My Regelence Rake

by J. L. Langley

  “I am now.”

  “Good.”

  Apollonia passed Rexley on her way back into the stables.

  Chuckling, Colton grabbed her halter. “Come on, you little hellion. Let’s get you brushed. I have a ball to get ready for.” Maybe Wentworth would be there tonight. The bigger question was, did he want Wentworth to be there? And if so, what did he expect? He and Wentworth had definitely overcome a boundary today they’d not previously crossed. Only time would tell what it meant.

  Things must not be going well for the family business if Julian was living in this neighborhood. Sebastian stepped around a squashed metal trash can, several torn boxes and various trash. A lone streetlamp at the end of the block cast eerie shadows rather than brightening the corner. The other streetlights had long since burned out or been broken by street kids. The place reeked of despair.

  No wonder lifts wouldn’t come to this part of town. Sebastian had taken a lift to Pickett Street and had to walk the rest of the way. And it wasn’t a pleasant jaunt. Today’s rain and sleet had given way to frigid wind and a dusting of snow. He shivered, uncertain whether it was from the chill or the depressing surroundings.

  As he walked down the filthy sidewalk, he was filled with a mixture of disgust and pity. Living in a neighborhood like this was a tough life. It made him appreciate the comforts of home. Not many men of his acquaintance would venture here, but Sebastian was no hypocrite. He was also no easy target for pickpockets, thugs or thieves.

  Even at this time of night, in this cold, there were signs of life. A cat, or was that a big rat, darted across the street into a hole in the foundation of a brick building. A wino slumped against the same building, talking to himself. At least Sebastian assumed he was mumbling to himself, since there was no one else near the man. Several yards in front of the man a door creaked open onto a stoop, and the yellow glow from inside flooded the street in a triangular pattern. A number four hung upside down over the doorway.

  An old woman stepped outside with a broom. She swished the ragged bristles back and forth above the stoop. “Get, you! Scat, you dirty little bastard. Shoo. Stay off my porch.”

  Until that moment Sebastian hadn’t seen the small figure curled into a ball. His gut clenched as the child unfurled himself and scrambled down the steps.

  Sebastian would never understand how people threw their kids away. All children should have a nice warm bed and food in their bellies. Starvation was the worst sort of punishment. Even worse than being homeless. One never got used to the gnawing discomfort of hunger. You ate what you could to survive, but it was never enough. The hunger never seemed to vanish completely. Sometimes life sucked.

  With a small shake of his head, he pushed away the memories trying to bombard him and continued down the street.

  Soft sobs echoed behind him, along with the child’s shuffling feet. Bloody hell.

  Sebastian kept walking. He was almost there. Ten was the address Jeffers gave him this afternoon. He’d see if Julian was there first, and if the boy was still here on his way back, he’d—

  Sniffles joined the sobs.

  Sebastian stopped. He closed his eyes for a moment then turned around.

  The little boy stood in the street, snow and vapor from his sobs swirling around him. As if sensing Sebastian’s attention, he turned his head. His grubby little face resembled a chimney sweeps of old. No gloves graced his fingers, and his ratty coat was two sizes too small with holes in it.

  Huffing out a breath, Sebastian walked toward the kid.

  The boy’s eyes widened. “I din do nuffin, guv.” Backing away, he shook his head.

  “Stop.”

  The boy froze. Tears glistened on his face, streaking the caked-on dirt and leaving clean runnels.

  “I swear it weren’t me, whatevah it was.”

  “You aren’t in trouble.” Sebastian began removing his gloves. “How old are you?”

  “Seven and ten summers.”

  Right.

  Sebastian handed his gloves to the kid. “Try again. How old are you?”

  Eyeing the gloves, the kid backed away. After a few seconds he answered softly, “Ten.”

  “What’s your name?” Sebastian shook the leather at him. “Take these.” When the boy snatched the gloves, Sebastian added, “And put them on.”

  “Me name’s Digby.” Digby stuffed his fingers into the gloves. He missed a hole and had to try again before getting them on correctly.

  “Where are your parents?”

  His forehead furrowed, and he eyed Sebastian warily. “Me mum’s dead.”

  “Where’s your father?”

  “Ain’t got one. Me mum didn’ know who ’e was.”

  Which explained the reaction of the lady on the stoop. The boy really was a bastard. Sebastian’s heart went out to him. Their society had no sympathy for kids born on the wrong side of the sheets. Bastards were shunned. It was better off to be orphaned than be a bastard. To be abandoned with your parentage unknown, like Lady Muffin, was preferable to being a child born out of wedlock. It had never made any sense to Sebastian. “You want a nice warm bed, hot food and a job?”

  Digby stepped back a few more steps. “I ain’t no whore.”

  The fact the boy even knew such things existed broke Sebastian’s heart. “I’m not looking for a whore. I assure you, you’re way too young for my tastes.”

  “Then why would ye want me?” Digby glanced around, taking in his surroundings. He was about to bolt.

  Sighing, Sebastian dug into his coat pocket. He pulled out a few pounds and his calling card. “If you change your mind, go to Wentworth Park and ask for Berkley. Tell him Sebastian sent you. I could use someone to help out in the kitchens.” There was plenty of staff at Wentworth Park, but perhaps it would help persuade the kid to come work for him. It would get him out of the cold.

  “Why would ye do this fer me?” Digby glanced down at the contents of Sebastian’s hand and fumbled with the gloves.

  “Someone helped me out once, and I want to return the favor.”

  Digby got one glove off and started on the other. “No ’fence, guv. But I don’t trust ye. I’m no whore.”

  “Keep the gloves and take this. If you change your mind…”

  Digby snatched the money and calling card. “I won’t.”

  “Suit yourself.” Sebastian removed his scarf and tossed it at Digby. “Keep this too. Do what you will with the money.” He supposed he could alert the authorities and get the kid sent to a foundling home, but in Sebastian’s experience the kid was better off on the streets. Even the orphanages were tough on bastards. The foundling homes would boot out a bastard to make room for an orphan if need be.

  With a sinking feeling in his gut, Sebastian turned and walked away. At least he’d tried. He couldn’t force the kid.

  When he found Julian, he was going to deck him. What was he doing living in a place like this anyway? Tension seeped into Sebastian’s shoulders and traveled up to his jaw. How dare the jackass not come to him for help. Julian always was a proud pillock.

  In the alley to Sebastian’s left, four adolescent boys crowded around a trash-can fire. A fifth smaller boy sat huddled in a cardboard box rubbing his hands together. Within seconds the click-clack of footsteps followed Sebastian. Dust.

  “Whoa there, toff. We’ll be having a word with ye.”

  Bloody hell. He turned. He’d wanted to trounce someone, but not a group of kids.

  Five boys no older than sixteen had made a half-circle behind him. They were a rough-looking lot, and all but one of them were as big as Sebastian. The one in the middle was shorter but much stouter than the rest. All of the boys appeared as though they could use a good scrubbing. The scent of smoke clung to them along with the stench of unwashed bodies. One boy had a bent pipe down by his side. Another one had a battered croquet mallet.

  “I don’t want any trouble. I’m searching for a man named Julian Towers. Do any of you know where I can find him?”

 
; Pounding feet and a flash of gray passed Sebastian. Digby. That probably didn’t speak well for Sebastian’s chances of getting out of this without hurting a few of these teens.

  The group of four didn’t even glance at the child. Their gazes stayed on Sebastian. The boy on the left side of the middle held out his hand and smiled, showing off a broken front tooth. “What’s it to ye?” His hair appeared a lighter shade of brown. Probably blond under all the dirt.

  “Do you know where I can find him or don’t you?” The anger at Digby’s fate and poverty in general vanished, and calm took its place. Sebastian cataloged his surroundings.

  The boy with the pipe, clearly the leader of the group, brought it up in front of him and smiled. “Ye can turn over yer blunt and valuables the easy way or we can do it the hard way if ye like. ’Sup to you, chap.”

  So be it. Sebastian would not relinquish his purse to a bunch of thugs. Pickpocketing was one thing—it was a way of life for foundlings—but assault and robbery was another thing entirely. “You really don’t want to do this.”

  “I think we do.”

  They rushed him all at once.

  Sebastian deflected the first punch and followed up with a jab to the leader’s lips. Sebastian caught the pipe and kneed the assailant in the groin. Ducking the mallet, he swept the boy’s legs out from under him.

  By the time he had the third boy down, the first was getting back up. As each one came at Sebastian, he easily dispatched them again. He had to hand it to them, for all their ineffectiveness, they were persistent. If they kept it up, they might just wear him down enough to get a blow in.

  The boy with the broken front tooth let out a whistle, and four more hoodlums poured from the alleys on each side of Sebastian. Great. The boy with the wooden mallet swung at Sebastian again. Grabbing the striking end of the mallet, he turned, using the thug’s momentum to dislodge his hold on his weapon. He smacked the kid in the rump with the handle and tossed the mallet away. He punched the next ruffian in the chin, and blood flew from his mouth.

  The other five tried to flank him, but he moved with them, keeping them in front. Two of them came at him, but he kicked one in the ribs and punched the other in the gut.

  A sharp pain exploded in his back, and the pipe clattered to the ground several feet in front of him. Bugger that hurt. Sebastian winced. He may have even grunted, but he didn’t let down his guard. How had the little reprobate gotten behind him? He kicked back as the pipe thrower closed in on him.

  Crack.

  A wail rent the air.

  Sebastian hadn’t wanted to permanently damage any of them, only teach them a lesson, but he couldn’t keep up this pace. He popped one of them in the chin and watched him hit the ground so hard he bounced.

  “Hey!” The quick staccato of footsteps approached from behind.

  Blast. Sebastian grabbed the kid closest to him and put him in a headlock, exerting just enough pressure to let the panic set in. He backpedaled to the nearest building, putting his back to it and opening up his field of view.

  A big man came running down the street toward them followed by a smaller boy. Digby.

  The other thugs ran away, leaving Sebastian with the gagging, squirming kid in his hold.

  What the—? Sebastian squinted down the dimly lit street.

  This man was not filthy like the others. He wore hessian boots, buff trousers, a white shirt and dark waistcoat, sans outerwear. His brown hair was a bit long for convention, and he held a saber in his right hand. He was also much bigger than the others.

  Wonderful. Sebastian shoved the reprobate against his chest and dug down in his right boot for his knife. As Sebastian gripped the hilt of his weapon, a shadow loomed over him.

  “Need some help, Commander?”

  Chapter Nine

  The Earl of Baxter’s Ball in Classige, Pruluce.

  Sebastian’s lift pulled up to the Baxter townhouse and stopped. He was not at all fit to go to a ball. He should’ve gone in and freshened up when he’d dropped Digby off at Wentworth Park, but he hadn’t wanted to waste any more time. He needed to check in on the Townsends to make certain Rourke had been correct and there really was nothing to the stalker situation he and Steven had found themselves in at the livestock auction.

  Bloody hell and imploding planets. His body ached. At least he’d found Julian though. He desperately needed some elite guards. A few men who could take some of his burden because he couldn’t be everywhere at once. His guards were good. He’d trained most of them personally—with the added help, he might have time to further their training—but they weren’t Special Forces level yet, and with the things they might encounter with the IN as an enemy… Dust, he didn’t want to think about it.

  He alighted from the coach and trudged up the front steps, ignoring the widened eyes of the doorman. Hmm…he must look worse than he thought. He’d already made certain there was no visible dirt or tears in his evening clothes. Therefore it must be his face. The skin under his left eye did feel rather puffy and tender. Oh well, nothing for it now. It wasn’t like the ton would be surprised to see him looking less than appropriate. They thrived on his misadventures and sexual escapades.

  The mansion was brightly lit and alive with activity, although the foyer was clear except for a footman. A billow of smoke drifted from the room to the right. Sebastian’s nose twitched at the sugary smell of pipe tobacco. Must be where they were playing cards. Loud music and the buzz of voices blared from the left. Sebastian handed his coat and hat to the footman and headed toward the ballroom.

  As he passed under the arched doorway into the ballroom, the butler said, “Lord Wentworth.”

  Bugger. Baxter was one of those annoying gents who thought to have every guest announced, even after the ball had begun in earnest. As Sebastian expected, most of the crowd turned as one to gawk at him. He’d never get used to that.

  Right away he spotted Rourke among the sea of faces. Not a difficult feat. Rourke was strategically in the best position to see all of the ballroom. He’d spotted Sebastian right away and gave a nod over the shoulder of a shorter man with whom he chatted.

  Weaving through the crowd, Sebastian made his way to the duke. As he did so, Rourke extricated himself from the group he’d been in. Sebastian got two feet from him before the duke broke into a broad grin.

  “Let me guess, instead of Julian, you found an irate cuckolded husband?”

  “Very funny, smart arse. No. I found a group of street thugs, and Julian found me.”

  “Was that before or after the thugs decided to use you as a punching bag?”

  “During, actually.” Sebastian stepped up next to Rourke and turned to look out over the ballroom.

  Rourke’s lip twitched. “I’m afraid I cannot claim to have had the excitement you’ve had tonight. I’m jealous.”

  Sebastian snorted. “Don’t be. Somehow I don’t remember having the hell beat out of me hurting this bad.”

  “Nothing a little brandy won’t cure. Perhaps a couple of cigars as well.”

  “Bite your tongue.”

  Rourke chuckled. “I haven’t seen our little friend. Nothing untoward has happened at all, unless you count Winstol tossing his dance card into the wall sconce over there.” He bobbed his head toward the right.

  The front ballroom wall was pale yellow and lined with arched windows interspaced with fan-shaped, frosted-glass wall sconces. There was a dark rectangular shape silhouetted in the third from the right.

  Sebastian grinned. Now that Aiden and Payton were married, it seemed Lord Trouble was taking up where they’d left off.

  “Oh, and did I mention the rumors?”

  “There are still rumors, even though Colton is here and obviously did not elope?”

  “They’ve evolved to Colton stealing that horse.”

  “They’ve left me out of the rumors?”

  “Not exactly. You aided and abetted. Oh, look over there.” Rourke flipped his chin to their left. “It appears Lord Banno
n is now looking to get rid of his dance card.”

  Standing next to Trouble, Lord Bannon had his dance card in his hand, searching left and right.

  “Unbelievable. I can’t fathom anyone stupid enough to believe Colton would do something so foolhardy.”

  “I’m not sure they actually do, but they’re talking about it nonetheless.” Rourke bumped him with his elbow. “Here goes. Did you see how Winstol nudged him?”

  Sure enough, Bannon flung his dance card across the dance floor like one would skip rocks on a pond. It sailed across the wood floor, hit someone’s foot and bounced off, spinning in the opposite direction.

  “Do you think it will get trampled on, or will someone find it and return—?”

  Mr. Potts, the portly middle-aged older son of Baron Henderson, stepped on the card. His arms flailed for at least five seconds. He grabbed the man next to him, and they both went down with a bounce. There was a loud “Umph,” and a cacophony of gasps and groans. The next two men in line tripped over them, and all four ended up in a pile.

  Rourke didn’t even try to cover his laugh.

  Lord Bannon and Trouble hightailed it out of the room as the music stopped and the rest of the dancers helped their fallen comrades from the floor.

  Sebastian shook his head and coughed into his hand. He had to avert his gaze to keep it together.

  “You were right. This job is not the least bit boring.”

  Finally, the dance floor cleared, and the orchestra began playing a waltz. Steven and Raleigh were among the first couples to start the dance. Sebastian sought out the rest of the royal family but didn’t get any further than Colton. He stood in front of a vase, contemplating it like it was a work of art. When did Colton take an interest in art? He was by himself. Was it because of the silly gossip? Usually there were several bucks vying for his attention.

  Sebastian’s chest tightened as he watched Colton. Colton should never be lonely, but perhaps it was to Sebastian’s advantage. He started toward the prince.