He did not know. He had not seen how Michael left her. How he stayed so very far from her. How he cared so little for her.
She did not wish to think on it. Not tonight. “Do you think you could help me hire a hack? I should like to go home.”
He shook his head. “Bourne would murder me if he knew I’d let you return home in a hack. Let me find him.”
“No!” she blurted before she could stop herself. She lowered her gaze to the floor. “I do not wish to see him.”
He does not wish to see me.
She no longer knew which was more important.
“If not he, then I shall escort you myself. You are safe with me.”
She narrowed her gaze. “How do I know you are telling the truth?”
One side of his mouth kicked up. “Among other things, Bourne would take visceral pleasure in destroying me if I harmed you.”
She recalled the way Michael had tossed Densmore across the casino floor without breaking a sweat earlier in the evening. The way he stood over the sputtering earl, fist clenched, voice shaking with anger.
If there was one thing of which she was certain, it was that Bourne would never allow her to be hurt.
Unless, of course, he was doing the hurting.
Chapter Fourteen
Dear M—
I’ve heard about Langford, that beast of a man, and about what he’s done. It’s atrocious, of course. No one believes he could be so hateful—no one but Tommy and me. As for Tommy . . . he’s been looking for you. I pray that he finds you.
Quickly.
Ever—P
Needham Manor, February 1821
Letter unsent
Temple’s left hook was wicked and welcome.
And deserved.
It connected with Bourne’s jaw, snapping his head back and sending him careening into a wooden post at the edge of the boxing ring in the basement of The Angel. Bourne caught himself before he fell to the sawdust-covered floor, his eyes meeting Chase’s over the top rope of the ring before he pulled himself up and turned to face his sparring partner.
Temple danced from one foot to the other as Bourne advanced. “You’re a fool.”
Bourne ignored the words and the truth in them, throwing a punch that would have felled an oak.
Temple ducked and feinted away before flashing a grin. “You’re a fool, and you’re losing your touch. Perhaps with the ladies, as well?”
Bourne landed a quick blow to Temple’s cheek, enjoying the sound of fist on flesh. “What do you have to say about my touch now?”
“Half-decent punch,” Temple offered with a grin, swerving left, out of the way of Bourne’s second blow. “But your wife did go home with Cross, so I can’t speak to that.”
Bourne swore and went after his friend, taller by several inches and wider by half a foot, but Bourne more than made up for the difference in speed and agility and, tonight, sheer will.
He attacked with no hesitation, his fists, wrapped in a length of linen, eager to connect with the larger man’s bare torso. First left, then right. The movements were punctuated with Temple’s short grunts before the larger man danced away.
“Don’t tease him, Temple,” Chase said from beyond the ring, shuffling through a pile of papers, only half paying attention to the sparring. “He’s having a difficult enough evening as it is.”
Lord knew it was true.
He’d let her go home. It had been the hardest thing he’d ever done.
Because what he’d really wanted to do was make love to her on the floor of the owners’ suite, with the light from beyond the stained glass bathing her in a myriad of colors. He’d wanted to prove that he had never once intended to dishonor her.
Indeed, the idea that he had dishonored her made him feel like a dozen kinds of ass.
Temple’s fist connected with his jaw in a perfect straight right, and Bourne rocked back on his heels.
“Why not go after her?” Temple asked, bending away from Bourne’s fists and coming back to land a quick blow to his chest. “Take her to bed. That usually makes them feel better, no?”
Bourne could not tell his friend that taking his wife to bed had landed him in this predicament to begin with. “When you find yourself with a wife of your own, you can offer all the advice you like.”
“By that time I won’t have to. You’ll have driven yours away for good.” He dodged back. “I like the girl.”
Sadly, so did Michael. “You don’t even know her.”