Demon knocked on his head. “Sound as ever.”
Except for the part of it that could not seem to keep from thinking endlessly ofher.
“Sound as a leaking boat out to sea?” his brother teased.
“Seems a reasonable comparison.” He paused, taking note that Gavin was remarkably uninjured. No cracked knuckles, no bruised, swollen, or cut face. He was forever engaging in bouts as the moment struck him; to see him utterly unwounded was a rarity. “You haven’t any bruises or cuts on that ugly dial plate of yours.”
“I’m saving myself for my next fight,” Gav explained. “Biggest one of my life. It’s to be me against Jeremiah Jones.”
“Damn.” Demon could not stay the disquiet rising within him. “Jeremiah Jones is dangerous, Gav. His last match was against James McDouglas, and he bloody well killed the man.”
It may have taken a day for the blows McDouglas had received in the fight to kill him, but the death had been on Jones’ hands just the same. It had been the talk of the East End, and many had been outraged when Jones had not been held accountable.
To think his brother would face Jones…it made fear coil into a cold, sick knot in his gut.
“I’ve two months to prepare myself,” Gav said with a shrug, as if he had no concerns at all. No fear.
Knowing Gav, he probably did have no fear. The man had been born bold and unafraid.
“I don’t think you should do it, Gav,” he said anyway.
“What did I say?” Gav just grinned. “You sound like an old woman. Good thing for you I’ve come to save you.”
“And what are you saving me from, dear brother?”
“Yourself.” Gavin sniffed. “If you have to lose your heart and get leg-shackled, it’s got to be to a woman who deserves you. One who doesn’t send you a note telling you to sod off.”
Demon stiffened. “Who the hell told you that?”
“Davy also paid me a visit,” Gavin admitted, sounding reluctant. “The lad is worried for you. Said you were the happiest he’s ever seen you, until your ladybird sent you a note, and that was that. Said you’ve been a right thundercloud ever since.”
The little shite was now meddling in his affairs. Demon could not say he was surprised.
“I’m going to make him clean the chamber pots for the rest of his damned life,” he growled, not meaning a word of the threat but liking the way it felt to say it.
“He loves you as if you’re his father, the scamp does.”
Demon’s eyes burned. “I reckon I rather love him in the same way.”
Gav cuffed him on the ear, and Christ but the blow stung. Demon rubbed his ear, pinning his brother with a glare.
But Gav just shook his head. “You see? An old woman, you are. Come with me, and I’ll have you back in proper order.”
“Where are we going?” he asked, not that it mattered.
“To get spoony drunk.”
Demon rubbed his hand over his chest, above the place where Mira’s note now rested. “Plummy plan, brother. Lead on.”
* * *
“Willyou not at least take some tea?” Octavia asked.
Mirabel’s stomach lurched at the notion. “No, thank you.”
Ever since she had written to Damian ending their affair, she had been wallowing in misery. A fortnight had passed, and still the ache in her heart had not lessened. But now, a new form of discomfort had emerged. Her stomach was rebelling against her, refusing to keep any sustenance down.
And she was terribly afraid she knew what her more recent ailment presaged.
