Page 3 of The Boxer’s Belle

“I do not know whether to be offended that you’re holding back or embarrassed on behalf of your opponent in the ring.” She whirled in his arms, hairpin thrusting toward his neck. Bella generously stayed her hand an inch away from his throat.

West rolled his eyes in mock annoyance. “Your father will have me drawn and quartered if I hurt you.”

“My father doesn’t know you exist. And they haven’t drawn and quartered anyone while they were still alive in decades.”

West bit his tongue on the subject of Ambrose Sinclair. The Earl of Blackwood was the greatest villain West had ever known. But his thoughts wouldn’t do Bella a damned bit of good.

Instead, he released her and stepped back from her blade, ignoring the pointed rush of cool air along his front.

“Ben, then. And how do you know that?”

“If Benedict were aware of the situation, he would fear far more for your safety than mine. And some of us like to be informed.”

“I doubt that. Besides, I told you—you must practice as you mean to go on. You cannot slash at your attacker’s neck and then stop to insult him.”

“Truly? This hypothetical man intends to continue his assault while bleeding to death?”

“If you miss? What if you only scratch him? Then you’ve lost the chance at surprise, and he’ll turn your knife against you. Now, again.”

Bella sighed, her lips pursed in irritation even as she gathered her sun-golden locks into one hand. He’d watched her twist those strands around that pin so many times. The scene should have felt commonplace at that point, but the sight of something of his—something he had given her—on her person left him jittery and heated.

West’d had more than one shameful dream of some lordling or another approaching her, only for Bella to rip his pin from her hair and threaten the lad off with a snarl, saying she belonged in no arms other than Miles Weston’s. It was as silly a hope as it was thrilling. A stable master’s son had no business lusting after a lady. Every time the shade of Blackwood Grange fell over his father’s cottage, West was reminded of that fact.

“Again,” he repeated once she had set her hair to rights. Bella turned, offering her back, and straightened. His approach was slow, methodical, and silent. Then he sprang. Between one breath and the next, he’d banded his arms around her and hauled her tight against his chest.

She whirled, her hand snatching the pin from her hair. She slashed it toward his cheek—stopping short of actually injuring him. West released one hand from her waist to clutch his face as her unsuspecting victim would.

Finally finding it fit to listen to him, she shoved him with all her might. He staggered back while she spun on her heels to dash away.

“Well done!”

“I still think it would be more effective to aim for a graver injury.”

“Bella…”

Her dark eyes tipped skyward. “Yes, yes.” With a dramatic sigh, she plopped down right where she stood, her golden floral skirts spilling around her on the ground.

West’s heart jolted at how young she looked. Sometimes he thought Bella was born a woman grown. She had been, in a way, given that her mother passed in the birthing bed. Bella was named lady of the house before she’d taken her first breath.

Without a sound, he settled beside her.

“Do you need to return to the house?”

“Almost certainly,” she said, leaning back on one hand. Her neck hinged as the sunlight kissed the freckles dotting her nose.

West mimicked her position.

“But I’ve— You must never tell Ben this— When he’s there… I’m a wretched person for being grateful when he’s there. When he’s gone…”

West’s stomach clenched. He knew the sorts of things Ambrose Sinclair did to his son—had seen the aftereffects of the man’s whip. But he hadn’t thought Bella received the same treatment.

“Your pa?”

“Yes. I mean, no—not the way you are thinking. And I’m glad Benedict is away in that respect. He’s safer away at university. But the men Father invites to game with him— They’re… tempered by Ben’s presence.”

“Has someone⁠—?”

“No! They look—always have. But now they look with intent. Someday soon, one of them will make Father an offer. And…” Bella refused to meet his gaze, focusing on the wildflower blooms under her free hand.