usually made themselves known the dayaftera particularly strenuous return to pugilistic practice, but he usually felt at least a little of it after the passage of a few hours. This time, however, he mostly felt invigorated.
A good sign, indeed.
And as if fate wanted to make amends for the misery of the past few months, he was handed another good sign as well. Penelope sat beside him on a settee in the drawing room when everyone gathered there after supper, and she did so with such natural ease that he felt certain her motivation was simply that she enjoyed his company.
“You appear to be in better spirits this evening,” he said.
“I am feeling a little less despondent. I followed your lead and decided to send a letter.” She smoothed her skirts but not in a nervous or uncomfortable way. “Of course, I had to guess which inn my brother will be stopping at for the night. There is every chance my letter will not reach him, but I had to at least try.”
“You, then, are doing better than I am. I never did manage to finish my letter.”
She turned a little, facing him more directly. “Is it that you don’t know what to say or that you’re afraid what you wish to say will only make the situation worse?”
“A little of both.”
Penelope set her hand atop his. “I am sorry, Niles. I am sorry this is all so painfully complicated.”
He turned his hand enough to properly hold hers, then did his utmost to ignore how his heart pounded at the simple connection. His inexperience with such things was rendering him rather pathetic, no matter that Aldric had insisted otherwise. “That our situation is so messy isn’t your fault, Penelope.”
He held his breath, waiting to see if she would object to his use of her given name. She had just used his, so he felt himself on firm footing, but he was still nervous.
“It isn’t entirelynotmy fault though.” No dismay or disapproval touched her face or words, so she must not have been upset at his informality. “Perhaps if you wrote to your family and told them that I hold no ill-will over all that has occurred, they might breathe a little easier. Had there been any indication in the letters sent to Liam that you were not eagerly accepting of the arrangement, I’d not have chosen to move forward. So, truth be told, we might lay quite a lot of this mess attheirfeet.”
She offered the olive branch with just enough impishness to bring a smile to his face. A bit of teasing, he had learned early in his years among the Gents, went a long way toward easing worries and burdens.
“I shall toss out what I have started in my letter and begin anew. My second attempt will read simply, ‘Grandfather, this is all your fault.’ That ought to tidy things up nicely.”
How was it that the mere sight of her smile tied his stomach in such pleasant knots?
Her gaze dropped for just a moment, then her eyes widened a bit. “What happened to your hand?”
That pulled his attention to their entwined hands. His right, sitting atop hers, sported a cut on one knuckle. It wasn’t long or deep, but it was that angry shade of red that indicated a relatively new injury. He’d wrapped his hands in strips of muslinthat afternoon to reduce the bruising and such, not wanting to go into the upcoming fight with hands already in horrible condition, but he’d still managed to split the skin over one knuckle.
How did he explain the injury to her without confessing to what he’d been doing and why? A gentleman taking up boxing for prize money was unacceptable, the very reason he fought under a false name and even took pains to disguise his appearance as much as was permitted. If his exploits were known, it would ruin him.
“I cannot say with certainty precisely when it happened.” That was entirely true. “But I can say I was with the Gents when it did.”
She laughed lightly. “That I believe.”
“We tend to get into mischief when we are together.”
