The Case of the Season

Chapter Nine

Sherlock removed his cravat and shirt, folding them neatly and leaving them with his jacket and vest. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his arms, his stomach muscles bunching with the effort.

He was tense, and rightly so. He'd been turning Miss Ballard's offer over and over in his mind since she'd explained it.

So far, he could come up with no good reason to refuse her. He would be better able to navigate the ton both now and in the future if he were wed. He would appear to be fulfilling a family obligation, and she had even volunteered to provide him with heirs if that became necessary, which was more than generous, as far as he was concerned. Most importantly to him, perhaps, was the fact that he would have a wife who would not complain about his profession and the comings and goings it required.

Yet he still had misgivings. He wasn't sure he wanted to be attached at all, even within an arrangement like this. While it was certainly the best offer he was likely to receive, that did not necessarily mean it was the right one for him. Unlike her, he had no technical need to marry. He could continue his life the way he pleased regardless, the censure of his brother be damned.

His thoughts were interrupted as Simon came up to him. They had discussed boxing at the dinner they'd both attended at the Bridgerton house. Sherlock was known as an aficionado, and Simon was quite the hobbyist, so they had agreed that a match between them would be quite interesting.

"Hello, Sherlock," Simon greeted him. "I hope you're ready."

"I am," Sherlock declared, cracking his neck.

He was hoping that exercise would clear his head and make the answer appear in front of him. While he was very good at solving logical problems, when emotions were involved, he was quite useless.

And there were many emotions involved, some of which he understood perfectly, and some which were entirely mysterious to him.

"Let's see what you've got," Simon challenged him, stepping up into the ring.

Sherlock chuckled and followed, turning and cocking his fists at the other man. "Gladly."

They started to fight. Simon was shorter and leaner than the detective, but that meant he was more agile too. Sherlock had to think fast to keep up, which he appreciated. It would distract him, and he needed to be distracted, because whenever he tried to think of anything but Miss Ballard, she unwillingly returned to the forefront of his mind.

There was nothing objectionable about taking her as a wife from a physical standpoint. While she was larger than most other women he'd seen so far during the season, her shape was pleasing. She was beautiful to him, and that was all that mattered if he was the one who was going to be her husband.

He threw a punch at Simon as he recalled her wavy hair, her soft skin flushed with laughter, and her dark hazel eyes sparkling with mischief as she teased him.

He threw another as her full pink lips and the way his own lips had felt against her knuckles rudely intruded on his much more rational musings.

He missed and Simon laughed. "Got something on your mind, Sherlock?"

"Always, Simon," he replied through gritted teeth, attempting to focus.

She was also proper when it mattered, and delightfully otherwise when it did not. He had no doubt that she would perform any wifely duties very well, and not be an entirely intolerable companion in private.

But that hardly mattered if he didn't want a companion.

He dodged Simon's next volley, but just barely.

One easy part of the equation to remove was her dowry and estate. He didn't need either of those things, and he had already decided that if he said yes to her proposal, he would let her keep both, along with any money she made from her writing endeavors.