Kathryn Smith - [Friends 03] (29 page)

How long they danced like this Julian didn't know. His jaw ached, there was blood inside his mouth and his gut felt as though someone had driven a battering ram into it, but he would not stop. He couldn't.

Aberley looked much better off, even though Julian knew he had managed to land enough well-placed blows to make the marquess suffer. It wasn't enough.

Oddly enough, it was Aberley himself who tipped the scales. Obviously he had decided that physically battering Julian wasn't enough. He wanted to taunt him as well.

"Do you really think she's worth taking this kind of abuse for, Wolfram?"

Julian made no reply. He held Aberley's glittering gaze as he circled him slowly.

"I sincerely hope you have not made the mistake of believing she cares about you, my boy. Money is the only thing she cares about."

His expression did not change. "If money was all she wanted, Aberley, why did she not choose you?"

The barb was more effective than a right hook. Aberley's eyes lost some of their malicious sparkle. "I did not make the mistake of offering her marriage."

"No. You did not offer her much at all." Julian smiled. "Only yourself."

That was all it took. Gone was any composure or appearance of civility as the marquess snarled in reply. He charged at Julian like a rampaging bull.

Julian was ready.

It all happened in a matter of split seconds, and yet Julian saw everything as clearly as though time had slowed to a crawl. He lashed out, his gloved fist catching Aberley in the chin, sending the fairer man's head whipping backward over his shoulder.

The heavier man staggered backward, but rather than waiting for him to recover, Julian followed after him, hitting him in the stomach this time. And when Aberley doubled over from the force of the wind being knocked out of him, Julian hit him in the face again. Every blow knocked Aberley backward and with every blow, Julian advanced forward.

It hadn't taken long for other patrons to notice the brawl taking place in the lower corner of the room. It was hard to miss, especially since the Earl of Wolfram was driving the Marquess of Aberley across the floor with a series of blows that made even Jackson himself wince.

But then the marquess rallied. His big fist struck Julian again in the jaw, sending a spray of blood from Julian's mouth into the air. Thankfully, his jaw was unbroken, but the inside of his cheek was cut from being smashed against his teeth.

"Is she really worth this, Wolfram?" Aberley demanded as Julian dodged another swing. "Do you think she truly cares what happens to you? She is probably laughing at you right now; congratulating herself for pulling the wool over your eyes and making you believe she's worth having."

Julian punched Aberley high on one cheekbone. "You certainly went through a lot of trouble to have her yourself."

Aberley's expression was half smile, half wince. "It was no trouble at all. How does that feel, Wolfram? To know that your wife has had another man's cock inside her?"

For a moment, Julian stopped. He dampened the rage boiling inside him with a force of will he never knew he had.

"How do you feel knowing it was your brother's and not yours?" he countered, landing another blow to his opponent's face. "How do you feel knowing that I am the one who shares a bed with her now?" Another jab. Aberley's head snapped back.

The anger flowed heavily now and Julian let the fever pour over him. He let it guide his arms, felt its strength behind every blow.

"How do you feel knowing it will never"— he punched the marquess in the mouth— "ever"— a left jab to the stomach— "be you?" He finished with a lightning-fast jab to Aberley's nose. It crumpled beneath his glove, sending Aberley to his knees with a cry of pain.

Julian would not have stopped were it not for Gabriel and Brave. He would have kept on battering Aberley's handsome face until not even the man's mother would recognize it if his friends hadn't grabbed his arms and pulled him backward.

"Enough," Gabriel muttered harshly near his ear. "You have won. Now let us put an end to it before it becomes more a scandal than it already is."

A scandal. Damnation. He had promised Sophia he wouldn't cause a scandal.

"Whoa!" Brave said with loud, forced joviality, clapping Julian on the back as he did so. "Got a little carried away there, did you not, Wolfram?"

It was then that Julian managed to lift his hate-filled gaze from Aberley's bent form and noticed the crowd of spectators. The gazes ranged from curious to disapproving. He noticed that no one rushed to the marquess's aid, however.

He forced what he hoped looked like an apologetic smile, for he was no more sorry for breaking Aberley's nose than he was for waking up that morning.

"I do not know what came over me." Pulling his arm free of Brave's grip, he extended a glove to the marquess. "My apologies, Aberley."

Blood running from his nostrils, Aberley glared at him as he slapped Julian's hand away.

"Go to hell, Wolfram."

Julian laughed then. Turning a sheepish expression to the spectators, he shrugged.

"Rightfully so, the marquess is not in humor to accept my apology." Some of the men laughed as well. Someone from the back yelled that Aberley should be a better sport.

If anything, the lightened atmosphere of the club made Aberley even more hateful. His two cronies were at his side again. One tried to help him to his feet, but he pushed them away, rising on his own.

He held a handkerchief against his nose. "We're not finished, Wolfram."

Holding his gaze, Julian smiled. "Yes, we are— or next time I will break more than your nose."

And then, just to add to Aberley's rage, Julian addressed the crowd. "Lord Aberley has forgiven me for getting so carried away. All is settled between us." This last statement was directed at the marquess alone.

"What the devil happened back there?" Gabriel demanded some time later when they were in his carriage and on their way home. "You went after Aberley like a madman."

Julian dabbed at a spot of blood on his lip with his handkerchief before replying, "What I am about to tell you goes no further than this carriage."

His friends nodded in agreement.

"Aberley tried to force himself upon Sophia. That is why I brought her to London in the first place."

"No wonder you went after the bastard the way you did," Gabriel remarked. "I wonder that you did not kill him."

"I wanted to," Julian replied.

It wasn't Aberley Brave was concerned with. "What are you going to tell Sophia?"

Oh, Lord, Sophia! He hadn't even thought about facing her. Even if he had managed to convince the men at the salon that his pummeling of Aberley had been an accident, there was no way he could convince Sophia of the same. She was going to know he had broken his promise to her.

"I have no idea," he replied honestly. "But I had better think of something fast."

When Julian entered the gold drawing room that afternoon, Sophia stared at his beautiful face with something akin to horror.

She had been waiting for him to return home from his afternoon with Brave and Gabriel so they could discuss Letitia. She might have promised her friend that she wouldn't tell Julian about her engagement to Mr. Wesley, but that didn't mean she couldn't drop a few well-placed hints in his direction. She wanted him to tell her that all that mattered to him was his sister's happiness. She wanted him to be different from her father.

Setting aside the invitation she had been reading, she rose to her feet and went to him, her mouth dropping open at the sight of his bruised features. "What have you done to yourself?"

Julian smiled weakly and winced. "I did not do it. Someone else did."

He refused to lean on her, but allowed her to take his arm and lead him toward the long gold brocade sofa.

"I cannot believe either Gabriel or Brave would inflict such injury upon you." But what did she know of men and their barbaric sports? They sometimes seemed to
enjoy
hurting one another.

"That is because they were not at fault either," he replied. "Well, perhaps Brave is a very little. He did plant me a good facer earlier." He sank onto the sofa, grimacing as he did so.

Sophia sat down beside him, a niggling sense of unease worming its way up her spine. She could tell from her husband's obvious discomfort that whoever it was who had beaten him had
meant
to harm him.

"Who were you fighting, Julian?"

He seemed reluctant to meet her gaze. "Aberley."

A chill settled over her flesh. Hadn't she asked him just the other night not to confront Charles? He had promised her that he would not.

He had also told her that he wouldn't walk away if Charles came after him.

"Did he challenge you?"

Julian nodded. "He did."

Sophia drew a short breath. "And you could not walk away."

His gaze locked with hers. "I could not."

"Why not?" She wanted him to make her understand how his pride, or even she herself, could possibly be worth taking such a beating for.

"He insulted you."

"I do not care what he says about me, Julian."

"I do."

"And do you think allowing him to hit you changes any of that? You cannot change what he thinks. You cannot change what he says. All your bruises and cuts are for naught, save perhaps for giving people reason to talk behind your back."

He watched her with a most peculiar expression— part indignation, part incredulity.

"You think I lost."

Sophia blinked at the wounded amusement in his tone. Of course she thought he had lost! What other outcome could there be? He looked awful and Charles outweighed him by a good four stone at least.

"It does not matter who won or who lost," she replied in a careful tone. "I am certain you both have cuts and bruises enough between you."

He was decidedly affronted as he rose to his feet, grimacing and pressing a hand to his midsection as he did so.

"I will have you know that I did
not
lose." He scowled at her as he spoke. "I might look a little worse for wear, but Aberley walked out of there with his nose snapped like a twig."

Sophia stared at him, her stomach churning in a most uncomfortable manner. Just how hard did a person have to be struck in order to have their nose "snapped like a twig"? Quite hard, she imagined.

"Oh, God, Julian," she whispered. "What have you done?"

He must have heard the distress in her voice, because he sat down beside her again.

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" she snapped. "Can you not just stay still? You are making
me
sore with all this up and down foolishness!"

His lips twitched as he arched a brow at her. "Forgive me. I shall try to keep my discomfort to myself."

Sophia frowned at his droll tone. "You deserve to be uncomfortable! How am I supposed to feel knowing you broke a man's nose?"

He was frowning now as well. "You seemed perfectly content to think me the loser of the match. You did not seem to mind the idea of him hurting me. Why now so pale?"

She stared at him. "Because I expect such violence from Charles. I expect better from you."

Perhaps it wasn't the most tactful way to word her concerns, but it was certainly the most direct and the most honest. The idea of Julian being capable of such brutality, such violence— and that he could be proud of it!— appalled her. And yet…

Yet at the same time, she had to admit, what appalled her even more was the pleasure that had blossomed in the pit of her stomach when he told her he had won. As a woman, she wasn't allowed the luxury of being as physically strong as a man. She might be able to hurt Charles with words, but she could never do what Julian had done— and publicly, no less!

Julian's face was ashen beneath the red and purple patches where Charles had struck him. "You would prefer that I allowed him to get away with harassing you in shops? That I pretend he has not insulted you to the lowest level?"

Sophia understood the anger in his voice. He was frustrated, hurt and indignant. There was a certain helplessness to being told you couldn't fight back— or not having any weapons with which to fight. As a man, it would be even harder for him to walk away from a confrontation. He probably did not know what it was like to be told what to do, bullied or preyed upon because he was weak. How could he? He was Julian. He was nothing if not strong.

"Do you honestly think that what happened between the two of you today will stop him from saying what he pleases to me whenever I see him?" From the glare in his eyes she could tell that was exactly what he thought. "You publicly humiliated him and he will never forgive either of us for it."

He rose to his feet yet again. This time she winced as well. "What I did today was show him that I will not tolerate his insulting you or myself."

"Walking away would have had the same result."

He shot her a look that blatantly told her she didn't know what she was talking about. "It would have made me look like a coward."

Ah, masculine pride. It drove men to do the most outlandish things, suffer the most excruciating pain and oftentimes lose those they love just because they couldn't bring themselves to do something that might make them look weak in the eyes of another man.

"So what you are saying then, is that you did not fight Charles because of any injury to me, but because you feared what others might say about you."

Julian's face darkened. "What if I had not fought him, Sophia? How would you feel the next time we were out at a ball and someone called me a coward in front of you? Would you be proud to be the wife of a man all of society sniggered at?"

"I would be proud to be your wife no matter what people say about you, Julian. I know what kind of man you are. I do not need others to tell me."

For a moment, he just stood there, staring at her, an unreadable expression on his face.

"You are mine. I will fight for you."

The possessive edge to his voice dotted Sophia's arms with gooseflesh. He said it like he owned her, and yet she couldn't help but feel that it meant much more than that.