Page 2 of The Boxer’s Belle

She ripped her hand away. “Miles, this is too much. I couldn’t possibly⁠—”

“Bella, there’s not a single woman I know more capable of skinning a man—no better an owner for this.”

“But it must have⁠—”

“If you mention the cost, I’ll chuck it in the lake—don’t you think I won’t.” He gestured with a thumb over his shoulder to the little pond, nearly a quarter mile away.

Her arm wrapped back around her waist with the other. “Surely Effie⁠—”

“Mam’s got no cause to defend herself.” Bella’s gaze shot to Miles’s deep blue eyes, her stomach rolling.

She hadn’t thought he’d noticed—hadn’t thought anyone had, in truth. But with each year that passed, her father’s guests’ beady eyes lingered increasingly on her frame. With each leer, revulsion curled through her, burrowing deeper and deeper into her core until she had to flee the house to breathe.

“Know you can gut a man with mere words—you’ve done it to me once and again. But… I just wanted you to have something more… substantial.”

“If you said fewer foolish things, I wouldn’t have cause to insult you.”

His gaze flicked pointedly to the curve of her bosom. “Maybe if your frocks had more fabric, I could keep my thoughts on my words.” The private dimple that only appeared when he flirted with her popped onto his cheek. She wanted to bite it.

“You’ve thoughts? Not intelligent ones, surely.”

“Aye, but none fit for a lady’s ears.”

Bella fought back an indelicate snort, but she couldn’t quite hide the smile that crept across her face.

West employed no such restraint, instead unleashing a full-bodied chuckle. Her answering laugh broke free a moment later.

Miles’s chortles slowed before the breeze carried them off to places unknown. Her own quieted, chasing after his. “Your laugh—it’s like bells. It’s my favorite sound.”

Her skin heated at his unexpected sincerity. His free hand reached up toward her cheek, only to freeze midair. Miles shook whatever thoughts were in his head away, then dropped that hand.

“I’ll have cause to regret this when you have me at the wrong end of it. But it’s yours.” He lifted the hairpin again, gesturing for her to take it. “There’s not a soul more suited to it.”

Bella steeled herself for the charge of his touch and plucked it from his palm. Her fingers wrapped around the filigree, thumb instinctively finding the intended notch.

“I don’t know how to use it.”

“I can teach you. If you’d like.”

She nodded, her gaze catching his once more. Something like anticipation curled in her belly. An unfamiliar heat swirled with it, marking an entirely new sensation.

“I’d like.”

“Shall we, then?” There was that dimple again as West reached for her hand, folded his fingers over hers, and adjusted her grip.

This was an absolutely wretched idea.

West was no stranger to foolish notions. At the grand age of one and twenty, he already planned a living with his fists. His mam had many thoughts on the madness of that scheme. But this would be the one that killed him.

Day after day, for nearly a fortnight, he’d watched Bella’s silky bronze waves tumble across her shoulders time and again, perfumed by the wildflowers still clinging to life around them. Her amber-and-spice scent enfolding him with each attempt on his life.

Now he’d had the damfool notion to act as her attacker.

The words had made perfect sense when they’d spilled from his mouth.

But now he had both arms wrapped around her from behind. If he tilted his hips even an inch out of line, she was going to know. He was fit to pound steel; and she would take the damn knife to his pecker. He would deserve it.

But, Lord, she was glorious. Flushed and freckled, smelling like heaven with her ribcage rising and falling beneath his palms with each panted breath… He was only a man. No one could expect a mere mortal to see and smell and feel and be insulted by Arabella Sinclair and not feel his breeches tighten.