Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Keely stepped them back so they wouldn’t be seen when her father exited. The door opened farther and Rosamunde looked at the man who stepped in the doorway. No, this was no longer a man she would view as her father. That man would only live in her dreams now, this was a stranger.
The hug she got from Keely as they hid in the shadows brought tears to her eyes.
“One final thing.” The marquess didn’t even raise his voice yet it carried easily.
Her father visibly trembled a tiny bit before he turned back. “My lord?”
“I see one more mark on your daughter from someone in your family laying hands on her, and I won’t wait to bury you. I’ll simply drag you out of your house and do it.”
“I never touched her.”
Shame overflowed and she lowered her head.
Bradford Fletcher stepped back into the hall and Lord Heartstone pursued him, face set in a stony mask of unforgiveness. Blue eyes so like his son’s blazed with anger and his jaw clenched as thick black hair fell forward over his forehead.
“I’m a father and I will kill anyone who dares to mark my child. As would my wife. That’s your household. If you don’t plan on dying soon, I suggest you get them in line. I will be watching.” A wave of one large hand. “Get out of my house.”
Knees trembling, Rosamunde watched her father try his best and fail to leave with his arrogance intact. Lucien St. Martin rested against the doorframe, arms crossed over his large chest and his ankles hooked. Once the door to the house closed behind her father, Lord Heartstone sighed and turned that lake-blue gaze to where she and Keely hid.
“Come along, ladies. I think it is time we had a talk.”
Fear exploded inside Rosamunde and her legs shook harder than before. Keely muttered and stepped out with a, “You always knew when I hid, listening in.”
The marquess brushed a kiss along her forehead then glanced to where Rosamunde remained quaking.
“Come along, Miss Fletcher. You’re to be part of this discussion as well.” He held out a strong arm and beckoned.
* * * *
The sound of flesh hitting a bag reached Bryn before he got to the room he trained in at the townhouse. He pushed his hands into his pockets. Falcon had been with him until they’d left the club.
Perhaps it was his sister. She’d been known to work off some anger in there, hitting the items that didn’t complain when she used moves their mother had taught them. As well as ones he’d shared with her that he’d picked up on his travels through China and Russia.
It was late. He’d remained at the club, drinking with friends, after resolving the issue with the baby that had brought Rosamunde to Mac’s.
He ground his jaw as he thought about what that had turned into. Him being balls-deep in the tightest sheath he’d ever had before. That woman had a body made for sin and he wanted to commit them over and over again with her.
The door was slightly ajar, and he peered inside. Near darkness in the room didn’t allow for him to see too much, but he didn’t need to. The air was filled with her scent. Nudging the door farther with one boot, he reclined with his shoulder to the frame, momentarily content to simply watch.
She moved well, having picked up what he’d taught her quickly. There was definite room for improvement, but for a woman who’d grown up sheltered and had boxed a total of three times in her life, she was excellent.
He couldn’t make out what she was muttering and didn’t ask her to repeat it, after all, he was spying on her. However, when she punched wrong and swore, shaking her fist, he grinned.
“You’re bending your wrist before you make contact. Make sure you keep it straight.”
Rosamunde jumped and glared at him. Sweat dripped down her face and some hair had escaped from the ribbon holding it out of her eyes, sticking to her skin and framing the roundness there.
She opened her mouth then snapped it shut before giving a nod and shuffling back to throw the punch again. A complete ‘hands off’ attitude rolled from her.
He snorted and shook his head. That wasn’t going to happen. He wanted far more. So he moved behind her, took a moment to appreciate the view in the flickering firelight, then shifted in close.
“Need to make sure you align your elbow and your wrist to your shoulder. That will help give you the correct form and structure to withstand the pressure of your strikes.”
He held immobile for a second, but when she didn’t move away, he touched her. Instant fire spread through him. Flexing his hands on her hips, he took a deep breath before focusing on teaching her.