Owen rolled his eyes. He hadn’t intended to get into fisticuffs that evening. He just wanted to search for the blasted handkerchief.
“Sorry, I reserve my garden trysts for beautiful ladies,” Owen said, which seemed to inflame the man further, although it was merely a joke. “Fine,” Owen said, “let’s take this outside. Do I need to enlist the services of a second?”
“What you’ll need is your physician,” his opponent advised and stalked past him to the closest French doors leading to the grounds behind the corner townhouse.
Owen followed, unable to entirely discount his own blame in this, while also admitting to a little anticipation at fighting a stranger outside of the pugilist’s club. As soon as they rounded the shrubbery, barely out of sight of the ballroom, the man turned and put up his fists, which, in keeping with his build, were like compact hams.
“Are you positive you want to do this?” Owen asked him. After all, despite seeming to be about the same age, Owen had the advantage of height, long arms, and a general air of fitness.
“Shut your cakehole.” The man hunched into a boxing stance.
“I think we should at least remove our jackets,” Owen pointed out, beginning to shrug out of one sleeve.
His opponent took the opportunity to punch him in the gut. Hard!
“Dirty rotter,” Owen muttered when he could breathe again, and he put his fists up immediately. The man threw another quick punch, which Owen dodged, then another that would have hit him uncomfortably low due to his opponent’s lack of height.
Fully intending to have children someday, he didn’t want this idiot to endanger such a possibility with a misplaced hit. Time to end this.
Owen punched him soundly in the stomach. Since they’d each landed a blow, he hoped his adversary would consider the matter at an end. However, the man socked him again, and once more, it was low in the stomach, which Owen tightened in time to deflect any damage.
“How’d you like that, missy?” he heard the challenger crow.
A red haze floated in front of Owen’s eyes. And though he wasn’t truly angry at this ridiculous chap, he could easily imagine some degenerate, one who fought dirty as this man did, taking out his spite upon Sophia.
With that, he let his fist fly directly into his opponent’s ruddy face. The man’s head cocked back, and his body followed. Undoubtedly no John Jackson, he was out cold.
“Christ!” Owen muttered.Had his punch really been so hard?
As a few surged forward, he realized others had followed them outside.Good!Let someone else wake up the wretch, offer a hand of truce, and tend his split lip or whatever injury he had.
It had been a most unsatisfying outlet for his anger. He hadn’t got any closer to finding the handkerchief. And now his ribs hurt from the few punches the blighter had landed.
What was more lamentable, when Owen entered the ballroom, he realized the first dance had started. As many eyes turned to him, he knew word of the childish brawl had spread around the room through the hundred or so guests. It would be in the papers by morning. He didn’t give a fig.
Quickly, he sought Lady Adelia, looking for her stunning blue dress. She was not on the dance floor, which was no surprise. Apparently, she hadn’t made an effort to find a worthier partner. If her card still looked as it had earlier, he could easily partner her for the next dance or the one after that. All he had to do was locate her.
After a few minutes of searching, he saw her seated at a table with her brother, their heads close together, talking. Something inside him twisted with pain and envy. What he wouldn’t give for another moment like that with Sophia.
As he approached, the young earl rose to his feet and waited. Owen bowed to him first, and next to Lady Adelia.
“My apologies for missing our dance, my lady. I hope I may make it up to you as your partner for the upcoming one.”
Before she could respond, her brother spoke. “You assume she will dance with you after you treated her shabbily.”
Owen looked from brother to sister. Lord Thomas Smythe was clearly offended by the slight, but Lady Adelia seemed more concerned with not drawing attention to their uncomfortably awkward tableau. She put a hand on her brother’s sleeve.
“Sit, please, Thomas. It is no matter.”
Owen felt a stab of shame. She didn’t deserve to be embarrassed by the likes of him or her brother. For his part, he was a man of his word and, as far as he knew, he’d never left a promise to a lady unfulfilled, not even the pledge to dance with her.
“I would be grateful for the opportunity to make amends. May I have the next dance?” he asked again.
Lady Adelia stood, and Owen was certain, by her mild expression, she was going to acquiesce, but her brother shook his head.
“My sister is not to be trifled with. This was not the fifth or eighth dance when a man might be forgiven for mixing up his commitments. This was thefirstdance, and she was on the side of the dance floor, awaiting you. She will not do so again tonight.”
Lord Smythe folded his arms. His sister pursed her lips, and Owen wondered if Lady Adelia would abide by her brother or make up her own mind.
