Page 27 of A Duke Reformed
Andrew paused to think. "For Miss Marwood? No marriage prospects would be the worst that could happen. No invitations. Her sisters' reputations tainted by association. The family might ship her off to some remote estate to live as a spinster aunt, or force her into marriage with some sixty-year-old widower desperate enough to take her."
Solomon raised his eyebrows. "And that's all because she was seen alone... with a person?"
"A man," Andrew corrected him. "I have seen it happen many times to know that it can be brutal."
The injustice of it settled like a stone in Solomon's gut.The idea that Emma might suffer because of him unsettled him. There were no right words to define their relationship, but it was for that reason, he feared society would define it for them. He thought about her family...and what a scandal like this would do to them.
For the first time, he wondered if keeping her as his tutor was selfish. Every lesson put her at risk. If anyone suggested there was anything improper between them, she would bear the consequences. Not him.
Solomon stood abruptly. "We're leaving."
Andrew stared at him in disbelief. "Leaving? Solomon, we've been here for barely an hour."
"It feels like an eternity," he complained, dropping a few coins on the table to cover the drinks. "Can we go boxing? I feel quite frustrated and I need the distraction."
Andrew rapped his fingers on the table and then shook his head. "Fine, but only because it's boxing. I prefer it to this."
They left the club without another word on their different horses. The short ride to Andrew's private boxing arena passed in silence and soon, they were in the room, preparing to enter the ring.
Solomon went straight to the equipment chest, stripping off his coat and cravat with quick, angry motions. He wasn't exactly sure why he was so annoyed, but he was. He had been in such a situation before, one where there was a chance that he might... ruin someone.
His waistcoat followed, leaving him in shirtsleeves that strained across his shoulders as he wrapped his hands. The linen strips pulled tight around his knuckles... too tight, but he didn't adjust them.
Andrew watched him, taking his time. He watched his friend's jerky movements for a moment before speaking. "Are you all right, Your Grace?" he asked, knowing the answer.
"I'm perfectly fine, thank you, Your Grace," he answered and walked into the boxing ring.
They faced each other on the mat, gloves raised. Solomon barely waited for Andrew to settle into stance before striking. A sharp left jab that whistled past Andrew's ear but he dodged swiftly and a smile crossed his lips.
"You're slow tonight," Andrew taunted, dancing back. "Do you want to keep lying that there is nothing wrong, or do you want to talk about it?"
"There's nothing wrong, Andrew. "I'm just..." he paused for a moment before raising his hands again. "Things are so different here it's frustrating."
"Different how? For the look of it, you're handling the change just fine," he said. "At least to some extent."
Solomon sighed and lowered his guard. That was the problem.
Hewashandling London well because of Emma's lessons. Because she had drilled proper addresses into his brain, because she had cautioned him about how to properly engage in meaningless conversations and seem interested. The lessons were helping.
And now he had to give that up? Because if word got out, she would be ruined?
"What is it?" Andrew asked, sounding frustrated.
"Nothing." Solomon lifted both hands again. "Andrew, you haven't thrown a single punch."
Andrew obliged. He came at Solomon hard, gloves up, stance tight, the way they'd sparred a hundred times before.It started to work, Solomon was so engrossed in avoiding Andrew's jabs that he couldn't concentrate on anything else. Solomon pressed forward, driving Andrew toward the ropes, his mind blissfully empty for the first time since leaving the club.
But then, like an itch, the thoughts stared creeping back in. Solomon thought back to the moment they shared at the last ball. How she had fixed his cravat. He wondered if anyone saw that... if anyone read meaning to it. Knowing how temporarily flustered he had been by her action, he couldn't imagine–
The next moment, all Solomon could hear was ringing. Andrew's fist connected with his jaw and it had destabilized him. The punch snapped Solomon's head back, his teeth clacking together hard enough to send a bolt of white-hot pain through his skull. His vision swam for a moment as he stumbled back a step before swiftly regaining his composure.
"Christ, Solomon– " Andrew muttered. "Where did your defense go?"
Solomon leaned against the ropes, the rough fibers digging into his back through his sweat-damp shirt. The coppery taste of blood still coated his tongue. "My apologies, I'm a little distracted."
Andrew walked over to him, unwrapping the linen from his hand. "I should be the one apologizing," he said, examining the bloodied knuckles where he'd clipped Solomon's face. "I hit you harder than I expected."
Solomon shrugged. "It's nothing."
