Page 29 of A Very Roguish Boxing Day
He laughed, squeezing her hands.“I’ve been fine.I’ve thought about you, too.Did everything work itself out with your brother?”
She considered.“Yes.Er—mostly.”
He raised an eyebrow.“Mostly?”He tugged her hands, leading her toward a row of chairs along the ballroom’s wall.“I want to hear about thismostly.”
That was how Gwen found herself sitting with Tom in the corner, their heads bent together so they could hear each other over the eight-piece orchestra the Widows had brought in for the occasion.Gwendolyn was surprised at how easily they fell into conversation.She wasn’t what you would call a natural conversationalist, and she’d always been especially awkward around men.But she and Tom spoke as if they’d been friends for years, not two strangers who had shared the most awkward financial transaction imaginable.
They discussed everything that had happened since they parted in July, from the Widows hiring Gwen a barrister to her brother’s repeated attempts to kidnap her.Tom laughed uproariously when she came to the part about how she had defeated her brother by making a sketch of Maurice’s intimate parts.
“How about you?”Gwen asked.“I read about your bout in October in the papers.About how you defeated Bruno Jervis.”She bit her lip, considering how to phrase the question she wanted to ask without insulting him.“It sounds like it was a hard-fought match.”
Tom barked out a laugh.“Jervis damn near finished me.Next time, he probably will.I’m getting too old for this.”
Gwen released the breath she had been holding, relieved that he did not seem to have taken offense.“How old are you, if you don’t mind my asking?”
He gave her a rueful look.“The absolutely ancient age of seven and twenty.”
Gwen rolled her eyes.“Ancient.For a boxer, perhaps.But you’ve got a lot of good years ahead of you.”
Tom’s expression sobered, but he said nothing.
Some strange impulse had Gwen nudging him in the arm with her elbow, a familiarity she could have never imagined herself taking with a man before.“What’s this long face?You do have a lot of good years ahead of you.”
He shrugged.“Boxing’s a rough sport.Makes you old before your time.I won’t be able to do it much longer.”
Gwendolyn leaned forward.“What do you think you’ll do after you retire from boxing?”
“I honestly don’t know.Oftentimes, a fellow like me can find work providing security at one of the gaming hells that cater to rich toffs.Maybe something like that.”
He made the remark lightly, but he didn’t meet her eyes, and although he had infused his voice with a note of optimism, it sounded forced.“You don’t sound entirely enthusiastic about the prospect.”
“Eh.I might do something else entirely.Still figuring it out.”
“What other possibilities do you?—”
“Let’s dance.”
Tom seized her hand, neatly pulling Gwen to her feet and propelling her halfway across the room before she realized what was happening.
“Oh!”Gwen gasped, startled.“You wouldn’t want to dance with me.”
He gave her a sideways look.“Wouldn’t I?”
“I’m a terrible dancer, you see.”
The set was forming for a country dance.Ignoring her protestations, Tom led her to a spot midway down the line.“I get punched in the face by very large men for a living.I think I’ll survive you trodding on my foot.”
“You doubtlessly would, but it’s more that you will find it embarrassing to stand up with such an ungainly partner.”
He tipped his head back to the ballroom’s gilded ceiling and laughed.“The things you rich nobs worry about.Dancing is supposed to be fun.”
Gwen peered up at him uncertainly.“Fun?”
This made him laugh even harder.“Fun.You know, as in enjoyable.Merry.Why do you dance, if not for fun?”
“A lady is supposed to dance in order to show off her elegant bearing.It is also an opportunity to demonstrate how accomplished she is at…”
Gwen trailed off.Tom now had his hands on his thighs and was bent forward, shaking with mirth.
