Page 31 of Juliet's Touch
“Are you talking about me, Kitten?” Alexander asked as he sauntered into the drawing room. A large man followed at his heels. Alexander halted and spread his arms wide. “Because I am indeed here.”
Emily’s cheeks pinkened as she stood and pecked her husband on the cheek. Meanwhile, Juliet’s cheeks caught fire wondering how much the men had overheard.
Alexander stepped aside. Palm up, he presented the newcomer. “Ladies, this is Mr. Eric Stone. He will be joining us for dinner and spending the evening with us. Eric, my wife Lady Emily, and her sister Miss Juliet Coldpepper.”
As Mr. Stone approached, Juliet took him in from his dark hair to his black boots. He was tall with a warrior’s physique, and despite having one angry-red eye, and a swollen nose and bruised jaw, he was exceedingly handsome.
“Good evening, my lady,” he said as he greeted Emily with a slight bow. Although uncultured, his voice was as smooth and rich as warm honey.
When his gaze settled on Juliet, she rudely cringed, not because she was horrified, but because the injury to his eyelooked painful. She struggled to meet his gaze without feeling a sympathy burn in her eyes.
His chin snapped back as if he’d been slapped, but he quickly composed himself. “Miss Coldpepper, ’tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
She hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings. She’d do anything to take back her overreaction. “I am pleased to meet you as well, Mr. Stone. Please call me Juliet.”
“Mr. Stone is a champion pugilist,” Alexander said, his chest puffing with what she suspected was sibling pride. “They call him The Stone.”
At least Juliet assumed this was Lord Chesterhill’s by-blow since he resembled a darker, more street-roughened Alexander. His opponent must have caused his injuries, but his wounds did not detract from his masculinity, and for some reason, he reminded her of Mister Brown Eyes.
After another bout of berating herself for being a ninny, Juliet finally found her etiquette. “How exciting, Mr. Stone, I hope you will regale us with tales of your valiant pugilistic daring.”
Mr. Stone cocked his head to the side, studying her as if he were trying to decide if she was serious. “Is that an appropriate conversation when dining with gently bred ladies?” he asked in what seemed to be sincerity.
His deep voice sent a prickle of gooseflesh up the back of Juliet’s neck.
Juliet was not one to blame others, but her wanton state was the masked man’s doing. His kiss had awoken pent-up desires, so now, even the voice of a man she’d met moments ago made her body misbehave.
Emily snorted. “Juliet and I grew up with polite dinner conversation, and I find it boring. I’ve never had dinner with a pugilist before, so I would like to hear what it’s like to punch someone in the nose. Is it more fun to attack their midsection?How many men have you knocked out? What is it like to be akin to a brave knight?”
“A brave knight,” Juliet accidentally whispered.
Mr. Stone’s chiseled jaw went slack. He must think they were having fun at his expense.
“Please forgive us, Mr. Stone,” Emily said. “We are thrilled to have you as a guest, and we truly want to hear all about being a pugilist. By the by, Juliet was recently saved by a knight in shining armor, so we are quite taken with warriors at the moment.”
Juliet glared at her sister. Emily was about to find herself at the end of an embroidery needle.
Mr. Stone’s lips parted, and he tilted his head. Lord above, he had the same shaped mouth as Mister Brown Eyes.
Juliet inwardly moaned. Her obsession with the masked man was out of hand.
“Why don’t I know about this courageous man who saved your sister?” Alexander asked.
“We haven’t had a chance to discuss it yet. When I came to bed last night —” Emily coquettishly rolled her shoulder “—I was distracted and forgot to mention it.”
Alexander grinned. “Ah, yes. I remember quite well.” He clapped his brother on the back. “No use in fighting them, mate. It seems you are to impart theory about the sweet science at dinner.”
Emily clasped her hands together. “What a lovely night we shall have.”
“We just passed Warrington,” Alexander said. “Dinner is ready. Father will meet us in the dining parlor.” He grasped Emily’s elbow and peered over his shoulder at their visitor. “Stone, we don’t stand on ceremony at our family meals.”
Emily and Alexander walked ahead. Mr. Stone watched them for a moment before looking down at his elbow. His browfurrowed. Was he trying to decide whether to offer Juliet his arm and escort her? The befuddled man had probably never dined with the aristocracy before. Or maybe he had, since pugilists often mingled with theton. If that were the case, he was probably worried she might react to his proffered arm the way she had reacted to his injured eye.
Juliet placed the loom on the side table and stood. “Shall we go?” Hoping to ease his discomfiture, she linked her arm with his. A bolt of awareness zinged through her body, and if she wasn’t mistaken, the handsome pugilist’s breath hitched.
Although the original encounter with Mr. Stone was somewhat awkward, everyone relaxed as they dined. After the first course of white soup with rosemary and thyme, came roasted lamb with potatoes, carrots, and asparagus. There were also Ratafia biscuits lightly sweetened with almonds and apricots. The final course consisted of mouthwatering layers of creamy custard, apricot preserves, and meringue. And there was brandy. A lot of brandy. Which seemed to be doing Mr. Stone good, because the tension left his shoulders and jaw. Although the man was not talkative, he answered every one of their questions and proved an agreeable companion.
Her eyes sparkling with whatever theory she was concocting, Emily gobbled up her last bite of pudding and then brought her index finger to her cheek. “Mr. Stone, from what you have told us, I have deduced that getting a man in the corner and delivering combinations of hooks and uppercuts until he collapses against the ropes provides the most satisfaction?”
