Unveiled (Turner, #1)

There was something straightforward about her. He liked that. He already liked far too much about her, from the curve of her snub nose to the way she nodded at Mark’s criticism and squared her shoulders, as if determined to get it right.

“I agree,” Ash said from the doorway, “you need to see it done. You need to see someone smaller take on someone larger, so you can have a feel for what it ought to look like.”

Miss Lowell whirled to look at him. Her eyes widened and a faint flush lit her cheeks. But she didn’t point her finger and demand he leave. And had she been dead set against any further interaction with Ash, he was sure she would have. Instead, she glanced at Mark, as if seeking permission.

Mark pursed his lips and looked his brother up and down. Had they grown up in each others’ company, they might have grappled together sometimes, as brothers did. But Ash had left for India when Mark was barely seven years of age; when Ash had returned he’d been a man, with a man’s body, and his brother had been a wiry, too-skinny child of eleven. In the more than a decade that had passed since, Ash had been busy working and Mark had been off at school. They’d never had the chance to do this. He’d so carefully protected his younger brother that perhaps he’d missed the opportunity to make friends with him. There’d been no scrambling; no wrestling nor boxing. Not a hint of fencing practice. None of the usual chances that an older brother had to beat his brother into benevolent harmony.

Words on a page would never bring them together, no matter what Mark believed. But this…this might.

“Come now, Mark,” Ash said. “Why don’t we show the ladies how it’s done?”

As an added benefit, perhaps Ash might show Miss Lowell a few things himself.

Mark smiled enigmatically and shook his head. “What do you think, Miss Lowell? Suppose a big man—a man the size of Ash—were to come after you? What would you do?”

That was not what he’d intended. As pleasant as it might have been to grapple with her, he’d prefer not to have an audience when he did so. And besides, the last thing he wanted her to playact with him was unwillingness.

“Mark, I can hardly strike a lady.”

“Of course not. Perhaps you might simply reach for her wrist. Gently, if you wish.” Mark dropped an eyelid in a mysterious wink, and Ash suddenly understood his brother’s ploy. It was a simple matter. He would have to steel himself for the inevitable—a slap on the cheek, perhaps even a feminine blow to the gut. She couldn’t hurt him, not if he were ready for whatever puny little punch she managed to deliver. But he could let her think she had hurt him. Build up her confidence. Build up her trust. And, in the meantime, get close enough to touch her wrist.

No possible drawbacks to that one. There was no getting around it. His little brother was a genius.

“I don’t know, Mark,” Miss Lowell was saying. “I—I really shouldn’t like to hurt your brother. I’m not the violent sort.” She glanced uneasily in Ash’s direction, as if aware that the events of last night left him more than able to contradict her. “Not usually,” she amended.

Ash hid a smile. If she could hurt him, it was surely not by laying her hands on him. “I acquiesce in a good cause,” he said soberly. “I can withstand a few bruises.” And then, because he couldn’t help himself, he added, “Besides, I don’t mind the occasional bout of violence.”

She colored.

Mark nodded enthusiastically at this. “Too true. He’s a man. Men like pain. It’s how we make friends, you know.”

It was as if Mark had lifted the thought from Ash’s head. Ash grinned. “The measure of male familiarity is the degree of barbarism to which one reverts in the absence of female companionship. A man knows he’s among friends when he feels free to hoot like a heathen and bash heads like a ram.” Perhaps he was overdoing it.

“Additionally, how many nurses can say they’ve brought the Duke of Parford to his knees?” Mark added, a glint in his eyes.

No doubt that was intended as a subtle hint to Ash. Very well. He’d let her strike him, he’d stagger about a bit, then he’d fall to the floor. An easy victory for her, and his pride could withstand the blow. Especially since he would know precisely how much her victory would mean.

“You’ll be able to tell your grandchildren, one day,” Mark said.

“Let’s start this nice and easy.” Ash reached out and took hold of her wrist, pulling her to him—not harshly, but gently. She looked up into his face, her eyes wide, her lips parted, subtly. He was aware of her whole body, scant inches from his. He could feel the heat of her. If his brother hadn’t been looking on, Ash might have been tempted to lean down and touch his mouth to hers. As it was, he could almost taste her, she was so close. The sweet scent of her whispered against his lips—

Bam.

Something struck his chin, and his mouth clipped shut, his teeth closing about his tongue. He tasted the tang of copper. He was blinking back the stinging pain when—