Finding Miss McFarland by Vivienne Lorret

shoulders.
    “True,” Griffin said, approaching the center of the ring, shoulders forward, fists at the ready. “However, some of us do not need charm because we have other substantial attributes to offer. Pity for you, I suppose.”
    That brought Everhart to the center, eyes and teeth flashing. Bare knuckles tapped against Griffin’s in a sign that Everhart was ready. Not surprisingly, their exchange had drawn a small crowd, and this was only a practice session. Neither of them performed in bouts but came here for the exercise. Commoners and gentry alike gathered for Jackson’s lessons. There was even a little towheaded scamp who came here regularly.
    “And here I thought you made all the ladies ill, Croft.”
    His blood boiled in an instant, seething and barely restrained beneath the surface. To bring up Miss McFarland here, besmirching her honor, was unforgivable. He reacted without thinking. His right fist connected hard with Everhart’s jaw. His left, with Everhart’s abdomen.
    Everhart’s head snapped to the side as blood sprayed in an arc from his mouth. He staggered back but somehow managed to keep his footing. Bending over, hands on his knees, he spat on the floor. “ Bugger! ”
    Griffin was still hot, ready to go again. He danced from one foot to the other. Thus far, he’d been holding back. Ultimately, it would not serve to break the nose of the Duke of Heathcoat’s heir. Not to mention, Everhart’s grandmother was a veritable dragon. It would be foolish to make an enemy of her.
    He never lost his temper. But damn , that had felt good.
    Everhart straightened, working his jaw back and forth. “I’d no idea, Croft.”
    “That I could best you any day of the week?” Oh, yes, this rage and aggression felt good. For weeks now, he’d been like a kettle on the boil. It felt even better to release some steam.
    Everhart offered a cocky grin in response. “No. That you have found yourself a bride, only she can’t stand the sight of you.”
    Griffin took his meaning instantly. The idea of Miss McFarland as his bride stunned him, causing him to drop his guard for a moment. It was long enough for Everhart to get in an uppercut. Thankfully, the hit was enough to knock sense back into him. Miss McFarland as his bride? Never. They were like fire and water.
    After that comment, it was a no-holds-barred battle of brawn. Griffin didn’t know if Everhart was wrestling with his own demons, but he knew his own were being exorcised quite thoroughly. His need to find a bride, his father’s health, his mother’s and sisters’ peace of mind, and his great-uncle’s constant criticism all weighed on his mind day and night. To top it all off, his thoughts were beleaguered by the calamity he knew as Miss McFarland. For some reason, he couldn’t go even half the day without thinking of her and wondering whether or not she was meeting with Montwood.
    Now, after another hour of pummeling fists, both he and Everhart were breathing hard. Bent at the waist with hands on their knees, they sized each other up. “Had enough?”
    “I’m man enough to realize I’ve stepped over a line.” Everhart grinned and held out his hand. “I won’t make that mistake again.”
    Griffin shook his hand and nodded. He could easily have corrected the misguided assumption, but he wanted to leave the matter alone—for his own sanity’s sake. “See that you don’t.”
    In the antechamber, after wiping off the sweat, Griffin donned a fresh a shirt. He was in the process of buttoning his waistcoat when, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the towheaded boy. One couldn’t miss the head full of pale curls or even that one sleeve of his jacket fell empty against his side. Griffin had seen enough street urchins with missing limbs that one rarely stood out from another. What did stand out, however, was the quality of his clothes. This was no street urchin.
    The lad frequented these practices. In fact, he was present each time