Deceiving the Viscount

Chapter 7

Garrett's fingers touched the slightly puffy area under his eye. It'd already begun to turn the noticeable purple of a bruise when he checked the mirror the moment he woke.

Dover, who was seated next to him, noted his movement. "It looks terrible. Did someone catch you off guard at Gentleman Jackson's?"

"I was certainly caught off guard." He ground out. He still was unsure as to how he should react to last night's interaction with Miss...Mrs Brookfield. Should he be pleased she knew how to defend herself or should he be perturbed that she had felt the need to defend herself against him? Granted, he hadn't acted gentlemanly at all at the end. He'd been trying to prove a point.

And proved it she did, just not the point he was trying to make.

He prodded the tender area and hissed in pain. It probably served him right that she gave him this black eye.

"Who was it?" At the blank look, Dover gestured at his face. "Who so soundly thrashed you?"

"No one thrashed me. I got this black eye from elsewhere."

"Elsewhere?" A pause. "Don't say you got it while you were engaging in some rigorous bedsport last night."

At Dover's exaggerated leer, Garrett rolled his eyes. "If you must know, Miss...Mrs Brookfield gave it to me."

Nothing much shocked the earl. Hence, the sight of Dover's jaw hanging open would be one of his favourite memories of the man.

Garrett smirked, reaching over to push the sharp chin upwards with his finger. "A triumph for me this, being able to render the Earl of Dover speechless."

The other man blinked. "Mrs Brookfield punched you? What did you do to earn her ire? Proposition her to be your mistress?"

"Assuredly not! She is a happily married woman."

"Your words or hers?"

"Hers."

"Ah." A wealth of meaning flowed forth from that single word. Garrett hated his companion at that moment.

"It was...I did not..." Garrett snarled. "The back of her head hit the front of my face."

A quizzical look. "Why..." the smug smile returned. "So you did engage in rigorous bedsport last night eh. Or was it not in bed? A chair maybe?"

"What?" Garrett's brows drew together. "What kind of woman have you been engaging in bedsport with that you automatically assume there would be a black eye as a result?"

"One who is so overwrought with passion that she cannot control herself."

Rolling his eyes, Garrett snorted. "Or you were so bad at it, she punched you."

"Is that what really happened? Were you so terrible in pleasuring her that Mrs Brookfield gave you a black eye for it?"

Garrett threw his hands up in the air. "This conversation is a farce!" He threw himself against the squabs of the carriage they were in and turned his head towards the window, petulance emanating from him like smoke from a peaty fire.

"Touchy, are we?" At his silence, Dover cleared his throat. "Mrs Brookfield must be the cause of your...testiness." Garrett shot him a look out of the corner of his eye. "You must have happy to see her. Yet something transpired in between that resulted in the bruise. What happened? I promise to hold my tongue until you are done."

And so Garrett found himself relating last night's events. At the end of his story, he looked at Dover who was staring at him. "What?" When he saw his brother-in-law shake his head at him, tutting away under his breath, he sat up straighter, feeling the censure. "What have I done wrong? I protected her from those men. And because I needed to be sure it wouldn't happen again, I tried to make her see the error of her ways even after she'd abused me and my offer of help! Was that not the right thing to do?"