week’s outing in the park went well,” Nicholas Haddonfield, Earl of Bellefonte, said. “I’d like your version of events.”
Ash and Della were to leave for the Dickson’s Venetian breakfast in ten minutes. He’d arrived early, hoping to spend that much more time with the lady—not with her enormous, blond, glowering brother, who was stalking the Haddonfield guest parlor like a caged hyena.
“Do you imply that your sister is mendacious?” Ash asked pleasantly. “If so, I’d have to invite you to meet me at Jackson’s for a few friendly rounds.”
Bellefonte had several inches of reach on Ash and would doubtless land plenty of blows, but he wasn’t as fast, and he wouldn’t punch as hard as Ash. Ash had yet to step into the ring with a man who could match him for speed or power.
“Spare me your friendly rounds, Dorning. Della managed to slip off with Chastain and get as far as bedamned Alconbury. I am her brother, she is under my protection, and I failed her. Forgive me if, because I doubt my ability to keep my sister safe, I am assuring myself of her veracity.”
Ah, well then. “You need not be ashamed,” Ash said, comparing the time on his pocket watch with the time on the eight-day clock. “Della has more cunning than you give her credit for. With older siblings talking over her and mistaking her diminutive stature for diminutive intelligence, she’s had to develop some guile.”
Haddonfield’s scowl became perplexed. “We don’t talk over her.”
Where was Della? “The next time you have a family meal, watch how many times she’s interrupted and talked over. Watch who asks interesting questions of whom and who is merely supposed to pass the butter on command. I am familiar with this tendency only because Sycamore has complained of the same treatment. He was late to grow into the family height, and the lack of inches and years afflicted him sorely.”
“We love Della,” Haddonfield said. “We love her especially because…” He looked around, as if the carpet, wallpaper, or furniture had all been changed the previous day.
“You love her because she’s a half-sister to some of you and no blood relation at all to others.” Including to Bellefonte himself. Nicholas was the product of his father’s first union. Della’s mother had been the late earl’s second wife. The Haddonfield family tree resembled a thorny hedge more than a sturdy oak.
“We love her because she’s special,” Haddonfield said. “And if you break her heart again…”
“You’ll meet me at Jackson’s?” Ash had not broken Della’s heart. Disappointed her, yes, but broken her heart—God, no. Please not that.
“My countess likes my handsome phiz in its current arrangement,” Haddonfield replied. “You are rumored to have lethal speed and a devilish cold temper in the boxing arena.”
A soft tread outside the door had Ash putting his watch away. “One doesn’t step into the ring to play pat-a-cake while stripped to the waist, does one?”
The footsteps faded, and Ash found himself the subject of Haddonfield’s blue-eyed scrutiny. “Dorning, what exactly are you about with Della?”
“I am about providing her a cordial escort for her next few social outings. I will be seen to gaze longingly after her retreating form, to caress her gloved hand unnecessarily when I walk with her, and to generally lay my heart at her feet—discreetly, of course. She will lead me a bit of a dance, then send me on my way.”
Haddonfield wrinkled his nose. “If you’re besotted enough to engage in this farce, you’re besotted enough to propose in earnest. Why not simply marry her?”
The question hurt worse than a left uppercut at the end of the twentieth round. “Her ladyship and I would not suit.”
“The hell you wouldn’t.” Haddonfield prowled around the piano and stalked up to Ash. “She wrote to you in Dorset. I franked the letters, and I know you never wrote back. She writes to all of our siblings, but Susannah gets twice the mail, because Della hopes your brother Willow will mention something about you to Susannah. Everywhere we go, Della surreptitiously looks for you, and is disappointed to find you not among the guests.” Haddonfield leaned closer. “You have made my sister pathetic.”
Ash fluffed his lordship’s cravat. “Do not, I beg you, refer to Lady Della as pathetic. I would love to go twelve rounds with you, assuming you lasted that long.”
The pounding would be glorious, and the recovery days of sheer, righteous hell.
Haddonfield patted Ash’s lapel with an enormous paw. “If Della catches sight of you