It was later than he anticipated and Lucas hurried to pull on his jacket, his muscles screaming at the action. He spent the first half of the morning reviewing the notes he had taken from the many varied demands from his tenants. Fresh straw roofs for the dilapidated cottages, new wells to be dug, which fields to fallow and which to plant, which crop to bring in for the new year, whether one farmer can switch to raising sheep rather than growing wheat, and so on and so forth.

He became lost in resolving each and every issue and time slipped away from him. He was anxious to depart, lest he run into any of the Bridgertons in the hallways and be invited, yet again, to take part in whatever familial activity they had planned for the day. The youngest Bridgerton sibling, Hyacinth, was particularly relentless, having chased him down more than once as he was saddling to leave or upon his return to the castle. He chilled at the thought that she might be lying in wait for him outside his door, demanding that he play a game of hide-and-seek with her. Apparently the Bridgertons spent the past day exploring the numerous rooms of the castle and made a game of it.

A knock sounded at the study door and Lucas started. He chuckled to himself, dismissing the idea that he was frightened of the twelve-year-old girl. Though, he called out hesitantly for whoever knocked to enter.

Simmons propped the door open and held out a bundle of letters and Lucas exhaled a silent sigh of relief. “You received these this morning.”

Lucas took the letters and dismissed his butler. The first was from Spencer and he tore it open.

As he expected, Lily was recovering but refused to name her assailant. He didn’t know if it was because Lily, herself, feared some kind of retribution from the man or if Madame Blachet swore the prostitute to secrecy for fear of damaging the reputation of her business. Lucas was relieved to see that Blachet honored his payment for Lily’s room and board and made a note to Spencer to send more money if Lily needed more time for her recovery. Lucas would need to speak to Lily when he returned to London. Whoever this man was, he needed to be stopped before he killed the next girl he played with.

The second letter was from Mustafa Ahmed and when Lucas read the contents, he dropped it down on his desk, puzzled. Ahmed stated that he would not be boarding the Endurance. He planned on riding out to Leighton Castle to meet with Lucas in two days, though did not state the reason why.

It would be too late to write a letter to the Bow Street runner demanding an explanation. By the time the letter arrived in London, Ahmed may be well on his way to Leighton. Lucas gripped the letter in his hand. There was nothing he could do.

***

Four days and barely one word from Lucas during their visit. Oh, he was pleasant to her and the rest of the Bridgertons, but it was obvious he was avoiding their company to the point of rudeness. No, well past the point of rudeness.

Edwina watched each morning from her window as Lucas stalked across the dead lawn toward the stables and rode off to wherever he disappeared to for most of the day. He only returned an hour before dinner, to wash and change into his evening attire. Each night, he sat silently at the head of the dining table, only answering when he was directly addressed. He appeared exhausted, often catching himself from slumping back into his chair.

After dinner, he demurred at any invitations to join the family in the drawing room for their nightly entertainment. He claimed that he had much work to do, which appeared true from the poor shape of the estate, and retreated to his study.

Edwina would not hear from him again until late into the night when she waited with bated breath in her bed as he entered his room and shut the door quietly behind him. She listened to him undress from beyond their shared wall and wash in a tub that had surely gone ice cold in his long absence. What came next was a bit of a mystery. Instead of hearing the creaking of a bed as Lucas settled in for the night, she could hear him pace, but in hesitant, halting steps.

More than once, she swore she heard the knob on the door between their chambers begin to turn, to only stop. Edwina had watched Kate lock the door herself under Anthony’s hawklike supervision. She tested it afterwards, and, yes, the door remained locked. To her chagrin, she tested it every night hoping against all hope that it would magically unbolt under her touch, but to no avail.

“Oh, is that Lord Greymoor?” Kate asked as she served herself another helping of poached eggs. Edwina quickly turned her head to see Lucas walking toward the stables. It was midmorning and he was late. By now, he should be long gone.

He wore a dark riding coat, trousers, and knee-high riding boots. His coat clung onto his broad back and Edwina suppressed a sigh of appreciation. Her face warmed from the many memories of her running her hands down his tightly muscled back as he kissed her.

“Where do you think he goes off to everyday?” Colin asked, buttering a piece of toast.

“The estate cannot manage itself,” Anthony replied.

“Why doesn’t he hire a steward?” Gregory piped up around a mouthful of bacon. “That’s what you do.”

“He’s going to need a regiment of them for this place,” Benedict said.

“Anthony, why don’t you go and see if he needs any assistance?” Kate said. “You, out of all of us, would be the most familiar with running an estate. Look at Aubrey Hall.”

Anthony snorted. “Aubrey Hall is not Leighton Castle. Thank God. Benedict is right, Greymoor will need a regiment of stewards and a legion of workmen to get this place back to rights. And that’s not without a bottomless well of funds.”

“Anthony,” Kate said, pointedly looking out the window toward the stable. “Weren’t you looking for a moment alone to speak with Lord Greymoor?”

“What?” Edwina asked, her focus snapped back to the conversation. “You wish to speak with the earl?”

Anthony sighed, standing and dropping his napkin on his still full plate. “It appears that I do.”

***

Lucas rode out early each morning to visit the tenant farmers surrounding the estate. He needed to put as much distance between himself and Edwina lest he was tempted to spend every moment basking in her company, or worse, tumbling her in any empty room. And, Leighton Castle possessed plenty of empty rooms.

It was a trial every night knowing that Edwina lay sleeping only mere feet away in the next room. He spent far too many hours standing at their adjoining door, his hand on the doorknob, willing himself not to enter her chambers uninvited.

The door was locked. He saw Constance pass Lady Bridgerton the only key the day the Bridgertons arrived. He knew it was locked as well as he had tested it numerous times, clutching the cold knob in his hand and resisting the urge to smash the door down between them. He could easily. The door was old, the wood brittle with age.

The only solution to the sleepless nights was to work his body to the breaking point until he fell into his bed exhausted each night. He discovered that one of the farmers was constructing a stone wall and immediately volunteered his services to the surprise of the grisly old man. Hoisting heavy stones for several hours relieved much of the tension of unspent lust that raged through his body. Perhaps just enough for him to survive Edwina's visit.

Lucas waved away the stableboy and reached for the saddle himself and pulled it off the wall.

"My wife believes that you hold a tendre for Edwina," a voice said, drawing Lucas's attention away from saddling his horse.

Lord Bridgerton rounded the corner of the stall and Lucas repressed a flare of irritation. As much as he'd been purposely avoiding Edwina, he had done the same with the viscount, knowing that nothing good could come from being in each other's company. Lucas's temper flamed every time he thought of how this man had hurt Edwina.

"She is mistaken."

"Are you certain? Men tend to deny their softer emotions. I can certainly speak from experience."

Lucas placed the saddle on the stallion, who danced away from Lucas as if sensing his agitation. "You are referring to what happened last season between you, your wife, and Miss Sharma. About how you toyed with Edwina's affections and left her humiliated and heartbroken."

"Isn't that what you are doing to her now?"

Lucas spun around and stormed out of the stall. "I didn't drag her down the aisle with false promises to marry her. I have promised her nothing ."

"And that's the problem, isn't it? You haven't made promises with words, but with your actions. Do not lie to me, Greymoor. I know that not only kisses passed between you two. 'Nothing irreparable,' remember? Cleverly said. That was the truth, but I am willing to bet my entire viscountcy that it wasn't the whole truth."

Lucas's lips flattened. His fists clenched at his sides. The viscount's eyes followed the movement.

"You want to hit me," Lord Bridgerton said, his brown eyes lit with amusement.

"Violence never solves anything."

"But, it will certainly make you feel better.” Lord Bridgerton stripped off his coat and dropped it onto the dirt-packed floor of the stable. "I can see that you're upset, Greymoor. Come at me then. You didn't put up much of a fight the other night. I know you can do better."

Lucas tore his coat off and threw it to the ground in aggravation. He yanked off his cravat and hat and tossed it into the growing pile of clothing. Lord Bridgerton broke into a smile. It seemed Lucas wouldn't be allowed to go about his day until he put the obstinate man into the ground.

Lucas narrowed his eyes, assessing the viscount. He was young, well built, and only slightly shorter than Lucas. He wasn't one of the many London gentlemen who whiled their hours away in luxury, getting softer around the middle as they aged.

"You grew up with a brother," Lord Bridgerton began. "You must know how to fight."

"And you with three," Lucas retorted. The viscount smiled in anticipation. Brawling amongst brothers was a given, a natural order of life. Good-natured sibling warfare. Was this what this was about? Was Lord Bridgerton testing his mettle? Teasing him as brothers do?

But, a memory flashed in his mind of the afternoon promenade when Edwina told him about what happened with her broken nuptials with Anthony Bridgerton. The tears of humiliation shimmering in her eyes. The tight set of her jaw as she willed herself not to cry. Lucas felt a wave of anger crest through him, darkening his vision into narrow points that focused solely on the man before him, the man that made her feel unloved.

"You hurt her," Lucas growled. "She deserved better than you."

A look of remorse quickly flickered across the viscount's face before one of his dark brows quirked upward. "Do you mean yourself then?"

When he did not answer, Lord Bridgerton placed one foot forward, the other a half step back, and raised his fists in the classic pose no doubt taught to him at one of his gentlemen boxing clubs. He must have been properly trained at Gentleman Jackson’s or by Will Mondrich. But Lucas was taught under a different set of rules, one of survival. Plus, he was a surgeon and knew precisely where to land a strike to incapacitate an opponent.

He was certain Edwina would be displeased with him if he severely injured her sister's husband despite the anger that raged through his limbs, causing his muscles to constrict in anticipation of a cathartic thrashing.

A quick jab at the viscount's solar plexus would disable him. The region of the abdomen consisted of radiating nerve fibers that if struck will cause the viscount's diaphragm to spasm, causing a severe shortness of breath. It will have to be enough to satisfy Lucas.

"Stop thinking," Lord Bridgerton taunted. "I can feel it from here."

Lucas smiled tightly. No, he would enjoy this regardless if it was a short fight.

The men circled one another, Lucas waiting for Lord Bridgerton to make the first move. He didn't have to wait long before the viscount stepped forward, his right arm raised to strike Lucas across the face. Lucas took advantage of the opening presented and closed the small gap quickly, landing a blow directly in the viscount's gut. As predicted, Lord Bridgerton crumbled, wheezing, to the floor, his arms wrapped protectively around his torso.

"That is for last season," Lucas spat as the viscount's face reddened from the lack of air.

He turned to retrieve his clothing before he was tackled to the ground. Lucas landed hard on the dirt floor, bewildered to see the viscount looming above him.

Impossibly, Lord Bridgerton stood, gasping for breath, his body trembling with pain, but his eyes glimmered with determination. "Where...do you think...you're going? We're not…done here."

Lucas quickly found his feet. The moment he stood, the viscount barreled at him with a roar, throwing short, tight punches at his face. Lucas grimaced as he felt a white flare of pain as one landed across his right eye before he regained his footing. A trickle of blood ran down the side of his face and he glanced down at the silver signet ring on the viscount's pinky finger.

Fuck it, he thought, dismissing the earlier promise to leave Edwina's brother-in-law unharmed. He once told Edwina he would damage Lord Bridgerton's pretty face for her. So be it.

Lucas's arm shot out and landed a punch directly on the viscount's nose, causing his opponent to stumble a few steps away from Lucas. A gush of blood spewed down the man's face.

Lord Bridgerton looked stunned. "You have been holding back on me."

In a blur, the viscount closed the distance between them, his fists barreling towards Lucas's chest. Lucas sidestepped in the last moment, deflecting a few of the blows, but one landed hard against his ribs. He lashed out again, clipping his opponent across the chin, but the opening let Lord Bridgerton to throw a punch into his side causing Lucas to grunt out in pain. The air soon filled with grunts and the sickening crack of hard fists pounding against bruised flesh.

Lucas didn't know who lost their footing first, but both men tumbled to the ground, kicking up dirt clouds around them. Lord Bridgerton grabbed at Lucas's waistcoat, tearing at the fabric. Lucas returned the favor by tearing off the sleeve of the viscount's lawn shirt. It quickly descended into a childish farce when the viscount next tore at Lucas's throat, grasping away at his shirt until it ripped down the entire length of his chest. Lucas yanked hard at Lord Bridgerton's waistcoat until the gold buttons popped off, bouncing across the dirt floor and disappearing into one of the empty stalls. The viscount reached up to do the same to Lucas's waistcoat before Lucas flipped over suddenly until he straddled the viscount's chest, pinning him to the ground.

"Enough! This is ridiculous! Yield, damn you," Lucas gritted out as Lord Bridgerton thrashed violently underneath him. When he refused, Lucas raised his fist and cuffed the viscount across the face, hard.

The viscount let out a bark of laughter. Lucas released him immediately.

"You are mad," Lucas said, as he collapsed beside Lord Bridgerton in the dirt. Both men gasped out for breath, drawing in lungfuls of air. His head ached and his ribs were tender, causing him to stifle a groan with each breath. His right eye was nearly swollen shut.

"And you are blind. And, I should know as I was once a blind man myself." The viscount pushed onto his elbows. "You must call me Anthony."

"So we're brothers now?" Lucas staggered to his feet, wincing. He reached out a hand. Anthony grabbed it and Lucas pulled the viscount to his feet.

Anthony doubled over slightly, gathering his breath, before straightening and giving Lucas a sidelong look as he brushed off the dirt from his trousers. "I think we will be soon enough."

***

Edwina watched from the breakfast room window as Lucas and Anthony stumbled up toward the castle with their clothes torn and blood running down their faces. Eloise stepped up beside her and sniffed disapprovingly at the sight.

"What happened?" Edwina asked, shocked.

"Some archaic male ritual," Eloise scoffed. "Idiots."