The Beast and The Bookseller (Once Upon a Wallflower) by Eva Devon

Author:Eva Devon [Devon, Eva]
Language: eng
Format: epub
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Publisher: Entangled Publishing, LLC
Published: 2023-06-04T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Some people might think boxing at seven in the morning utterly mad. He thought it just the thing.

Essex and he circled each other in his private arena at the back of his house. It was a vast establishment; therefore, achieving such a setup was quite easy.

He’d had several fellows over from Gentleman Jackson five years ago to ensure the proper creation of the room.

Every provision had been taken to allow for exercise indoors when the weather was positively grim, or in the middle of the night, if he so desired.

He could walk through every type of season, but occasionally even he could not quite manage the weather and sometimes the night was too damned long.

This morning, he needed this. Dare he say, he required it before he met Elizabeth again. Because the truth was, he had to be in perfect control of his emotions and his body.

She awoke things in him that he had not even known he was capable of feeling.

Oh, when he was young, he’d had his passions.

This was different.

He wanted to be fully present for her and did not want to have to battle the desire coursing through him. As Essex circled him, fist raised, he was ready.

He, too, circled.

They both danced on the balls of their feet, exceptional boxers, having trained for years. Garrett’s father had believed that a gentleman should be able to defend himself, even if he was a duke.

And so at the tender age of eight years old, Garrett had been put into the tutelage of a county boxing champion. The man’s idea of teaching had been to throw one in rather than to explain anything.

He could still remember the first time a blow had clanged his head and shaken his brain in his skull. He’d been certain he was going to die. He had not. And though it had taken him several moments to be able to understand what the man from Yorkshire was yelling in his ear, he had learned to dodge and dance.

His brains had depended on it. But much bruised flesh had occurred first.

As a result, he bobbed and weaved with the best of them. An eight-year-old had to be fast to escape a big man from Yorkshire in a small space.

And Essex, being a war hero who understood real fighting, was quite adept at being sly and sneaky on the jab.

As if thought could manifest itself into existence, Essex swung round and indeed jabbed forward. His brutal fist connected with Garrett’s kidney. He let out a grunt of a sound, nearly fell to one knee, twirled around, and delivered an uppercut to Essex’s middle.

Essex’s eyes bulged as the blow hit his stomach. They both danced away from each other and recovered quickly.

Essex drawled, feigning ease, “Something’s changed.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true,” Essex pointed out before giving a devilish grin. “It’s her, isn’t it?”

“It is indeed her,” he agreed, not seeing the point in pretending otherwise. His friend was too damn astute. “Perhaps you can put me out of my misery.

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