The Bareknuckle Groom - Holly Bush Page 0,59
by crook.”
“Thank you, I guess,” she said.
“I don’t like this, Lucinda. Not one bit.”
“I don’t believe you have any say in it.”
“I don’t?” He stalked closer.
She shook her head, working to keep her voice calm and steady. “Hardly. I’m not betrothed to you. I’ve not even accompanied you anywhere like the theater. I’ve not even seen you since I visited you on Locust Street and read to you.”
“I’ve been busy. But I have plans for us.”
“You have plans? How interesting. Were you going to apprise me of these plans?”
“At some point.”
“Mr. Thompson, I do not take kindly to edicts from a man so wholly disconnected from me.”
“It won’t be an edict, Lucinda.”
“And what have you been busy doing? Has your family’s business been keeping you from these plans?”
“MacAvoy’s wedding is coming up. I’m his best man,” James said.
“And that has kept you so busy?”
He shrugged. “I’m training six or seven hours a day too. And there’s always errands to do for the business.”
“Training for what? What kind of training?” Lucinda asked, feeling a prickle of unease as she looked at him. He was not completely comfortable telling her, whatever it was. She could see it in his face.
“The rematch is set for the twenty-fourth. MacAvoy’s got me in the best shape of my life. I’ve never worked harder.”
“Rematch? What are you talking about?”
“With Jackson. The rematch with Jackson is set for two weeks from now.”
Lucinda felt as if there was not enough air in the room to breathe. She shook her head, staring at him, knowing that it was not a joke and she had not misheard him. She was suddenly and completely furious, making her feel in charity with her father when he lost his temper. But she was a lady. She would not scream. Instead, she pointed to the door of the room.
“Get out,” she said. “Get out and do not ever, ever set foot on this property again.”
“I have every intention of—”
“I said get out. Remove yourself, you foolish man. I want nothing to do with you. Ever.” She could feel the tears of her anger welling behind her eyes.
He stared at her for several moments, but she did not give him the satisfaction of seeing her bend, not in her posture nor her attitude. She could hardly believe it, but he’d said it, clear and concise as could be. A rematch with Jackson. He could die. He could spend the rest of his days in a sickbed. And she admitted to herself, even with all the anger and terror in her mind at that moment, that it was quite possible she’d fallen in love with him. There was really no other rational explanation. Well. That would have to be ruthlessly eliminated from her mind and from her heart, as she had no intention of playing the martyr and wringing her hands over his demise and her unrequited love.
“Why are you so upset?” he asked finally.
“Out, Mr. Thompson.”
“You won’t tell me? Haven’t we been friends . . . maybe more than friends? Don’t I deserve to know what has brought on this reaction?”
How could he not know that the thought of him in that ring again was making her nauseous? He seemed truly bewildered, but she could not talk to him about her fears without revealing her heart, and she would not do that. She swept past him, opened the door, and called to Mrs. Howell. James Thompson could see himself out of her house and out of her life.
Chapter 14
“I’m terrified, James,” MacAvoy said, clinging to his arm. James looked at the hand trembling on his forearm and up at the face of the groom.
“You have to relax. The ceremony will be over in short order, and then we’ll go to Elspeth’s and get you a whiskey or something,” James said with sympathy. His friend was white-faced and shaking. “Come on. It’s time to get ourselves to the nave. I don’t see Mrs. Emory being late to her own wedding.”
“I don’t know if I can do this.”
“You don’t want to marry her? Be a real papa to Mary? Bed her mother?” he whispered.
“I do. Dear God, I do,” MacAvoy said.
“Good. That’s what you’re going to say when the priest asks you. I do. Come along now,” James said, pulling his friend toward the door.
James barely got MacAvoy in place and facing the back of the church when the doors opened, letting in a blast of cool March air and bringing Mrs. Emory to walk regally down