“Yes. I’m wondering if he is going to kill Vincent and make it look like your father did it.”
She snorted a laugh. “What an idiot. My father loves Vincent and cannot wait until we are wed.”
“Edgar doesn’t know this.”
“True.” She paused, thinking of where the evil man might have taken her true love. Immediately, she recalled seeing an old shack on the property. It was one of the first shacks built that housed the servants many years ago.
“I think I know where he is.”
*
Vincent stood withhis unbound hands folded across his chest, watching with humor as Edgar danced around him. The man looked like a cross between a boxer and a dancer. But he was serious as he hopped around, holding up his fists. He had yet to throw the first punch.
Thankfully, Vincent’s criticism had worked. Edgar wanted to feel like a real man and fight. But if something didn’t happen soon, Vincent would think the man wanted to dance with him instead.
“I say, Trenton,” Edgar said, “you stand there as though you don’t expect me to clobber you.”
“You know, Stone, for once, you’re right.”
Edgar stalled as confusion etched his dimwitted expression. Vincent would bet good money the man was thinking over what had just been said.
“So, you aren’t going to fight me?” He shook his head, still holding up his fists. “Perhapsyouare the one who isn’t a real man.”
Vincent sighed and lowered his arms. Edgar’s frame stiffened, and he lifted his hands higher.
“I suppose,” Vincent said slowly, “that I shouldn’t feel guilty if I hurt you.”
“Ha!” Edgar spat at him. “I daresay you are stalling. Now I can seeyouare the weakling.”
Vincent rolled his eyes. The insipid man had asked for it, and he was going to get it.
In one quick movement, Vincent fisted his hand and punched Edgar square in the nose. The sound of bones crunching rent the air. The man didn’t even have time to block the punch.
Edgar screamed like a child and covered his bloody nose. He stumbled backward, tripping over his own feet and landing on the ground. He then fished in his pocket and pulled out a knife, pointing it at Vincent.
He wanted to laugh. Did the man actually think that was going to scare him? He shrugged and, in another swift movement, kicked the knife out of Edgar’s hands. The sound of bones crunching pulsed through the air again.
Swearing—and crying—Edgar cradled his injured hand and his broken nose. The pathetic man curled on the ground and rocked back and forth. A chuckle escaped Vincent’s throat. At least the man had tried to prove he had a spine. Sadly, though, he didn’t succeed.
“I swear this to you now,” Vincent said with tight lips as he glared at the pathetic weasel. “I will get in touch with the magistrate and have you arrested for kidnapping me. I’ll also have him look into your lineage, because I highly doubt you are a reallord. Gentlemen do not act this way, I assure you.”
Vincent turned to leave but decided he’d better tie Edgar up. After all, the man was a coward. He’d run and hide to keep from being arrested.
Vincent searched the floor, looking for the ropes that had bound his wrists together. They were in the corner of the room. A movement from outside pulled his attention toward the door just as Augusta entered. She held a pistol and pointed it at him.
He stood still, waiting and wondering what she’d do next. Her gaze shifted to the floor where Edgar was curled in a ball, whimpering like a baby. Her expression hardened, and she whipped her attention back to Vincent.
“What have you done?”
He shrugged. “Edgar wanted to fight me like a man, so I let him. As you can see, he didn’t win.”
“Get off the ground,” she snapped at Edgar.
“I-I cannot. He broke my nose, and I think he broke my hand,” Edgar whined.
“Augh!” She marched toward him, still trying to keep her pistol on Vincent. “You sniveling little fool. What made you think you could fight a man like Lord Trenton? He’s twice your size.”
Instead of answering, Edgar covered his face, continuing to rock back and forth.
