“What?”
Cynthia answered with a weak smile. “It appears we may have been too hasty with regard to getting married. We’d actually just decided to return to Renwick when you showed up.”
“Oh.” Wilhelmina allowed the weight of Cynthia’s words to settle. James would be pleased, but the special time they’d shared these past few days was now officially over. There would be no more chances to spend the night in each other’s arms, no more stolen kisses or private exchanges in the carriage. “What happened?”
“I cannot give him the children he wants,” Cynthia muttered.
Wilhelmina stared at her daughter in disbelief. “I beg your pardon?”
“I was ashamed to mention it to him, and afraid I’d lose him if I did. But the closer we got to Scotland, the worse my guilt became and the more I realized how wrong it was to keep such a thing from him.”
“Oh, Cynthia.” Wilhelmina drew her daughter into her arms and held her. “But are you certain?”
“Yes, Mama. Without a doubt.”
Wilhelmina sighed. “You did the right thing then, my darling. I’m proud of you.”
“It doesn’t make it hurt any less,” Cynthia confessed.
“I know.” Heavy hearted, Wilhelmina gave her daughter a comforting squeeze before she released her. “We’ll discuss this in greater depth later. For now, let’s help Mr. Dale with securing those witnesses he asked us to find.”
It had been years – decades – since James had engaged in a brawl, but he’d stayed in decent shape and was fairly sure he’d beat the duke because of this. The younger man circled him, fists raised, while a dozen people looked on. Both men had removed their jackets. James had even rolled up his sleeves. Cloverfield sneered and suddenly struck. James blocked the blow with his forearm, stepped back, and waited for the duke to charge him again. As much as he loathed the man, James had no interest in hurting him unless he had to.
Cloverfield’s fist shot forward once more and connected with James’s shoulder. A dull ache pulsed through him as he staggered back, but the strength of the blow revealed the duke’s weakness. He was the sort of young fool who thought he was better than everyone else, but the punch he’d just delivered belonged to a man of leisure – the sort who pranced about at Gentleman Jackson’s for show without knowing what it truly meant to fight with one’s fists.
As if encouraged by his ability to push James around, Cloverfield grinned, pulled his fist back, and prepared to punch James again. This time, James ducked to one side, made a swift turn, and struck the duke squarely in the chest. Cloverfield’s eyes bulged in surprise, his mouth going wide as the air was forced from his lungs. His knees gave way and his hand reached out, gripping James for support.
“Are you done yet?” James spoke next to Cloverfield’s ear.
Fury lit his opponent’s eyes, growing in strength as he regained his balance and straightened his spine. “Go to hell.”
Cloverfield stepped back, panting for breath while snarling at James like a rabid dog. He rolled his shoulders and flexed his fingers, bounced a few times on the balls of his feet, and finally struck out again. His fist connected with James’s mouth. Wilhelmina cried out and James swiftly blocked the sound to stop the distraction. This last blow was stronger. James was sure he tasted blood. When the next strike came, pushing Cloverfield’s fist into James’s cheek, he decided he’d had enough. It was time to stop being nice and to give the young pup exactly what he deserved.
With this in mind, James drew his fist back and pushed it forward once more as hard as he could. Knuckles connected with cartilage to produce a satisfying crunch. Blood spurted and Cloverfield grunted as he lost his balance. His hand caught James who followed him down. They landed in a sprawl of frantically moving limbs. An elbow connected with James’s forehead – damn, but that would surely bruise. Cloverfield shoved and James withdrew, only to lunge at him once again.
This was the bastard who would have raped Mina if he hadn’t been stopped. He deserved the thrashing James gave him – had instigated the whole damn thing – and now that James had enjoyed the pleasure of wiping his arrogant smirk from his face, he lost all restraint. He beat him for the bastard he was, for the misplaced sense of entitlement that put others in danger, and for lacking the honor his title ought to demand.
Until hands caught him and dragged him away.
“That’s enough,” Michael said while James panted for breath.
“We’ll get you for this,” Everton spat while hauling Cloverfield to his feet.
“He challenged me,” James said since the fact was worth remembering.
“Nevertheless,” another pompous young dandy said while helping the bruised and bloodied duke inside the inn. “You’ll live to regret this,”
James huffed a breath and swiped his palm across his jaw. His lip felt swollen, his knuckles raw, and there was a very uncomfortable pain in his knee from when he’d landed on the ground. “I’m too bloody old for this nonsense.”
“Come,” Wilhelmina said. She took him by the arm and placed one hand at his back to nudge him forward. “We ought to get you inside as well so we can tend to those wounds.”
“Not with him in there,” James protested.
She flattened her mouth and gave him a don’t-be-so-impossiblelook. “You’ve a nasty cut on your lip that needs cleaning. The same can be said for those knuckles. So let’s go. We’ll find a spot at the opposite side of the taproom from where that prick is sitting.”
An involuntary grin pulled at James’s mouth. He winced and cut a look at Wilhelmina. “Prick eh?”
“No sense in pretending he’s anything less.”
