“You will find many a lady who will want to accompany you.”
His mouth fell open. She was placating him, mollifying him.How infuriating, yet sweet.
“You will honor your promise to go to the ballet with me,” he insisted, knowing he sounded like a stubborn bully.
“No,” she said.
“Why?”
She glanced at the anvil-embellished handkerchief in his hand. Perhaps she believed he wanted to use her to hunt for the handkerchief.
“I will put aside all thoughts of tracking down my sister’s killer.” Even saying it felt wrong. “No, I can’t make that promise,” he amended.
“Nor should you.” Adelia looked as miserable as he felt.So why was she hesitating?
“But I can, in fact, give my brain a rest for a few hours by watching the ballet with a beautiful lady who has never seen it. Please, will you allow me that respite?”
He had a twinge of guilt, for he might have been a little manipulative, but suddenly, more than nearly anything, he wanted to go out again with Lady Adelia Smythe.
She frowned, but he could tell she was close to acquiescing. He hoped so. Determined to say nothing more, he stood in front of her, admiring her ability to keep silent without awkwardness. He had to bite his tongue to do the same.
“Very well,” she said at last, as if the words were wrenched from her.
“Perfect. Until tomorrow.” Owen knew he had best leave before he said something to change her mind. Taking her hand, he suddenly recalled where he was going later. “I will see your brother sooner than I shall see you.”
He felt her hand tense in his.Interesting.
“How so?” she asked, carefully withdrawing from his grasp.
“I believe he wants to clobber me for my rudeness the other night at Lord and Lady Walthrops’, when you fainted, and at the Tourneys’ ball, when I missed our dance.”
She shook her head. “Ridiculous!”
“Nevertheless, I have behaved abominably on more than one occasion, and you are beyond gracious to still allow me access to your person. Thus, I issued an invitation to meet Lord Smythe at two o’clock at our pugilist’s club.”
She looked concerned.
“Do not worry, Lady Adelia. Neither one of us shall end up bleeding. It will be a civilized gentleman’s match.”
He bowed and took his leave of her, hoping he’d spoken the truth. Owen would hate to collect her the following night with a broken nose or a split lip.
*
A few hourslater, he entered Teavey’s in the West End, feeling slightly better than he had in weeks. For one thing, he knew he likely hadn’t spent the evening in the same room as his sister’s murderer, thanks to Lady Adelia’s handkerchief retrieval. He realized belatedly he’d left them with her and wondered how she would dispose of them. Since she liked paper, she would probably send them to a stationery manufacturer to make paper pulp, commonly done with discarded fine fabric.
Stripping down to his breeches, he warmed up with one or two club members, awaiting Lord Smythe’s arrival. The young earl appeared cheerful, perhaps at the idea of popping Owen in the face. That didn’t bother him one bit. He found nothing soothed the angry beast within him as did some hearty physical activity. Howbeit, he hoped what he’d told Lady Adelia was correct—they were not out to injure one another.
After Smythe had a chance to settle in and undress to his breeches, they shook hands. And as Owen had predicted, it was a friendly match of fisticuffs, over before he knew it, and neither either of them did anything ungentlemanly provoking true violence. They each threw a few solid punches to the midriff, but, as they were wearing gloves, there was no fear of barbaric knuckle-gouging to the eyes. Nor did either of them do any unmanly dropping or shifting.
Finally, they left the arena to shake hands again. Owen watched Smythe carefully, as he did every man nowadays. After dressing, the young earl reached into his pocket and drew out a square of white.
Owen narrowed his eyes. Involuntarily, he took a few steps closer, watching carefully as Lady Adelia’s brother dabbed at his face. He had to restrain himself from lunging closer and demanding to look at it.
After blotting his face, the earl hesitated and flicked it open, staring at the handkerchief briefly, giving Owen plenty of time to see it was utterly unadorned—no anvil, no monogram, not a hint of lace. Then, Lord Smythe scrunched it into a ball and pocketed it. This man’s handkerchief was a plain, utilitarian square of cloth, and that made the earl rise a few notches in Owen’s estimation.
In fact, disappointment at not finding the anvil handkerchief mixed quickly with utter relief. Lady Adelia could still be in his life. Her brother was not the killer.
When Lord Smythe left, Owen hadn’t disclosed he was taking the man’s sister to the ballet. That was Lady Adelia’s task to do, as well as to arrange for a chaperone. If the terrible tragedy hadn’t occurred, he would have brought Sophia along to alleviate the need for one.
