to. He could bang down her door until she agreed to see him. He would demand she listen to him, and if that didn’t work, he might plead or beg. If she still wouldn’t give in, he knew how to batter her defenses. He could kiss her until she broke apart in his arms, remind her what they had together.
With an exasperated sigh, he sat up straight, finding that his brother had come into the room. Jasper took over his place in the chair, urging Nick to rest. He’d been in here since last night and his eyes itched, but he was determined to occupy himself somehow, otherwise he’d go running to Hastings House and make a fool of himself over a woman who didn’t want him.
No, that wasn’t right. She wanted him … she was simply afraid to let herself have him. What else could he do that he hadn’t already done? If he could reshape the world so she needn’t stand on the fringes of society, he’d have already done that. Seeing as he was not omnipotent, he found himself at a loss. She had made her choice, and by not even returning his letter or doing anything to explain her actions, Calliope had made it clear she was done with him.
He tore through the house, going to his room to change clothes and have Thorpe carry a message to Paul’s solicitor. A meeting would need to be arranged so he could begin learning all he could about the land he was set to inherit. Then, he dashed down the stairs, desperate to outrun his thoughts of Calliope and the harbinger of death hanging over the Burke household.
He set out with no destination in particular, but eventually arrived on Benedict’s doorstep. There was no good reason for him to have come here, especially when by now, his friend had received his letter. He’d also be aware that Dominick had failed at securing Calliope and was ready to rub it in his face. It was the damnedest thing, but he didn’t care if Benedict blistered his ears. Anything was better than the deathly silence in his flat, or the rasping sounds of Paul struggling to breathe.
A footman ushered him to the back of the house, into what was supposed to be a gallery. Benedict used the space for training, and was about his practice right now, stripped to the waist and wearing a pair of padded gloves as he circled the man Nick recognized as his trainer. The two jabbed and swung at one another with graceful movements and harsh grunts, the impact of gloves against flesh interspersed with the thud of boots against polished floors.
Benedict had just healed from his last match, but he was already preparing for another. It took a moment before he recognized Nick’s presence in the room, then he held up a hand for his instructor to cease and stared at him, mouth tight and face glistening with a sheen of sweat.
“You have a lot of nerve coming here after that letter,” he snapped, then added to the other man, “That’s enough for now. We can resume tomorrow.”
“I’ll return at dawn. We’ll add another hour to make up for this distraction.”
Benedict cringed, but nodded his agreement. “Right.”
They were left alone then, Benedict leaning against the wall and raising an eyebrow at him.
“Based on this morning’s copy of The London Gossip, I suppose you—”
“Hit me.”
Benedict blinked as Nick approached him, arms spread as he braced himself. “What?”
Nick gritted his teeth, the muscles in his torso tensing for the coming onslaught. “Uncle Paul is dying, and Calliope is marrying that prick, and I … I need to feel something else. You’re angry with me, so I know you want to. Hit me, goddamn it!”
The blow came all the force of a cannonball behind it, slamming into his middle and doubling him over. He hunched and curled inward, staggering back a few steps as he struggled to breathe through lungs that were now on fire.
“Better?” Benedict asked. “Because, I have more if you need it.”
Nick swallowed. “Again.”
His friend frowned, for the first time seeming to understand the state he was in. “Nick …”
“Again!”
This time the blow came at his jaw, snapping his head back and making his ears ring. He’d hardly recovered before two more strikes threw him off his feet, his cheek aching, his chest burning, and his stomach threatening to cast up its meager contents.