“The way you humiliated Mr Parbrook?” Her gaze dropped to his pristine cravat. “The night you showed me the savage hiding beneath those impeccable clothes?”
“I behaved like a brute, yet I am not sorry.”
Satan had possessed his mind and body. He might have killed Parbrook had Helen not grabbed his arm and been the voice of reason.
“You behaved like a warrior when I am used to seeing the restrained gentleman. I find the contradiction intriguing.” Her eyes softened, and she placed her hand over her heart. “I have never thanked you for defending my honour. You acted in Sebastian’s stead. Risked your life for me. For that, I will be eternally grateful.”
Sadly, it was not her gratitude he wanted.
“I pray I never see you in distress again.” He doubted his heart would take the strain. “Next time, I’ll probably murder the devil.”
Perhaps that was the answer to his problem. To escape the noose, he would flee to a monastery in France and spend his days in seclusion. He already lived like a monk—it had quickly become apparent he could not bed another woman while his heart was engaged—so it would be no hardship.
She frowned. “You really are a conundrum.”
“How so?”
“You’re always so tense. Even when you dine with us in Grosvenor Street, you don’t laugh like you used to. You rarely show any emotion. Yet that night at the Hamptons, anger exploded from you like a raging volcano.”
Every suppressed thought and feeling had burst from him that night. He had punched Parbrook when he wanted to punch Sebastian for being the voice of his conscience.
Be the brother she needs.
Ease the burden of Michael’s passing.
“A gentleman must have many strings to his bow,” he said, skirting around the real reason he would die to protect her. “He must be respectful, be an objective voice amid the chaos. But to defend his family against aggressors, he must rely on primitive instincts. Therefore, to be a gentleman, one must be a savage.”
“Is that why you train in pugilism? Sebastian said you have the strength and skill to tackle three men.” The hint of admiration in her voice warmed his blood. “Mr Parbrook had a lucky escape.”
Nicholas had to release his frustration somewhere. Jackson’s establishment was too tame for him, too much prancing and not enough punching. He liked brawling with rogues, risking his life. Yet, ironically, he was powerless in his fight with Charles Holland.
“A man never knows when he might need to defend himself.”
Despite falling silent, she observed him with unnerving intensity. He could almost hear the cogs in her mind turning.
Then, as if she had solved a confounding riddle, Helen’s mouth curled into a confident smile. “You have a secret, Mr St Clair.”
He had more than one.
“What makes you say that?” His laugh sounded hollow.
“You’re more guarded than normal.” She narrowed her gaze. “And I heard something in your voice when you spoke about defending yourself. The merest hint of resentment and anger.”
He feigned arrogance. “You have a vivid imagination, Miss Langley. Perhaps my reservations stem from worrying about us being found alone together in a closed carriage.”
Her eyes widened. “But you said no one would know.”
“That does not negate the risk.”
The air became instantly fraught with tension.
She moved the blind a fraction and peered out. “Thank goodness. We might relax a little, for we have reached open countryside.”
“Our problems will arise once we reach the Saddlers Inn.” What if it took Sebastian hours to find Parbrook? What if some devil had sent him on a wild goose chase? “Someone may recognise your brother’s crest and attempt to gain an audience.”
Helen touched her throat. “Then we should wait on the roadside half a mile from the inn. If Sebastian is on horseback, he’s bound to see us.”
“But a passing carriage will assume we need assistance. We’re not the only guests journeying to Grayswood Folly.”