The Offer (Baron 2)

He was pulsing with furious energy, wanting to pound someone, but seeing no likely candidate. Then he smiled. He would be at Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Saloon in twenty minutes. He spent the next two hours exhausting himself, hurting four men, and sweating until he was blinded with it.

“I would have thought, Derencourt, that you had found more pleasant ways to relieve yourself of such excesses of energy.”

Phillip lowered the towel he was using to mop his face. The Earl of March, not long married himself, was regarding him with a good deal of amusement.

“Good afternoon, St. Clair. I wish you had come earlier, you could have come into the ring with me.”

“And let you pound me into the dirt? I don’t think so. Allow both Kate and me to wish you happy on your marriage. We only just returned last evening from St. Clair, else I would have been there to waltz with your lovely bride.”

“My damned lovely bride is at this moment amusing herself with Charles Askbridge. I told her she wasn’t to see him but I know, I just know, St. Clair, that she disobeyed me the moment I stepped into my curricle, maybe the instant I

had stepped out of the front door, maybe while I was still putting my gloves on. She informs me that Charles isn’t a tyrant.”

“And you, I take it, are?”

“Yes, the silly twit, and after all I’ve done for her.”

The earl looked with some interest at this outburst from a normally self-possessed and rational man. “I suppose it’s a stupid question, Phillip, but what have you done for her?”

“Why, I—well, you know, I did save her life.”

“Yes, that was well done of you.”

Phillip stared down at his hands. Damnation, Julien was right. Sabrina had been right. He’d held himself up as a veritable god among men, noble, generous, selfless. He wanted to punch himself. Instead, he just stared at his friend of some fifteen years.

The earl said easily, “It would appear to me that you managed to marry a lovely girl of good breeding and excellent dowry, a lovely girl, who, in the normal course of events, you would have met here in London. Would you have fallen in love with her? Wanted to marry her? Who knows? From what I’ve heard, she’s a beauty. Any number of gentlemen would have pursued her. Would you have been the one to win her? Who can say?”

“Damn you, Julien, I hate it when you’re right, not that you’re necessarily right in this particular instance, but still, it’s an annoying habit you have.”

He flung down the towel. “I’ll thank you to keep your valued opinions to yourself. The fact is that she is my wife and it doesn’t matter who would have proposed to her if not for this wretched misadventure. She’s mine now and she’ll do as I tell her and that’s an end to it.”

“Charles Askbridge, confirmed bachelor that he is, would likely agree with you. I, on the other hand, will offer you but one more opinion. Don’t try to break her to bridle, Phillip. With that, my friend, I bid you good day. I have a wife who adores the ices at Gunthers. It pleases me to please her. In fact, it makes my innards melt.”

Phillip watched his friend leave the room. He slowly flexed his tired muscles. He hated being wrong. He hated being wrong even more when it was pointed out to him.

Sabrina handed her sable-lined cloak to an unhappy Greybar and stood quietly as a footman divested Charles of his greatcoat and gloves.

When they were in the drawing room, waiting for tea, Charles said, “What’s wrong with Greybar? I thought he would cry. That, or hit me.”

“He is his master’s servant. His master didn’t want me to even see you, thus he didn’t either. One thing’s for certain, this bunch is loyal to Phillip, all the way to their bone marrow.”

Charles walked to the fireplace to warm his hands over the bright blaze. After some moments, he turned to watch Sabrina fidget about the room, unable, it seemed to him, to contain her restless energy. Although he’d thought it odd for her to ask him to escort her to the park, he’d agreed, even managing throughout the afternoon to keep his questions to himself. Sabrina had chattered away so persistently throughout their ride, about the most trivial of topics, boring him until he thought he’d begin snoring on his chest, that Charles was now thrilled that she was at last still. But the fact was he’d known Sabrina all of her life. It hurt him that she was hurt and trying to hide it.

He said, “Where is Phillip? I expected to see him upon our return.”

She turned to face him. Her face was flushed from the cold wind, her hair in some disarray around her thin face. She shrugged, a nice gesture of indifference that didn’t fool him a bit. “I have no idea, Charlie.”

“Do you expect him soon?”

“This is his house. I assume he’ll come back when it pleases him to do so.”

Anger, not defeat, he thought, and said, “Listen to me, Sabrina Eversleigh, for the past two hours I’ve been battered by silly chatter that has numbed me to my toes. Now I ask you a simple question as to the whereabouts of your husband, and you turn into a snarling dog. You’ve only been married for two days. What the hell is going on here?”

“I might have known you’d side with him.”

“Side with Phillip? Dammit, I don’t even know where he is. Come on, Sabrina,” he said, softening his voice at the misery he saw in those incredible eyes of hers, “tell me what’s wrong. You’ve known me forever. You know you can trust me. Talk to me.”

Greybar entered bearing the heavy silver tea tray. While Sabrina was fussing with the cups, Charles was left to warm his hands and wonder just what the devil was going on here.