The Bareknuckle Groom - Holly Bush Page 0,36

Didn’t care if other men viewed her as less than virginal if they witnessed the lasciviousness of this embrace?

“James?” they both heard from the stairs below.

He held her close to him, one arm firmly around her waist. “I’m here, Elspeth.”

“Miss Vermeal and Miss Delgado are getting ready to go. Perhaps you and Miss Vermeal should come inside.”

He chuckled against her hair and whispered, “My sister knows exactly what is going on and is far too genteel to mention it.” He turned his head. “Coming, Elspeth.”

“What is going on here?” she asked and looked up at him from under her lashes.

His eyes slid from hers. “Just some harmless kisses. They don’t mean anything.”

She pulled herself away from him. “Of course they don’t,” she said and looked at him steadily.

James picked up the weights and brought them slowly to his chest, concentrating on pushing his muscles and not on Lucinda Vermeal when she agreed his kisses meant nothing. Granted, he’d been less than honest with her at the time. He knew they were not harmless kisses. He remembered how those lips teased him, showing him what he’d never have, what he’d never be worthy of, how furious he’d been when she denied their power.

“What do you think, MacAvoy?” he asked, hoping to rid himself of his anger.

“Better.”

“Better? I’m in the best shape of my life,” James said after dropping the weights to the floor.

“You’re looking good,” MacAvoy said.

James wiped a towel down his face and around his neck. “But not good enough, huh, MacAvoy?”

“Don’t be an ass. You know there’s nothing good about being overconfident. I’m telling you, you look good. But so does Jackson.”

“Overconfident? Who said anything about being overconfident? I always take my bouts seriously. I take my opponents seriously!”

“Calm down, James,” MacAvoy said and looked around at the other men training, all staring at them. “What are you looking at?” he shouted at one of them.

“I’m not a child. You don’t have to treat me like one.”

“The only time I treat you like a child is when you act like one.”

“Fuck you,” he said. “I don’t need to be patronized by the likes of you.”

MacAvoy’s head snapped back as if James had hit him. He’d gone too far, he knew he had, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“The likes of me,” MacAvoy whispered.

“You’re just one more that thinks I’m washed up! Thinks I’m not the James Thompson! Thinks I’m done for.”

“That’s not what I think, but maybe there’s someone else you’d like in your corner.”

James stared at his hands for a moment, trying to calm himself, but he couldn’t. His anger was red-hot, and whether MacAvoy deserved his sharp tongue or not, it hardly mattered. He was alone, and he’d always be alone, whether he was winning matches or whether he was digging ditches, and he’d best get on with the reality of it all. And if he wasn’t boxing, what would it matter? It was who he was. He looked up at MacAvoy.

“That’s probably for the best,” he said and walked away.

James was sprawled across his bed, soaking up the winter sun coming through his window and heating the sore muscles in his arms and shoulders. Even with the ointment Aunt Murdoch had made for him, he ached in the mornings until he could stretch out. He heard Mrs. McClintok telling Payden and Robert that breakfast was on the table. His stomach grumbled, and he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, taking his time pulling his arms over his head, letting the stiffness ease out. There was less than a week until his Jackson match, and he would only do one more intense workout before then, finishing the week with light exercise and massages.

He was afraid there was no recovering from the argument he’d had with MacAvoy. And knowing that it was his own bad temper that caused it made it twice as bad in his own head. He was embarrassed by his behavior but hard-pressed to admit it. He’d told no one that Billy Pettigrew would now be in his corner.

James seated himself at the large wooden kitchen table where he and the other early risers in his family often had breakfast, although the boys must have already eaten. Mrs. McClintok brought him a plate piled high with eggs, ham, and bread toasted in the oven. She moved a jar of plum jelly close to his plate.

“Coffee, Mr. Thompson?”

“Shouldn’t you be calling me James since we’re cousins?”

“No, I shouldn’t. Cousins or not, I’m the Thompson