Page 23

“Are you hurt?” Beatrice stepped closer, reaching her hand toward him.

Adam’s entire body was shaking, and the wheezing sounds only grew louder until he raised his head, revealing his laughing eyes and a triumphant smile on his lips.

He reached out and gently squeezed Beatrice’s hand. “I am battered, but not broken. And I have to admit, I quite enjoyed that.”

“You’re a lunatic!” Beatrice accused. “Here I was nervous out of my wits, and you were having a blasted good time!”

His laughter only grew louder. “Be honest, you enjoyed it, too.”

Beatrice tried to frown, but a smile won out. “I wouldn’t say I absolutely hated it. However—” A dark red stain at the side of his shirt caught her eye. “What is that?”

Adam straightened, then followed her gaze. He frowned and pressed his hand to the side. “Ow.”

“You are hurt!” Beatrice stepped closer and reached out her hand. “Let me see.”

“‘Tis but a scratch.” Adam caught her hand and brought it to his lips.

Beatrice narrowed her eyes. “Are you inebriated?”

Adam’s grin widened. “Possibly.”

“From a tankard of ale?”

“Two.” He shrugged. “And I might have asked the barmaid to add a dollop of whisky to it.”

Beatrice didn’t even know whether she should act shocked. But at least this explained his rather reckless behavior. “Well, that might have dulled your pain. I read that alcohol has such an effect on people.”

“You read about alcohol?” He raised a brow. “Come. Let’s go back to the carriage. I don’t want to bleed to death on the street.”

Beatrice gasped. “I told you—”

“It’s a figure of speech. Come now.” He took her by the arm and tugged her toward the carriage.

Beatrice somehow got used to the comforting feel of his fingers around her upper arm, the warmth, the strength, the light squeeze of her flesh.

“Are you certain the wound isn’t deep? Let me look, I cared for both animals and people in my village. I can take care of any wound.” Well, that wasn’t true, not any wound. But she was certain she could patch up a shallow knife wound, assuming the cut was shallow.

But he just waved her hand away and helped her into the carriage.

“I have to admit, I am quite impressed by the way you fought in there,” she said once they settled comfortably in their seats.

“Didn’t expect a gentleman to throw a few punches, did you?” He seemed quite smug and proud of himself.

“Well, your physique is quite athletic, so I had no doubt that you wouldn’t crumble in a fight—”

“You’ve been admiring my physique, have you?” He waggled his brows.

Perhaps he was drunk, the cad. He was flirting with her! Beatrice instinctively touched her warm cheeks. “However, I did not think you could fight so many large commoners on your own. They do manual work. I hear it gives people brute strength.”

He let out a chuckle. “I work with my brother’s crops as well. Managing the land isn’t just signing papers and sipping whisky.”

Now she was imagining him sans his shirt, plowing the field, sweat dripping down his muscled chest… What am I thinking? She shook out her thoughts and licked her suddenly dry lips. What were they talking about? Ah, the farm work. She cleared her throat. “I didn’t think it was. However, the sailors in that pub have probably worked with their hands since they were little children.”

Adam shrugged. “And drank rum for just as long. I can pretend I overpowered them because of my cunning and strength, but the truth is, they were barely standing.”

“That’s not true.” Beatrice felt immediately offended by the minimization of danger they were in. “I observed the entire scuffle, and you were, in fact, quite brave, strong, and cunning.”

A relaxed smile with a glint of playfulness adorned his lips. He was delighted that she thought him brave and strong. Well, he was. Beatrice wasn’t about to pretend he wasn’t.