“Well”—he grinned—“pretend I’m Normanby and you’re hitting him.” Palms facing out, Giff held up his hands. “Strike my hands as hard as you can.” Alice appeared a bit uncertain, but made fists, keeping her thumb outside of her clenched hands and struck. The punch was harder than he’d thought it would be, but not as hard as he suspected she could hit. “You’ll have to do better than that to break his nose.” The next strike was more forceful. “You can do better than that. Picture his face.” She punched so hard the force almost knocked Giff back a step. “That’s better. Now punch his chin with the most powerful upper cut you have.”
This time she did cause him to step back. Alice began hitting harder and faster. Soon he was wishing he’d worn his gloves. Her face was flushed with anger and hurt. Tears began running down her cheeks, and she started to sob. “How could he have done that to me?” The anguished words sounded torn out of her. Her arms dropped to her side. “Why me?”
The next thing Giff knew she was in his arms. He held her close, not wanting to let her go. “I do not know if it will make you feel better, but he didn’t care who it was. He just wanted the money.”
Alice gave a little hiccup and laid her head on his chest. The hairs at the back of her neck were damp. He wanted so much to kiss her, but that would have ramifications he was certain she was not ready for. “He was not honest about it.”
She was correct. Many men needed to marry money, but a gentleman would be truthful, honorable about his needs and offer something in return. “No, he was not. If you ever do have the opportunity to strike him, don’t let him know what you are going to do. You are quite strong, but he is larger.”
“That is good advice.” With her face against his coat, her voice was muffled.
Giff wondered how long it would be before someone came in and put a stop to him holding her. From the corner of his eye Worthington and his lady entered Giff’s vision. “We can do this again if you would like.” Placing his hands on her arms, he stepped back then held up one palm. “I think the next time I’ll wear my gloves.”
Alice glanced at his hand and up at him. Her blue eyes were still watery. “I did not mean to hurt you.”
Giff was glad she’d had the strength to redden his hands. “I encouraged it.” More than ever, he wanted to murder Normanby. “Do you feel better now?”
Although her cheeks were tear streaked, she smiled. “I do. It is rather amazing that hitting something can make one happier.”
Again, there was a reason, other than exercise, for Jackson’s salon. Giff took one of her hands. Her knuckles were red and chaffed and starting to swell. “You had better get some ice on these.”
She winced. “They do hurt a little.”
“Alice,” Lady Worthington said. “St. Albans is correct. We should take care of your hands.”
“Of course. I would not want them to swell.” Alice glanced up at Giff. “Would you like to accompany me for a carriage ride this afternoon?”
He made a short bow. “I would indeed. Shall I meet you here?”
She nodded slowly. “Perhaps you would like to join us for tea at three o’clock as well.”
More than almost anything in the world. “I will see you then.”
Worthington’s steady gaze met Giff’s before the man left the parlor.
As Alice joined her sister, Giff realized how much her family loved and protected her. Lady Alice Carpenter had been no match for Normanby’s deceit. Worthington could have kept the rogue at bay but hadn’t had the information he needed to understand the danger. Other than knowing about the blackguard’s mistress, Giff had only had intuition to go on until last night. The same as Ladies Mary and Theo. He pulled his jacket sleeves down. He’d make sure Alice was even more protected than before. He’d be damned if he’d allow anything to happen to her.
Williams, Alice’s footman, walked Giff to the front door and bowed. “Thank you, sir.”
“It was my pleasure.” He donned his gloves and took his hat and cane. “Have an excellent day.”
“I will, my lord. You as well.”
The door closed behind him, and he headed home. Even the servants were protective of Alice. Still, it behooved him to find a way to keep track of Normanby. The man would soon be desperate, and desperate men were not to be trusted to behave in a reasonable manner.
* * *
By the time Alice reached her bedchamber, her dresser had a bowl of ice water ready. She placed her hands in it and jerked them out again.
“I know it is uncomfortable, but you will feel better later.” Grace gently pushed Alice’s hands back into the water. “I trust you have expended some of your hurt and anger.”
Thanks to St. Albans, she had. “I did. Although, I am surprised Lord St. Albans allowed me to pummel him.”
“He seemed to know just what you needed to do.” Her sister’s tone was thoughtful.
“He did.” Alice had said she would like to hit Normanby. Yet, she had not thought St. Albans would allow her to vent her anger hitting him. “He is a very good friend.”
“Hmm.” Grace’s tone indicated she did not believe he was merely a friend.
“He is interested in another lady.” Alice wished he was not. She wished she had been able to get to know him before she sent him on his way. Before she had met Normanby.
“Oh?” Her sister met her eyes in the toilet table mirror. “Who would that be?
“I do not know. He has not confided in me, and I did not ask.” Truth be told, she did not want to know.
Grace turned and looked at Alice directly. “Has he said anything about her?”
“Only that he had met her, and he seemed to be making progress.” Whatever that meant.
“I see.” Her sister glanced around the room. “Soak your hands for at least fifteen minutes. After that, I shall apply a cream.” Grace left the room.
Why? She cut a glance at her maid. “I could apply the cream. Or you could do it.”
“I suspect her ladyship has her reasons,” Bertram said. “You will want to freshen yourself. I will get out a clean gown.”
Alice looked in the mirror. Her hair was a mess, as was her face. She was also a little sticky. And hungry. Alice could not see the clock from where she was. “How long is it until luncheon.”
“A good two hours. I’ll have Cook send up something.”
