She gagged. “Go to hell, Lord Althrop.” This was where she would make her stand, here in the rain and the cold that sapped at her strength. Fear kept a stranglehold on her, but she was determined to be free of this man.
“Not unless you go with me.” He circled her, his footsteps muffled in the rain. “I’ve beaten the will out of women with less spirit than you, and until you learn that you have nothing unless a man dictates it, I’ll continue beating you.” He lunged, and though she dodged his movement, he tangled his hand in her loose hair and yanked her to him. “Once Wrycroft weds you, you’ll wish you had given me what I wanted.”
“Oh, dear Lord.” Now she understood the baron’s place in the drama. “You are a marriage broker of sorts for men like Lord Wrycroft.” She tried to ignore the searing pain in her scalp as he jerked at her hair. “He hires you to find him women, to break them enough that they’ll be numb to his vile attentions, or men like him, men who aren’t respectable in society.” Fear grew into chilling terror that shook her body. Summoning her strength, Louisa drilled an elbow into his ribcage. “Well, that stops now. For every woman you terrorize.” She broke away, retreating to the far side of the terrace, gaining time.
“There is nothing in this life for women like you unless you’re under the protection of a man.” The baron’s words were breathless, and he held a hand over his ribs, but he slowly came toward her. “You exist for our pleasure, for our comfort, to bear our children, and until you understand that, life will be miserable.”
“No.” There were good men in England who didn’t think that way, who treated women as equals. “You’re the aberration.”
Cecil’s image shimmered in her mind’s eye. For one brief moment, she’d known the exquisite perfection of what love could be... Oh, God. She’d pushed it away because of this bully before her, out of fear that he would shatter her happiness.
Louisa shivered as the rain soaked her to the bone. Her hair hung in clumps over her shoulders, but she straightened her spine. “Society will literally crumble and reorganize itself if women realize exactly how much power we do have, both collectively and individually.” And she would gladly shout that from the rooftops to any female who would listen. “Do your worst, for I refuse to live another day in fear.” Not when Cecil had given her a taste of respect, of encouragement, of happiness without restriction or condition.
If that’s not something to fight for, I don’t know what is.
“So be it.” The baron rolled his shoulders. “Unless Wrycroft arrives in time to haul your arse to his estate in the north for a sham marriage ceremony, I will kill you. And then I’ll go after that wreck of your brother. I should have drowned him years ago, but I gave into your mother’s wishes. He’s naught but an embarrassment.”
Poor Jonas, who’d never asked for any of this. She’d protect him for as long as she could. “You’re partially correct.” Slowly, Louisa lifted her fists and planted her bare feet. “One of us will walk off this terrace tonight, but I sincerely doubt it will be you, for I am done letting men decide my fate.”
Then she growled, and he launched himself at her.
Chapter Fifteen
Cecil returned to the ball. After everything, she’d managed to break his heart when she’d rejected his intention to offer for her. It didn’t matter that he’d understood her reasoning, for it stung all the same. Now he was adrift on a sea of shock and annoyance.
“This is what I get for putting my trust in a woman again after I swore I never would.”
But the hairs on his nape prickled as he gained the ballroom. Why? What was afoot this night that had him at sixes and sevens? A country reel was in progress, and all the dancers seemed lost in the gaiety. Several groups of guests chatted on the side. Laughter filled the space, yet something wasn’t quite right.
He narrowed his eyes. No matter how hard he looked, there was no sign of the baron or his wife. Playing into a hunch, he darted through the throngs of people, but as much as he wished, none of them were Althrop. His pulse accelerated. A trickle of sweat trailed down his spine. When had he left? And more importantly, where had he gone?
Anxiety formed knots in his belly. Oh, God. Had her stepfather seen Louisa’s early exit and followed her home? And like a nodcock, Cecil had left her alone as she’d asked, thinking she could handle whatever awaited her. I never should have agreed to take her home.
Gooseflesh raced over his skin. He executed an abrupt about-face and ran back the way he’d come. With every step, each beat of his heart thrummed out her name. He’d delivered her straight into danger. So careless was he that he crashed into someone on the way out of the ballroom.
“I apologize,” he breathed, planting his hands on the woman’s shoulders to steady her. Then he sucked in a breath. “Mother.” For one fleeting moment, he wished he were a little boy again and that she might offer a hug for comfort. “I...”
She peered into his face and then took his arm. “Come.” Despite his protest, his parent tugged him into the corridor beyond the ballroom. The noise lessened and the crowds had thinned considerably. “I know that look. I’ve seen it once before when your favorite puppy went missing. What’s happened, and where is Miss Harcourt?”
“I don’t have the time—”
“You do and you will.” She tightened her hand on his arm. “Explain.”
He’d forgotten how headstrong his mother could be upon occasion. She and Louisa should get on famously. If he hadn’t mucked it all up. “Time is rather of the essence.”
“Then talk quickly.” She smiled sweetly. “You’re on the verge of panic.”
“Quite right I am.” Cecil shoved a gloved hand through his hair. “Louisa asked me to take her home after seeing her stepfather, Baron Althrop, here.” Briefly, he explained about the baron’s ongoing behavior and the threat he posed.
“He’s an unsavory character, and I would never have issued an invitation...” Her eyes rounded and a trace of shock appeared in her eyes. “...but he’d worked closely on some legislation with your father. I’m so sorry, Cecil. If I would have realized how dangerous her situation was...”
“Stop.” He cut the air with his hand. “I’ll explain what a horror he is later. Suffice it to say, she’s in danger from this man, and I unknowingly handed her into his den.”
“Then why the devil did you do it?”
That was a fair question. He grimaced as a sharp pain squeezed around his heart. “I agreed to her request because I was hurt, because she had honest reasons, because letting her stand up for herself will make all the difference.” She’d spoken of a possible future between them, and he’d bought into it. “Louisa rejected my proposal before I could utter it.”
Surprise welled in his mother’s eyes. “Did you offer it for the right reasons?”
Damn and blast. She knew him too well. “No. I wanted to protect her.”
“A woman worth her salt wouldn’t marry a man based only on that.” She held his gaze. “Do you love her?”
“I think I may, but—”
His mother beamed. “No excuses. You either do or you don’t.” One of her eyebrows lifted.
Cecil sighed. It was pointless to deny it. His damned heart wouldn’t hurt so deuced much if he didn’t. “Yes. I love her.”
“Does she care for you? I’ve seen the way she looks at you, and I could hazard a guess.”
Did Louisa love him? He didn’t know for certain. “We haven’t discussed it.” Heat swamped him. “Er, there were other things occupying my attention earlier.”
“I’ll wager there were. She practically had stars in her eyes when the two of you rejoined the party, and you looked like the cat who ate the canary.” His mother chuckled. “I can tell you this. I never saw such a look on your previous fiancée’s face. Rather telling, that.”
Realization sank into him and lifted his flagging spirits. “I might have gone about this all wrong, and now...” He was at a loss for words.
She rolled her eyes. “T
here’s time to make it right. Go find her. Love isn’t something to sneeze at, and it doesn’t come around too often, especially if it’s true now.” She patted his arm. “Trust yourself and her.”
“Thank you.” His thoughts were confused, but he bussed his mother’s cheek. “I’ll let you know what happens.” No sooner had he gained the entry hall than Samuel hailed him from the staircase.
“What’s in the wind? You’re like a man possessed.” Samuel’s sharp-eyed glance pinned him to the floor. “Where is Miss Harcourt?”
“Most likely in danger, thanks to me.” Quickly, he told his best friend of the events leading to his imminent departure. With thanks, he accepted his greatcoat from a footman.
“Not your fault.” Samuel’s face was as stormy as the weather outside. “Well, at least partially, since you were thinking as the wounded man you used to be.”
“Shut up.” Cecil shoved his arms into the coat. “I’m going to her house. If nothing occurs, I’ll keep vigil there until morning.”
“But if danger is in the offing?” One of Samuel’s eyebrows rose.
“I will lay that bastard out for any trespass he commits against her.” He strode to the door. “The time has come for retribution.”
“I’m going with you.”
“No. Go find my brother, Thaddeus. He works for Bow Street. Put a bug in his ear regarding the baron.” Quickly he explained about Louisa’s stepfather as well as the Viscount Wrycroft. Shades of horror crossed Samuel’s face. “No doubt that will snag his interest. Maybe he’ll send a patrol or two, but I have to go.”
Samuel frowned. Worry lit his dark eyes. “Good luck. Do you want my carriage?”
“No time for that. If need be, I’ll have Thaddeus convey me—us—back.” For one thing had become clear from the murk in his brain. He wouldn’t pass another day of his life without securing Louisa’s promise or having her by his side.
Then he was out in the dark, rainy night running through the streets of Mayfair like a man escaped from Bedlam.
For three solid hours Cecil had sat hidden in the bushes at the front of the baron’s townhouse in the pouring rain. He was wet, cold, and miserable, and he’d had copious time to think, but he refused to go back on his promise to keep vigil here until morning. The streets were quiet and devoid of traffic, so he dared to stand up from his hiding spot and stretch his cramped muscles.
When a scream pierced the silence of the night, his heartbeat accelerated. There was no doubt in his mind that Louisa had made that sound. He glanced at the door. No one had entered or exited the house from that way. A muffled scream drifted to his ears followed by the unmistakable sound of breaking glass, spurring him into motion.
Damn the rain. It dulled his senses and confused the direction of the sound. Fear sank like a rock into the pit of his stomach as he ran toward the rear of the townhouse. Obliged to climb a line of shrubbery, he scrambled through it and landed rather ignobly, but he collected himself and continued, skidding to a squishy halt as he came upon a terrace surrounded by a low stone wall, slightly higher than the ground where he stood.
A flash of lightning illuminated the area and showed the horrible tableau in sharp relief. Good Lord, but she’s magnificent. Louisa currently fought the baron, her boxing form impeccable. Rain plastered the thin shift she wore to her body, rendering it nearly transparent. Her dark hair was loose and hung in wet shanks about her shoulders. As she glared and spoke to the baron, firmly putting the man on notice, she resembled the goddess Athena, newly awakened and clearly on the warpath.
His heart skipped a beat. An ache of pride set up in his chest. That’s my girl. Every instinct screamed for him to take out the baron. Blood stained the man’s shirt and made his face grotesque in each lightning flash, so she’d already done some damage, but he didn’t wish to steal Louisa’s satisfaction of finally putting her demon to rest. Instead, he encouraged her. “Good show, Louisa. Pound the stuffing out of him.”
“Ah, I hadn’t anticipated there being a complication like you.” The sardonic voice held a note of annoyance in it that had Cecil spinning around.
Who the devil? Then he squinted through the rain as the man materialized from the shadows. “Lord Wrycroft. Dare I ask why you’re here?”
“To collect my bride-to-be. We will say vows once we reach my estate in the north.” As the viscount came forward, he grinned, and in a flash of lightning, it was like looking into the face of the devil himself. “But it seems Althrop has mucked that up.”
“If fate is kind, you’ll never lay a finger on her.” Cecil squared his shoulders and drew himself up to his full height.
“You think you’re the man to stop me?” The sound of his voice was as dark as spilled ink.
“Absolutely. Any man worth his salt will fight for the woman he loves.” He assumed the first position as if this were an everyday boxing match.
Wrycroft snorted. “Love won’t propel you far and gains you nothing.” The viscount tossed off his top hat. “I didn’t arrive at this point in my life by being soft or stupid.”
Thank God he no longer felt that same way. “Then I feel sorry for you because finding love, knowing you’ve been made better by another person, wanting to share everything you are with that person is exactly what makes life worth living.” As a cry of pain came from Louisa, urgency rushed through Cecil’s body. “Stand and deliver or get the hell out. I’ve more important things to do this night.”
“You’ll never be anything more than a lowly boxer with that attitude.” The viscount lashed out with a fist, but Cecil sprang away so the swing caught air.
“To the right person, I’m enough.” Another realization smacked him upside the head. Louisa had never once said she wanted a title or coffers full of coin. She wanted love and respect and peace.
The momentary distraction was enough for Wrycroft to drill a fist into Cecil’s gut, causing him to double over as pain radiated from the blow.
“I knew you were naught but trash from the second I laid eyes on you the other night.” He advanced onto Cecil’s location with a grin brimming with the horrors he’d committed.
“Funny, but that’s exactly what I thought of you the same night.” Cecil caught the viscount’s foot when he would have kicked him. With a heave, he sent the man flying onto his back. “Once I’m done here, I’ll drag your arse into the gutter where you belong.”
“I rather think a dead man can’t make promises.” Wrycroft scrambled to his feet. He circled Cecil, his fists held up in a similar fashion. “Do you think you’re the only man to find pleasure in a boxing salon, Carrington?”
“Not at all. I assumed you too stupid to learn how to fight like a gentleman.” His ears strained to hear the struggle Louisa was currently locked in, but that took his concentration off his own opponent.
“There is no honor in besting a man with fists.”
“Ah, so you find it in selling human cargo and using women for your own perverted pleasure?” He scoffed. “Perhaps death is too good for you. Newgate’s a better place. A few barristers for the Crown would take great delight in levelling charges upon your head.”
“You say that from your limited understanding of how the world truly works.” The viscount delivered a punch that slammed into Cecil’s stomach and then followed it up with one that had pain exploding through his left cheek and eye. “If there wasn’t a demand for the cargo I trade to America, I wouldn’t have the business—or the fortune—I do.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s right.” He shook his head in order to focus. “Slavery of any sort is immoral. People are not animals nor cargo.” Cecil sent a series of quick, sharp jabs into the face and chest of his opponent with the intention of confusing him.
“The people who matter in this world are the ones with position and coin.” Wrycroft retreated. He wiped at the blood and rain on his brow with a coat sleeve. “Those are the people who guide the world and make it possible for the dregs to even have a life.” Then he drilled a fist
into Cecil’s side.
When Cecil stumbled, gasping at the pain, the viscount caught him in the chin with a powerful uppercut that sent him staggering backward. He landed with his back draped against the low stone wall of the terrace, winded and his ears ringing. But he couldn’t help taunting the other man again. “Life with conditions and restrictions is no life.” He stumbled forward, fists raised.
“Then they should have something to offer society instead of suckling at its teat for men like me to pay for. I work hard for my coin; they do not.” His next punch landed into Cecil’s stomach.
“Argh.” Cecil slid to the wet, muddy ground, where he cast up his accounts. The muscles in his stomach shivered and contracted wildly, but he slowly climbed to his feet. If he didn’t continue, Louisa would be lost to this man, and there was no doubt in his mind she’d be dead within six months. The viscount considered people disposable, and Cecil loathed him to the depths of his soul. “Everyone brings something unique. That cannot be measured in wealth or position.” Over the course of his existence, he had dealt with bullies exactly like this man.
No more. Yes, the world was full of degenerates, but he’d be damned if this one would walk away unscathed tonight.
“You’re disillusioned.” Wrycroft closed the distance between them. He dug his hands into Cecil’s clothes and then tossed him bodily across the garden. “Men like you who believe in compassion and charity are why the Empire will crumble if you’re not crushed and put down.”
Cecil maneuvered out of an evergreen hedge. “England’s might will fall due to its own hand in a few decades, exactly due to men like you who don’t know the value of an honest day’s labor.” He grew weary of the fight, as well as attempting to talk logic to a lunatic. Behind him, the baron roared with anger. The sound of flesh hitting flesh reached his ears, and then a particularly anguished cry from Louisa spurred him into action. “This ends now, Wrycroft.”
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