Robbie was holding his own with thug number three. His science wasn’t textbook, but for street fights, dirty was best. The second fellow, his nose dripping blood, had slipped a knife from his boot. James freed his own knife, sidestepped the man on the ground, and slashed at Bloody Nose’s knife arm. His knife clattered to the pavement. James kicked it away and lashed back with his boot, hitting the man squarely on the knee. He howled, grabbed his leg and fell on the first attacker. At this point, Robbie’s opponent decided flight was in order and took off at a run.
“I don’t suppose the Watch is around when you want them, are they?” James wiped his knife on his breeches and slipped it back into his boot.
“What do we do with them?”
“Ask a question or two. Hey, there.” James hooked Bloody Nose’s good leg with his boot as the man tried to get to his feet, sending him crashing back to the ground. “Don’t hurry away. Your friend here isn’t much of a conversationalist, but I’m hoping you have something of interest to say.” He pulled a gun from his pocket and pointed it at the man. “Perhaps this will aid your memory.”
“I don’t know nuttin’, guvnor. God’s truth.” The man’s eyes kept darting back and forth, looking for an escape.
“I doubt if you could recognize God’s truth if it bit you on the arse. I suggest, however, that you try to come up with some truth if you want to keep your miserable hide intact and out of Newgate. Who hired you and what was your task?”
“Nobody hired us, guv. We’re just poor men, trying to make ends meet.”
James said a very short, very vulgar word. Bloody Nose scooted back, but James took a quick step forward and put his boot on the fellow’s bad knee.
“You know,” James said conversationally, “I’ve broken a man’s knee this way. Knees, in case you don’t know it, my friend, are designed to bend only one way. They can be made to bend the other, but it is not very pleasant—at least for the person to whom the knee is attached. I, for example, would not suffer a whit if I stepped down here.” James leaned a little of his weight on his foot and the man screamed.
“God’s balls, he said we was to jump a nob. Them knows how to prance around a ring, not really fight. He niver said we was to jump the likes of ye!”
“I will take that as a compliment. Now, tell me who ‘he’ is and where we may find him. If I like your answer, you will be free to go and take your slumbering friend with you.”
“I can’t. It’d mean m’life.” The man was obviously afraid, but James felt little compassion for someone who would gladly have sliced his liver out just moments before.
“It means your life if you don’t. I’m here and your employer is not. You’ve already felt how sharp my knife is.” James put a little more pressure on the knee. “Shall I step closer and let you feel it again? I wouldn’t want you to worry that it’s grown dull with disuse.”
“All right, all right!” Rivulets of sweat poured down the man’s face. “It was Dunlap that hired us. Now let me go, guv, like ye said ye would. I don’t know nuttin’ more.”
“Not even where we can find Mr. Dunlap this evening?”
“No! I swear it. We just gets the word that a job needs doing and when the job’s done, we gets our coin. We niver see Dunlap hisself. Don’t want to see him!”
“I imagine you don’t.” James sighed. “I really am sorry to have to ruin a perfectly good knee. However, you do have another, so perhaps you won’t miss it so much.” He leaned forward. The man screamed again.
“Stop! Stop! I’ll tell ye, just stop!”
James eased off. “I thought you might change your mind.”
The man swallowed. He looked around quickly, then whispered, “The Rutting Stallion, by the river. He’s usually there when he’s in Lunnon. But I can’t swear to it, guv. He could be at one of his other houses.”
James nodded. “Very well, I believe you have done your best.” He lifted his boot. “Good evening to you.”
The man scrambled to his feet and vanished into the alley up ahead before James finished speaking.
“He left his friend behind,” Robbie said.
James nodded. “An associate only, I’m afraid. I didn’t really expect him to take the body along. The dead weight would slow him down.”
“So what do we do with him?” Robbie eyed the man worriedly.
“Leave him. He’s starting to come around. I suggest we remove ourselves from the vicinity and find our way to this Rutting Stallion.”
“You’re very good with that knife. Where did you learn to fight like that?”
“On the Peninsula. Not all the fighting was on the battlefield. I found it paid to be prepared.” James scanned the street on both sides, looking for any movement in the shadows.
“Can you show me some of those moves?”
“Yes, if you want. But fighting is always the last resort, Robbie. The first rule is to pick your battles. Know your escape routes at all times. And be aware of your surroundings so you don’t walk into trouble.” James steered Robbie toward the curb, skirting a dark doorway. “Walk as if you know where you are going and are eager to get there. And, if you can ride, do so.”
They reached Fleet Street and James hailed a hackney.
Dunlap poured himself a brandy. Certainly by now Alf and his companions had dispatched the duke. How thoughtful of Alvord to deliver himself so tidily. A pity about Westbrooke—Dunlap preferred three to one odds over three to two. However, Westbrooke wasn’t much of a fighter, so his presence was negligible. And Alf had taken his best crew.
No, Dunlap thought as he leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on his desk, if you are going to be foolish enough to visit the stews of London, you have to expect some unpleasant surprises. If he looked out his window now, he might even see the dark forms of two bodies bobbing down the Thames. He had told Alf not to weight the corpses with stones. Runyon wanted proof that the job was done, and the best proof was Alvord’s very dead body. Just to be safe, Dunlap had made arrangements for a boatman to find it in the morning. No use taking the chance that sun and water and the river birds would make Alvord’s corpse unrecognizable.
As soon as he knew Runyon was satisfied, he was leaving. He would not be coming back. He’d quite lost his taste for England.
There was a commotion in the hall. Dunlap frowned. It sounded as though Belle was yelling. Belle never yelled during business hours. After hours, when he licked through the layers and folds of her luscious flesh to the pearl hidden within, then she yelled. God, she yelled loud enough to wake the Watch, if the Watch were stupid enough to venture into this part of London. He took a sip of brandy. He would miss Belle, but then the world was littered with Belles. Clarisse in his Paris house, for instance, was a lusty wench. She had quite an assortment of entertaining bed tricks.
There was the noise again. It was definitely Belle.
“Yer grace! I told ye, Mr. Dunlap is not here. No, ye cannot go into that room.”
“Madam, I am going in there now. Please step aside. I will remove you by force if I must.”
Dunlap bolted out of his chair, sending brandy flying. Shit! Alvord was just outside his door.
He opened the window behind his desk and threw his leg over the sill as he heard the doorknob rattle. It would take even Alvord a moment to break that lock. By then he would be gone. He climbed down the sturdy vine he had planted years ago when he’d first purchased this brothel.
A wise man always had an alternate exit.
The room was empty, of course. James looked out the window, but there was no sign of Dunlap.
“A pity, Robbie, but I believe the bird has flown.”
“Damn. Shall we look at one of his other places?”
“No, I think not. I’m sure Mr. Dunlap is too wily to go to ground in an obvious location.” James nodded at the distraught madam. “I don’t suppose you know where your employer has headed, do you?”
“Oh, no, yer grace. I don’t know nuttin’.”
Jam
es sighed. “As I thought. Let’s go home, Robbie.”
They hailed a hackney. James was tired and sore. It had been a while since he had been in a street fight. A nice hot bath was what he wanted.
Unbidden, the image of Sarah flashed into his mind, Sarah with her hair down and her clothes off. Another part of his anatomy suddenly became stiff and sore.
He fervently wished he could relieve that ache as well tonight.
Chapter 13
“Lady Gladys, may I have a moment of your time? I wish to discuss my future.”
“Again? There’s nothing to discuss, miss, unless you want to discuss wedding plans.”
Sarah stared down at the sunlight streaming over the green and gold carpet of Lady Gladys’s sitting room.
“I’m not sure…I don’t think…I really can’t marry his grace.”
She heard two teacups clatter into their saucers.
“Lud, girl, you can’t jilt the Duke of Alvord.”
“Amanda is right, Sarah. The announcement has appeared in all the papers. It is too late to change your mind.”
Sarah swallowed. “Perhaps we could let the engagement stand until the end of the Season, and then—”
Lady Amanda snorted. “The way you’re going, miss, you’ll be enceinte by the end of the Season.”
“Amanda!”
“Well, it’s true, Gladys. The girl can’t keep her clothes on around James.”
Lady Gladys frowned at Sarah. “Amanda is correct on that score, Sarah. You have allowed my nephew shocking liberties.”
Sarah’s whole body burned with mortification. “I am sorry. I never meant…”
“Oh, don’t apologize. I’m certain James was extremely persuasive.”
“Extremely.”
“Amanda!” Lady Gladys looked back at Sarah. “Your, um, activities with James are beside the point, dear. Even if you had done no more than discuss the weather, you would still be committed to this marriage. The engagement has been made public. To cry off now would ruin your reputation.”
“If it weren’t already ruined by your scandalous activities at the Green Man,” Lady Amanda interjected.
Lady Gladys sighed. “There is that. And don’t think the ton will forget, Sarah. A broken engagement will burden you and James for the rest of your lives.”
“It can’t be as bad as that!”
“Yes, I’m afraid it can.” Lady Gladys patted the spot next to her on the settee. “Come sit down and we’ll discuss this rationally. I’m sure you’re just suffering from a case of bride nerves.”
“Hard to see how the girl could have bride nerves, Gladys, after that last interlude in James’s study.”
“Amanda, you are not helping!” Lady Gladys turned to smile at Sarah. “It’s natural to be slightly agitated at this time, dear.”
“Pshaw! Slightly agitated? James is so agitated he can barely button his breeches.”
Lady Gladys shot Lady Amanda a glare and then turned back to Sarah. “It’s true, dear, that I’ve never seen James so attracted to a young lady.” She rushed on before Lady Amanda could squeeze in a word. “And in England, it is vastly more comfortable to be a duchess than a governess. As James’s wife, you’ll have wealth and position.”
“And plenty of children.” Lady Amanda stared at Sarah over her teacup. “You obviously don’t find the man repulsive, so what is the problem?”
Sarah shrugged. How could she tell these ladies that she couldn’t bear to marry a rake? They would never understand.
Lady Gladys leaned over and touched her arm. “If you’ve had a falling-out with James, dear, you need to patch it up. I may never have married, but I’ve spent years observing couples. I’m afraid men rarely take the first step. That’s the woman’s job.”
Lady Amanda nodded. “If you leave it to James, Sarah, the problem will never be resolved.”
“But…”
“No, Sarah.” Lady Gladys’s voice was firm. “You must marry James. So if there’s been a misunderstanding, talk to him.”
Lady Amanda snorted. “Just be sure that’s all you do.”
Sarah mulled over the ladies’ words. How could she possibly discuss such a topic with James? It certainly was not a proper subject for the breakfast table. Nor was it more palatable over a cold collation, cakes and tea, or roast pheasant. Since the ladies had suddenly become exemplary chaperones, there was never a moment for a private word. And really, what would she say? Fornication was expected of English peers. British lords spent more thought on their neck cloths than their bed partners.
But she was not a British lady. She could not ignore James’s amorous pursuits. She had to speak to him. The ladies were right about that. But when? And where?
When she got home from the opera that night, she was too disquieted to sleep. She dismissed Betty, curled up with a blanket by the fire, and faced some home truths.
She loved James. She wished that she didn’t, but she did. She could no longer imagine living without him. He had awakened something in her that was not going back to sleep. She ached for his touch—but she also ached for his fidelity and his love.
If she could have only his touch and not his love, could she bear to marry him?
She did not know.
She rested her chin on her knees and stared into the yellow and orange flames leaping in the grate. She was not going to find the answer here. She had to talk to James. Tonight. Now. She could not bear the uncertainty any longer.
She began to pace the length of her room. The thought of seeking James in his bedchamber made her stomach flutter like a hummingbird’s wings. She grabbed her sides, folding her arms tightly under her breasts, and took a deep, calming breath. It didn’t help.
Could she go to his room? His chamber was just down the hall. It would take her only a moment to reach it. She knew which door was his.
It was scandalous, but they were engaged. According to the ton, her reputation was already shredded.
She paused at the corner farthest from the fire. What if he wasn’t there? He hadn’t come to the opera with them. What if he were spending the night at a brothel or with an accommodating lady of the ton?
Now her stomach housed a flock of hummingbirds.
Enough. It was clear she was not going to be able to sleep, so she might as well seek him out tonight. If he wasn’t in his room—well, she would just try again. She would wait an hour—give the house time to settle down. Then she would go.
Sarah cracked open her door and peered out. The hall was deserted. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Facing James in his room had seemed like a good idea earlier, but now she could think of a hundred reasons why she should stay safely where she was. Yet hiding in her bed would not solve her problems. She looked down the hall again. The distance to James’s room seemed enormous, but she knew it was not. She just needed to get her feet to move. She forced herself to step over her threshold.
She hurried down the corridor. Thankfully the other doors stayed firmly closed. She did not want to face the ladies or Lizzie. What if Harrison was in the room, waiting up for James? She’d die if James’s proper valet caught her creeping into his master’s bedroom.
She reached the door and put her ear to the wood. She couldn’t hear over the pounding of her heart. She held her breath, closed her eyes, and concentrated. No sounds. She glanced up and down the corridor. No one coming. She grabbed the doorknob. She needed two hands, she was shaking so badly.
The door opened soundlessly and she slipped inside. No sign of Harrison, thank God. A banked fire glowed to her left; moonlight glimmered through a window across from her. The bed—huge and high, like a medieval king might have slept in—stood next to the window, the bed curtains drawn back. In the dim light she couldn’t be certain whether James was there or not.
She moved quietly across the floor, hardly breathing. Yes, he was there, on his back, bedclothes down to his waist.
The shadows played over his face, over the long lashes against his ch
eeks and the hollow at the base of his throat. He still didn’t wear a nightshirt. She could see the fine dusting of hair that covered his chest. It was golden, she remembered. Was it soft? She had wanted to touch it at the Green Man, to trace its path over his flat nipples, down his belly, to his navel and the narrow line that disappeared under the sheet. Could she touch it now? He was asleep. If she were very careful, he would never know.
The intimate light and quiet made her bold. She reached toward him.
His hands shot off the bed, grabbed her upper arms, and lifted her, throwing her down hard onto her back. He loomed over her, his weight pinning her to the mattress.
“James!”
His grip loosened. “Sarah?”
“Yes,” she croaked. She stared up at him, but his face was lost in the shadows. Was he angry?
“Just a moment.” He turned away. She heard a tinderbox creak open, a flint scrape. A candle flared to life.
His skin glowed warm. So much skin. Shoulders, lovely broad shoulders, and a strong back that tapered down to a narrow waist, still hidden by the blankets. He turned toward her and she saw his chest again. She had forgotten how his muscles rippled when he moved. It was truly amazing what was hidden under shirts and coats and cravats. Her eyes traced the sinuous line from his neck, over his shoulders, down the muscles in his arms.
“Like what you see?”
“What?” Her eyes flew back to his face. He had that intent look again. Very intent.
“I never knew a woman’s eyes could torture a man.”
“What?” She shook her head, trying to clear her senses. She knew she sounded shatterbrained, but the husky tone of James’s voice was quite distracting.
“Don’t look and not touch, sweetheart. Please. I can feel your eyes on me, but I would love to feel your beautiful hands or, better, your soft lips.”
She would love to touch the golden stubble outlining his jaw and the muscles bulging in his upper arms. Her hands ached to touch. She frowned and sat up, edging away from him toward the other side of the bed. A little more space between them would definitely help their discussion.
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