Page 49 of The Boxing Baroness

“Hmph,” he said, giving her own response back to her.

“I have the impression most people are too intimidated to tease you.”

“You’ve met Guy,” he pointed out drily. “Does he seem intimidated? Or Elliot?”

“Yes, that’s true—especially about Guy. He is a bit of a pest and has already driven Cecile halfway mad with his teasing. So, back to your wife hunting.”

“I didn’t say I was going wife hunting, to use your vulgar expression.”

“But you are, aren’t you?”

“Not this year.”

“But you would have been if you’d been in London?”

“I refuse to answer such a question.”

“As the heir to a dukedom, shouldn’t you have been married already?” she persisted, undeterred.

Sin’s jaws tightened.

She glanced up at him, and her good-natured smirk disappeared in a heartbeat. “Lord. I’ve put my foot in it, haven’t I? I’m sorry.”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry about,” Sin said stiffly. “It was a long time ago.” Half this woman’s lifetime, in fact. “She died in childbed, as did our son.”

How fascinating that a man could sum up the most catastrophic event in his life with only eight words.

She ran in silence for perhaps ten minutes, and then tugged at the hideous scarf around her neck.

Sin held out a hand. “Throw it up here. I will keep it for you.”

She tossed him the scarf and with it came a whiff of her scent: soap, fresh air, and the clean, salty tang of sweat. Why did female sweat smell so much nicer than male sweat?

“You’re not talking,” she said, her voice a bit breathier than before. “Tell me about your friends—Guy and Smithy.”

That was painless enough.

“I’ve known Guy since we were both in our cradles. His family is far larger than mine: he has six sisters and is the only son.”

“Ah, the darling of the family as well as the ton, then.”

“Yes, he is terribly spoiled, if that is what you are asking.”

“And he will be a duke one day, too?”

“Yes.”

“But Elliot is just a plain mister?”

“He is the younger son of an earl, so, no, he has no title.”

“Slumming, are you?”

Sin frowned down at her. “I don’t know that word.”

“I believe it is fairly new, used to describe the way your people come to observe the ’umble entertainments that my people get up to. Sort of like watching the animals at Astley’s, except with commoners rather than tigers and elephants.”

“Just who do you think your people are, Miss Simpson? Given the school you attended and the way you speak, I don’t think you’re one of Jack’s people.”