Page 14 of Claiming His Lost Duchess
As she stroked her daughter’s auburn hair, she was forced to recall the coincidental meeting with the child’s father. Even with all the years that had passed, she had never forgotten him.
But seeing him earlier had not brought up any urges to reminisce over what they had shared that night. Joan had forced herself not to look directly at him, no matter how her heart had wanted her to. But the warmth that had spread through her bodywhen he had grabbed her arm was distinctively familiar, and it had been all she could do to fight the weakness in her knees.
She had to ensure that she stayed away from him at all costs. And she could no longer allow Sophia to wander out of her sight in public, although the day’s earlier events had been an accident.
It is fine,she told herself as she pressed kisses to the crown of her daughter's head, cheeks, and forehead.As long as we’re together, everything will be fine.
“Would you like some assistance with that? You’ve wrapped and unwrapped your hands five times in half as many minutes.”
Graham let out a grunt of frustration and held out his hand to his friend, Lysander Millington, Duke of Windermoor, who tutted playfully as he helped the younger man with his problem.
“You've grown quite a bit in all the years I've known you, Graham. You've matured from a mischievous little prankster to a reliable young man with a good head on his shoulders. Although I can hardly fathom what goes on in there. It has truly been a feat watching you grow. You're like the brother I never asked for.”
Graham stared at Lysander, his emotions a confused blend of disgust and touched, wondering what he was expected to say to such an unexpected speech. Thankfully, the other manwho lingered at the edge of the boxing ring snorted and said pointedly,
“Ignore him, Rutledge. He's merely trying to butter him up so you'll go easy on him while you spar. He's likely worried he might pop a hip if he goes too far.”
“I'm only six years older than you are, you bloody bastard,” Lysander glared.
The man, Julian Harrow, Duke of Morland, sneered, his eyes alight in mock surprise.
“You don’t say. You move like one of my great aunts, so I was under the impression that you were much, much older.”
Lysander's left eye twitched, and he pointed at the ring.
“Get in, now. I’ll show you who’s old.”
But before Julian could step forward, Graham held his arm out between them.
“I’m going first. Whichever of you would like to have their arses handed to them first can join me.”
They looked surprised by his words, and he used the opportunity to climb into the ring, stretching as he walked along the lengthand breadth of it. Moments later, Lysander joined him, having lost the coin toss that had taken place between him and Julian.
“Are you sure you want to do this? You might be my dear brother-in-law, but I must defend my honor. Surely you understand.” Lysander stared as he flexed his hands before curling them into fists that he held up as a guard.
Graham could feel the frustration he had barely managed to curtail through most of the day since the encounter he had at the park reach a breaking point. Slowly, he nodded as he said, his tone empty.
“I understand perfectly.”
And then he struck first.
Lysander put up a good guard, blocking or dodging most of Graham's attacks, but the younger man gave him no room to hand out strikes of his own. Lysander found himself in a corner sooner than he had expected, and he had to risk his guard to finally get in a punch. It afforded him the chance to slip away as Graham guarded himself with ease.
“If I did not know any better, I would've assumed that there were some unresolved matters between you and me,” Lysander exclaimed, panting.
“I believe we had previously established that you do not know any better,” Julian exclaimed from where he stood observing them.
“Why you insolent —”
“You're too slow,” Graham stated with a frustrated sigh.
Right before he managed to land a hit on Lysander, right in his solar plexus. With a groan of pain, the other man sank to his knees, struggling to breathe for a moment.
Graham stood straight, his chest heaving with exertion as he walked out of the ring.
“Were you trying to kill me?” Lysander coughed after a moment.
“Not purposely,” Graham responded curtly.
