The Bareknuckle Groom: The Thompsons of Locust Street

by Bush, Holly

  “Disparage your name! You, you pompous ass! Telling those men what you did about me and making my life uncomfortable for the sole purpose of your pleasure in bragging.”

  He turned to her. “What are you talking about?”

  “At the Pendergast ball three weeks ago. What you said had come back to my Papa by the next morning.”

  “I really have no idea what you’re talking about. I didn’t say anything to any . . .” His words trailed away from her, as did his eyes.

  “You do know what I’m talking about. I can see it in your face! You villain!”

  James shook his head. “It was nothing. I said nothing that was disrespectful or would have belittled you.”

  “That can’t be true. My Papa tells me that can’t be true, and he has a well-developed web of friends who say it is true!”

  “There’s a young lady I was trying to discourage without insulting her. I had just danced with you, and the men in her crowd were asking about you, and I said you had enjoyed our dance. That’s all.”

  “But you were trying to discourage another young lady, so you must have implied something more, and it was said you implied that you’d won my affections.”

  James shook his head. “It was not much of a remark. Maybe the gossips changed some of the details. I don’t know. But it was never meant to be a claim on you.”

  “You don’t understand my Papa and his expectations,” she said and looked away, giving him a view of the long length of her very pale neck.

  That was when it dawned on him what her father’s real objections were. He walked closer to her, the subtle scent of roses reaching his nose, and she turned her head back to face him as he approached, those limpid blue eyes focused on him. She arched one brow as he stepped within a few inches of her.

  “I think I know the real reason your daddy was so upset,” he said softly and ran one finger from her cheek to her chin. She gazed up at him coolly, the only evidence of any nervousness or fear was the pulse fluttering at the base of her neck. “He wasn’t upset you’d danced with a man you’d been introduced to; he was upset that it was me, a Scotsman, a boxer, and an uncouth ruffian.”

  She took an impatient breath. “Of course that upset him, but your comments afterward made him furious.”

  “You mean the comment I supposedly made,” he whispered and laid his palm on her cheek, his thumb a hair’s breadth from the corner of that remarkable mouth of hers, those wide, soft lips that he dreamt about. He leaned his head closer yet, staring at her mouth. “The comment that you were mine and others should stay away from the woman that James Thompson had . . . claimed.”

  Her shoulders and breasts rose and fell with her sharp breath. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.”

  He did not know what she was agreeing to, but she didn’t move to stop him when he closed the distance between them. He touched her lips lightly with his own, the contact sending a sharp pulse to his groin. He moved his hand to palm her chin, tilting her face just a bit and controlling what he thought was undoubtedly her first kiss. He ran his tongue across her lips, opening his mouth slowly as she opened hers. She shivered, her eyes closing in a languorous wafting of lashes. He touched his tongue to hers and felt her sharp intake of breath. He swept his tongue around the edge of her mouth and then deeper as he stepped closer to her, bringing her breasts against his chest and her lower stomach in contact with his cock, hard and ready.

  She was a captivating mix of innocence and burning sexuality. And then she touched her tongue to the chip on his front tooth, a reminder to keep his hands up in the ring, and he jerked his hips toward hers, pinning her to the door and letting loose a deep growl. Her hands trailed up to his chest, and he caught both wrists, as slender and fragile as he’d imagined, in his free hand, slowly raising them until her arms were above her head against the door behind her. Her breasts were pressed against his chest tightly as he plundered her willing mouth.

  It was the most erotic thing that had ever happened to him.

  He stepped away from her, letting her wrists go, her arms falling slowly to her sides. She was staring at him, both of them breathing hard. She touched her mouth with shaking fingers. She must have felt it as much as he, he thought, that sense that certain things had irrevocably changed. And then she glanced down his body until her eyes landed where his trousers tented. She raised her gaze and lifted one pale brow.

  He had an otherworldly feeling that the earth under his feet had shifted, that whatever he thought his future may or may not be had been tossed to the sky to land at her feet.

  The voices in the hallway drew him from his mental ramblings, focusing again on what may happen if they were caught together, especially as she looked as if she’d just been thoroughly kissed and he had a raging cock-stand that would be difficult to hide. He reached past her and slowly turned the lock on the door. They both stared at the knob as the voices drew closer.

  Good Lord! What had she done? If they were found out, she did not know what would happen, and she could hear Edith’s voice among others coming from the hall. The knob turned, and she heard the voices begin to move away from the door. She took a slow breath. She looked up at him, ready to ask him what they should do next, when he put his finger to his lips and shook his head. They waited in silence, neither moving an inch, for more than ten minutes according to the clock ticking on the mantel.

  He reached for the door and gently turned the lock above the knob. He waited another minute or more and then motioned her to stand behind him. She did as he bid and watched him crack the door enough for him to peer out. He reached behind his back and felt for her hand, securing it in his. He opened the door wide, and she followed him into the hallway.

  “Go back to the party. I’ll slip down the servants’ stairs,” he said quietly.

  “What have you two been doing behind a locked door?”

  They both jumped and turned to Aunt Louisa’s voice.

  “Oh, you gave me a fright, Aunt!”

  “Do not cross me, Lucinda,” she said and took a look at James. “Mr. Thompson. You would be wise to heed my advice, which is to stay as far away from my niece as possible. Her father is wealthy, powerful, and determined. You would not fare well. I would advise you to hurry down those servants’ steps right now before anyone comes upon us.”

  “Ma’am,” he said, nodding to Aunt Louisa. “Miss Vermeal was resting as the result of a headache when I accidentally came upon her. My apologies for not leaving her side immediately. She is perfectly innocent.”

  Aunt Louisa shook her head at him and harrumphed. “Go!” She pointed to a well-concealed doorway.

  He bowed when he turned to Lucinda, and the side of his mouth came up in a ridiculously appealing nod to their intimacies. “Miss Vermeal.”

  “You are never to dance with Edith Fairchild again. Good night, Mr. Thompson.”

  She turned and swept down the hallway, catching her aunt’s arm in hers. They approached the ballroom, and Edith Fairchild hurried to her.

  “We have been worried about you, dearest! You just disappeared!”

  “My head was aching, so I found an empty room and laid down and closed my eyes for a few minutes. As you can see, I have been restored to good health.” Lucinda smiled at her friend, who looked at her as if she had seen too much.

  Aunt Louisa kissed her cheek as if she’d not confronted her sneaking out of a room in company with a man. “I am so glad you are feeling better, dear. Now enjoy yourself—unless you’d like me to call for the carriage?”

  “No, no, Aunt. I am perfectly recovered and would like to have some of that supper they have laid out in the next room. Suddenly, I am famished!”

  Aunt Louisa walked to where matrons were gathered, and Lucinda turned to find Edith staring at her.

  “I was told this evening that you shared a dance with Mr. Thompson lately and then we noticed he was missing from this party at the same time you were. Strange, isn’t it?”

  Lucinda shrugged and eyed her wit
h a calm and regal look. “I suppose it would be if not for the fact that I was reclining in a room down the hall with my eyes closed and anyway, I hardly keep track of every gentleman I dance with. Come, Edith. I am starving.”

  Chapter 5

  James rang the bell on Alexander and Elspeth’s door. It was opened swiftly by Baxter, his sister’s butler. His sister’s butler! He thought to himself and laughed. His sister, who was coming down the hall toward him now, had a butler.

  “Oh, thank you, Baxter. I shall take charge of my brother from here. Come in, James. Alexander is waiting for you,” she said and linked arms with him.

  “You’re looking lovely, as usual, Elspeth. Married life must agree with you.”

  “Oh, it does, James.” She smiled. “I couldn’t be happier, especially . . .”

  He stopped in the wide hallway as they approached his brother-in-law’s study. “Especially?”

  Her face colored, and her lips trembled into a smile. “I will be presenting Alexander with a son or daughter by late summer.”

  He felt tears prick the back of his eyes. His precious Elspeth, who they’d nearly lost eighteen months ago and who’d proven herself a fierce warrior in her own right. He loved her with all of his heart. He held her face in his palms.

  “Elspeth. My sweet girl. You are glowing.” He picked her up by the waist and swung her around.

  “I see you told him,” he heard Alexander say.

  Elspeth hurried to her husband’s side. “I’m so sorry! I just couldn’t wait!”

  He kissed her cheek and held his hand out to James. “Glad you could stop by.”

  “Congratulations to you too, Alexander!” James followed them into the library. “Your note sounded mysterious. What is it you wish to discuss?”

  “I will send in a coffee tray so that you two can have your meeting. I’m joining Mrs. Emory in a moment to discuss some renovations I have planned for the bedrooms.”

  James watched her walk out after smiling shyly at her husband as if they had just met. He turned to his brother-in-law. “I was worried for her the last few years before her marriage. She seemed directionless and discontented. Then I was terrified for her when she was kidnapped. As proud as I was of her, she could have spent years being fearful and feeling guilty, but she has not. She has embraced her new life. You have my undying respect for caring for her and making her happy.”

  Alexander looked embarrassed by the praise. “I love her. I love her more than I could ever conceive of loving anyone. She is the center of my world. I would do anything to make her comfortable and happy, including,” he said with laugh, “not admonishing her for scrubbing walls with the maids or sorting sheets in the laundry room. She claims that feeling useful makes her very happy. Perhaps that will stop when we have a child.”

  James tilted his head. “Do you think so?”

  Alexander shook his head. “No,” he said with a laugh. “She won’t change, and that is fine with me.”

  “So what about this strangely worded note you sent me?”

  A maid arrived with coffee and cakes, and James gladly downed a few. He needed to keep his weight up until the next fight, and all his workouts had made him drop a few pounds. He leaned back in his chair and stared at Alexander.

  “I’ve a proposal for you via my father and uncle. They thought it might be best received from me rather than two old men,” Alexander said with a chuckle. “And I agreed.”

  “A proposal?”

  “Yes. A proposal. I’m sure you’ve thought ahead to the time when you are no longer able or no longer want to box to make your living. I also know you have a stake in your family’s canning business and don’t really know if the income from that would be enough to start a family someday.”

  James was staring at him, listening, but he was unable to get past Alexander saying that someday he would no longer be able to box. That comment had stopped him dead in his tracks. What could he possibly mean by that? Why would he ever give up boxing? He loved it, and it paid him handsomely.

  “The idea is to build a modern gymnasium for boxers to train and to hold matches with permanent rings. To have large seating areas and comfortable dressing rooms and training rooms with their own rings. Maybe even have other events in the main area, such as musicals or shows.”

  “I’m not sure I understand,” James said, quelling the rapid beat of his heart.

  “They want you to run it, use your name in the boxing world, from New York to the Carolinas, to build a modern, profitable business. They would put the seed money in to start it but allow you, and maybe a few others, to purchase it from them over time.”

  James was flummoxed. Why would he want to quit boxing? Start a family? He was only twenty-five—hardly an old man. His future was his family, boxing, and willing women. Why would he ever stop?

  But it occurred to him that it seemed like yesterday he was twenty and green behind the ears. Would five years seem that same short bit of time when he was thirty or thirty-five? And where would his family be then? In ten years, Kirsty would be married with children on the way, Aunt Murdoch could be bedridden for all he knew, and MacAvoy was already making his own family, much like Elspeth. Other than Muireall, his sisters and brothers would have their own lives. Would he just be the aging uncle, not quite right in the head from the number of years he’d been in a boxing ring?

  He realized he’d been silent for some time.

  “Just think about it, James. Maybe in a few years, you would be interested,” Alexander said smoothly and shuffled some papers on his desk. “When’s the next match I can look forward to?”

  “I . . . I’m not sure of the date. I’ll have to ask MacAvoy. He always keeps those things straight,” he said and stood. “MacAvoy said he’d be here seeing Mrs. Emory if he was done at the mill in time. I’ll check with him and let you know.”

  James walked out of the room and out a servant’s door to where there was abundant air to catch his breath.

  * * *

  “What is it, Giselle?” Lucinda said as she finished writing a letter to a friend in Virginia.

  “There is a man, a gentleman, in the foyer, and he is causing a disturbance.”

  “A disturbance?”

  “Yes. He is saying he will not leave, and he is raising his voice to Mr. Laurent, who has told him he must have an appointment to meet with the family.”

  “Thank you, Giselle.”

  Lucinda waited until the maid had gone from the room. Her father was at his club with business associates, and Aunt Louisa had come into her rooms a short while ago, a crumpled letter in one hand and a lace handkerchief in the other, saying she was going to lie down and did not want to be disturbed. She would not bother her aunt with this as, although she had been dry eyed, she’d looked quite upset and Lucinda wondered who had written the letter.

  Lucinda made her way to the wide marble foyer and saw Laurent talking to a man—a tall, slender, and handsome man—while two of the family’s burlier servants stood by the butler’s side.

  “I will march past you and open every door on the family wing if you do not fetch her immediately.”

  “Laurent?”

  “Ah,” the man said. “You must be the niece. Miss Lucinda?”

  “Please refrain from shouting at our butler. It is his job to guard our family. You have me at a disadvantage, sir. Who are you, and what business do you have here?” she asked.

  But he did not reply. He was looking over her head to where Aunt Louisa was coming slowly down the steps.

  “Mi querida,” he said softly. He went to where Louisa stood in the foyer and bent down on one knee.

  “Do you know this man, Aunt Louisa?” she asked, and her aunt nodded, her gaze at some point over all of their heads.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked him.

  “Won’t you look at me, my darling?”

  The man stood slowly, taking her cheeks in his palms, bringing her face in line with his. The look of longing on Aunt Louisa�
��s face was an intimacy that made Lucinda want to look away, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. He kissed her slowly then, Aunt’s arms and shoulders dropping.

  Lucinda turned to Laurent, as she had no intention of allowing the only mother she’d ever known to be embarrassed in front of her or the staff. “Please get everyone back to work and have a tea tray delivered to the yellow salon.”

  “Yes, Miss Lucinda. Right away,” Laurent said, and soon the foyer was empty other than Louisa, Lucinda, and the man now kissing her aunt’s knuckles.

  “Should we adjoin to a sitting room, Aunt?”

  “Oh, oh yes,” Aunt Louisa said, color flooding her face. “Yes. Please.”

  “Would you care for some tea, sir?” Lucinda asked.

  “Yes. And perhaps something a little stronger,” he said and smiled, following her down the hall, Aunt’s hand tucked over his arm.

  The tea tray arrived as they were seated, and Laurent asked the gentleman his preference and soon returned with spirits in a crystal tumbler. Lucinda and her aunt were seated side by side on the sofa, and she poured the tea since her aunt’s hands were shaking so much she would have never been able to do it without spilling some in every saucer.

  “Lucinda?” Aunt said and stopped to take a breath, her eyes closing as if in disbelief. “May I present Mr. Renaldo Delgado. Mr. Delgado, my niece, Miss Lucinda Vermeal.”

  Mr. Delgado bowed over her hand. “How do you do, Miss Vermeal?”

  “Well, thank you, sir. Won’t you please have a seat?” He settled in the chair directly opposite them.

  “I was so sorry to hear of your wife’s passing,” Aunt Louisa said finally.

  Delgado sat back in his seat and stared into the tumbler in his hand. “Thank you. Ann was British, you know. Her father was a diplomat, and after you left Spain, my parents arranged a marriage between the two of us; I think because they were concerned I was too depressed. And I was depressed. I didn’t believe there would be any joy in my life again and did not object to the match.” He looked up at Louisa. “Ann was not a happy person, not before our engagement and wedding, and not after our marriage either. But I was determined to be kind and faithful to her, and I owe her my respect as the mother of my children.”