Page 39 of A Very Roguish Boxing Day
“Nothing!I’ve never seen someone throw a punch like that!”She stroked her thumb over the back of his hand, inspecting it.“How did you not break something?”
He flexed his hand into a fist.“I’m not exactly small-boned.But really, it was no trouble.You should see the coves I usually fight.Take Donovan McLaren—he’s as big as an ox, and just as strong.It’s like punching a brick wall.The point is, this is what I do.”He peered at her, frowning.“Wait.You’re not crying, are you?”
She gave a great sniff as she pulled a handkerchief from her pocket.“You were sogallant!Sohonorable!I’ve never had a man do something like that for me.It seems to have turned me into a watering pot.”
Well, shit.Gallant?Honorable?That wasn’t him, was it?He was just the big, dumb lout who got punched in the face for a living.But to hear Gwen tell it, you’d almost think he was some kind of hero.And Tom found that notion was turninghiminto a watering pot.
“I’m right up there with Miss Mercy and her hatpin, eh?”Tom joked.Because what was he supposed to say?Gosh, Gwen, that really means a lot to me?He couldn’t saythat!Even if it was true.Especiallybecause it was true!
She was still sniffling.“I hold both you and Miss Mercy in the highest regard.And I don’t like the idea of you fighting someone who is as strong as an ox.I would be distraught if anything were to happen to you!”
Bloody hell.He’d scrambled out of the frying pan and straight into the fire.Because now Gwen held him in thehighest regard.She didn’t want him fighting the likes of Donovan McLaren, and she would bedistraughtif anything were to happen to him.
It was a good thing she didn’t know what had happened the last time he’d fought McLaren, about the ringing in his ears that plagued him night and day and kept him tied to this big, noisy city when all he wanted was a quiet life in some little town.He wanted to be Tom Talbot, the bloke who lived down the lane, not Tom Talbot, the famous boxer everyone knew of and no oneknew.
He shook himself.What the hell was wrong with him?All this maudlin drivel wasn’t going to solve a damn thing.
Get hold of yourself, Talbot.He wrapped an arm around Gwen’s shoulders.“There now.It’s all right.”He squeezed her and did his best to mumble encouraging shite until she’d stopped crying.
Once she finished dabbing her eyes, he asked her, “So, what’s your next step?Do you want to go back to the Widows, or?—”
She shook her head.“When Joseph comes to, he’s going to befurious.I need to get back to Merstham before that happens.I’m safest there.”
Tom nodded.“Then we’ll get you there straightaway.”
“Let’s see.”Gwen bit her lip.“The mail coaches won’t be running on Christmas Day.But maybe I can arrange for a post chaise.”
They went to the Golden Cross, a large coaching inn at Charing Cross.When Gwen enquired about hiring a post chaise, the innkeeper wasn’t encouraging but said he would see if anyone was willing to undertake the journey.He returned with the news that only one postillion was willing to see Gwen home, and his price would be five guineas.
“Five guineas!”Tom couldn’t believe his ears.“That’s highway robbery.”
The innkeeper shrugged.“It’s Christmas Day.Take it or leave it.”
He grabbed Gwen’s elbow and strode away from the counter.“Tom!”she protested.“What are you doing?”
“That trip should be less thantwoguineas.”
Gwen blinked at him, looking perplexed.“Yes, on any day other than Christmas.As it is, I’ll have to be grateful someone is willing to undertake the journey at all.”
“And God knows what kind of tip the driver will be expecting on top of it,” Tom muttered, not slowing his stride.“Five guineas.I never heard the like!”
“Tom!”she cried.
It occurred to him that, in his fervor to rescue Gwen from a spectacularly bad deal, he was probably not escorting her across the inn’s common room but towing her across it.
“Sorry,” he said, halting just inside the door.“Did you really want to take him up on it?”
She winced.“Not particularly.But what choice do I have?”
Tom’s nostrils flared.It was bad enough that Gwen was being forced to take a post chaise at all.Post chaises were bloody expensive.
But to be charged more than twice the going rate?That was unacceptable.
“Come with me,” Tom said.“I have an idea.”
Chapter17
This time, Tom didn’t drag Gwen out the door but offered her his arm in a more customary manner.She accepted it, wondering just how he thought she could get home on Christmas Day if not in a post chaise.
