Her Notorious Viscount

by Jenna Petersen

  The timeline of the man’s statement matched. “Have you seen him since?”

  “Naw. He been gone for a long time now.” The man tilted his head with expectation.

  Nicholas reached into his pocket and drew out money. “That’s worth five. Your friend won’t be able to tell me more, will he?”

  The other man chuckled, his laugh dark with smoke and sickness. “Flint’s been gone in his mind a long time, but sometimes we can get ’im to remember. Hey, Flinty. Remember Fenton? Pretty Boy Fenton?”

  “Fenty dead.” Flint smiled up at Nicholas. “Dead, dead, dead, dead…”

  He went on, repeating the word over and over until he was close to hysterics. His friend shrugged almost apologetically, and Nicholas tossed the man another five pounds as he turned away.

  Dead. Flint might be mad, but he was also probably right. If Marcus Fenton had truly been frequenting a place like this and keeping company with men like these…it likely meant his desire for opium and gambling and God knew what other vices was out of control. Death was inevitable for men in those situations.

  His stomach turned as he made his way to the door of the establishment. None of what he’d seen or heard was proof of Marcus’s death, of course. The word of a crazy man and a dirty gambler weren’t anything to base a final judgment upon, but it was certainly evidence that Jane’s cousin had been right when he declared her brother dead.

  Nicholas burst out into the dark, cool evening and sucked in several long breaths. The sooty air around him was only slightly less filthy than that inside, but it felt fresh in comparison.

  He thought of Jane, so hopeful, so dedicated to finding her lost brother that she was willing to put her own life and happiness on hold. If she had been here tonight, if she had seen and heard what he had uncovered…he could only imagine her reaction.

  It hadn’t taken much of an acquaintance with her for him to realize just how bound Jane had become to her quest for Marcus. In some way, it kept her going. The idea that she wasn’t all alone, that she could save her brother and somehow make things right again, was all she thought she had. She wouldn’t even consider pursuing marriage or a life of her own until she had done so.

  And now he was going to have to tell her that it was very likely she didn’t even have that anymore. That with every bit of evidence, with every person he spoke to who had any tiny knowledge of her brother, the more Nicholas thought Marcus was gone. Dead in a gutter where he would have been buried like a rat when the street patrols found him.

  Lost to her forever.

  He shut his eyes briefly, trying not to imagine Jane’s pain when he told her that truth. When he opened them again, he found he was no longer alone in the street. Two men had come out of the shadows, or perhaps even followed him from the hells.

  Nicholas stiffened. In his utter focus on Jane he had done the one thing he hadn’t been so foolish as to do for years. He had forgotten his surroundings. And now the two grinned at him, rotten teeth exposed.

  One withdrew a knife.

  “’Ello guv. You know, I was tryin’ to figure out who you was the whole time you was traipsin’ about the hell, flashin’ that pretty locket and passin’ out money. And then I got it. You’re that boxer they call Stone.”

  “That’s right,” Nicholas said, circling slowly in order to get a wall at his back so he couldn’t be attacked from behind. “What of it?”

  “Not anything,” continued the man with the knife. “I just always wondered if I could beat a man like you. And I wondered if you could beat two men.” He tilted the knife back and forth in a menacing fashion. “And if you could beat a blade.”

  Nicholas sneered. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

  Chapter 19

  Jane climbed out of the unmarked carriage and looked up at Nicholas’s house. Tonight was the last time she would come here. The last time they would be alone.

  Despite herself, that thought made her stomach sink and her eyes sting with tears that she blinked back violently. She could not, would not allow herself to be so maudlin and foolish. Whatever else had transpired between them, she and Nicholas had made a bargain. Tonight she would complete her terms. That was all there was to it.

  With a deep breath, she began to make her way toward the house, each step feeling as if it weighed a hundred stone. She reached for the door when she heard a sound behind her. A hired hack pulled up to where the carriage Nicholas arranged for her had just departed.

  Jane swallowed hard and quickly looked for a place to hide. She ducked behind the nearest bush and peeked out to see who could be visiting Nicholas at this late hour.

  To her surprise, when the door opened, it was Nicholas himself who exited the vehicle. Staggered out was more like it. The driver didn’t even hesitate. As soon as his passenger was on the ground, he took off around the corner. The moment he was gone, Nicholas tipped forward with a grunt.

  Jane came out of her hiding place and moved toward him, irritation making her spine stiff. Their last night together, the one lesson when she needed him to be balanced, and he was drunk.

  “On your feet, then,” she snapped as she came to a stop before him. “Come on, my lord.”

  Nicholas was still on his hands and knees and he looked up at her, his piercing blue eyes cutting right down through her anger and into her heart. He smiled.

  “Well, at least I get to see angels,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

  “What are you going on about?” Jane asked, irritation lingering despite his irresistible draw. “How much did you drink?”

  She bent to help him up and touched wetness on his dark jacket. Lovely. She yanked her hand back and gasped in horror. In the moonlight, she saw her fingers were tainted red with blood.

  “Nicholas,” she cried out, dropping to her knees. “Is this your blood or someone else’s?”

  He grabbed for her arm and tried to get up. She braced herself and rose with him, steadying him even though he outweighed her by a great deal.

  “Some of it is someone else’s,” he said as they began to limp toward the house. “But the lion’s share is my own, I’m afraid. He cut me pretty deep. It’s the blow to my head that really troubles me, though.”

  “Oh God,” Jane breathed as she pounded on the door, leaving little bloody marks behind as a reminder.

  The door opened, and Mrs. Fieldframe stood inside. She gave the two of them a bitterly disapproving look, but then the blood drained from her face and she opened the door wide.

  “Great God, Miss Jane! What has happened to Lord Stoneworth?”

  They got into the kitchen in a series of stumbling steps, and Nicholas collapsed into a wooden chair with another pained moan.

  “Nothing to be frightened by, I assure you, ladies,” he said with a little smile, but to Jane it seemed a terribly weak version. “A bit of a scuffle and someone wasn’t playing fair. A cut on the shoulder and perhaps the leg. And a blow to the head.”

  “I’ll fetch Gladwell,” Mrs. Fieldframe said as she scurried from the room.

  Jane stared at Nicholas, so pale and off kilter, even as he sat perfectly still on the kitchen chair. She grabbed for a rag and moved toward him to wipe his brow. If he was cut, that wound would need to be cleaned and dressed. She leaned down and began to unbutton his coat.

  “What happened, Nicholas? How on earth were you hurt?”

  He shrugged and then winced as the coat shifted against his shoulder. “Just went into the underground and wasn’t paying attention. It was my own foolish fault. A man with a knife and his remarkably strong little friend decided they wanted to challenge the great boxer, but they evened the score with a knife and some kind of table or chair. At least it felt wooden when it hit me.”

  “My God, Nicholas,” Jane breathed as she peeled the jacket away and revealed a bloody shirt beneath. “You could have been killed!”

  He nodded as she tugged at the buttons of his shirt and peeled that away, as well. A gash marred the perfectly rounded muscles
of his shoulders.

  “Indeed. But you should see the two of them now,” he joked.

  Jane didn’t laugh as she pressed the cloth against his shoulder to slow the bleeding. Before she could say anything further, Gladwell and several footmen rushed into the room with Mrs. Fieldframe close behind.

  When the servants saw their injured master, the room erupted in voices and calls for more help. But Gladwell’s words boomed above them all.

  “Martin, fetch the doctor immediately. And Humphrey, help me get His Lordship to his bed.”

  Nicholas got to his feet so suddenly that the room fell utterly silent. “No doctor,” he belted out before he reached up to touch his head. He blinked a few times. “No doctor. A doctor could spread word around, and that would be bad for Jane and for my already tarnished reputation. Find Rage. He’s still in King’s Crossing.”

  A few of the footmen gasped as Nicholas said the neighborhood. Jane shot her gaze at him. It must be a very bad one, indeed.

  “Where, sir?” one of them asked.

  “The opium dens, I believe. Two or three of you should go and be armed. Bring him back, he knows how to stitch a wound.” As the men ran off to do as he had ordered, Nicholas sank back down. “Mrs. Fieldframe, we’ll need clean rags, both damp and dry, also brandy. And Gladwell, I will take your offer of help to my chamber.”

  Jane stood back as everyone sprang into action. She wasn’t needed, but she didn’t want to leave. Not while Nicholas was hurt. Not until she knew he would be all right.

  As a footman and the butler helped Nicholas up the short flight of stairs that led from the kitchen, he looked at her over his shoulder.

  “Aren’t you coming?” he asked, his pale face still intense and handsome. “I would like you there.”

  Relief flooded Jane as she raced to follow the men. They moved up the stairs slowly, but Nicholas’s steps were even and he seemed to hold a majority of his weight on his own, which Jane took as a good sign. Once they reached the room, she waited outside for a few moments while the male servants helped Nicholas out of his bloody trousers.

  The door opened and Gladwell stepped out, holding an armload of ruined clothing. His face was pale with worry as he nodded to her briefly and then hurried off, she assumed to destroy the items. She certainly never wanted to see that thin, worn jacket ever again.

  Stepping inside, she was disappointed to see a footman still moving about the room, lighting candles, moving items, almost more restlessly pacing than performing any real duties.

  She turned her attention to the bed. Nicholas lay there, pale on the white sheets. His chest was bare except for the strip of linen cloth that he was holding over the wound on his shoulder. She could see blood was already beginning to seep through the fine fabric. With a shiver she moved closer. One tanned leg was out of the bedclothes as well, and she held back a cry of worry when she saw yet another gash across Nicholas’s muscular thigh.

  “Humphrey, will you be so kind as to help Gladwell?”

  Nicholas’s voice drew Jane’s attention to his face. He was speaking to the servant but watching her, and his intense scrutiny in the face of her raw emotion made her blush.

  The footman nodded and rushed from the room, shutting the door behind him.

  Although they had been alone dozens of times, suddenly Jane felt awkward and uncertain. She fingered the edge of the sheet restlessly, avoiding Nicholas’s stare as best she could. It was difficult when the heat of it blazed on her like the roaring fire.

  “Your servants adore you, you know. Despite all bad beginnings,” she managed to choke out.

  Nicholas chuckled. “Do they? Gladwell spent the entire time he was assisting me berating me for my foolhardy behavior.”

  “He was pale when he left the room. And poor Humphrey just wanted to do something to help you.” She moved a step toward him. “As do I.”

  Nicholas reached out a hand and took hers, tugging her even closer. “Look at me, Jane.”

  She slowly did so and found, to her horror, that tears had welled up in her eyes. One made its way to her cheek, and Nicholas frowned as he wiped it away with his thumb.

  “It’s a scratch, darling. Nothing more.”

  She shook her head. “When I realized you had been hurt—when I saw you lying there—” She sniffled. “I couldn’t help but think of all the people I had lost. I didn’t want to lose you, too.”

  Surprise flowed over Nicholas’s face, smoothing the harsh lines as it mingled with pleasure. His fingers slid up from her cheek and found their way into her hair. He cupped her scalp and gently urged her ever closer. She didn’t resist, but melted against him and pressed her mouth to his.

  So many times they had kissed and it had been a skirmish of sorts. A chess match, a war, a battle of resistance and surrender.

  But this kiss was much different. There was a gentleness in his touch, a warmer, closer feeling to being in his arms.

  And Jane realized in that moment that she was in love with him.

  The surprise of that feeling, as it floated through her mind and overtook all other emotion, made her jolt back. He let her go instantly, watching her as she backed away. He was all but expressionless, and she tried to make herself as much.

  How could she love him? How was that even possible? She had long given up on that notion, especially after her father’s death and her decision to refuse her cousin’s help. Love had seemed so out of reach then. So selfish.

  And yet now she couldn’t deny it and she didn’t want to.

  “Jane?” he said, his tone even.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, the door to the bedchamber opened. She spun around to face the intruder, uncertain if she was pleased for the interruption or not. It was Rage Riley, and her heart pounded with relief.

  “What were you thinking, taking on two men, and one with a knife?” Rage asked as he strode into the room bearing a small leather case, a pile of rags, and a bowl of warm water. “You are an ass, Stone.”

  Nicholas shrugged. “I didn’t exactly take them on as much as I was attacked by them. But I appreciate your concern.”

  Rage spared her a glance. “He always was too cocky.” He snapped the case open and revealed a little sewing kit. “You might not want to stay for this, Miss Jane.”

  She shook her head. “No, I want to help.”

  Rage stared at her for a long moment, then sent a brief glance toward Nicholas before he nodded. “Very well. Take this water, would you, love? And the towels, that’s a girl. Just hand me what I ask for.”

  He moved past her to examine both the wounds Nicholas had received. “Not but a scratch, either one. I’ll be finished in a moment.”

  Nicholas sent Jane a glance over Rage’s shoulder as if to say, I told you so, but remained silent. Jane moved closer, handing Rage any item he required, from thread to a cloth to the bandages he bound over the stitching when he was finished.

  “There, good as new, with only a couple new scars for your future.” Rage put his kit away.

  “I’ll be certain to tell everyone I got them in a mighty battle, not just a foolish encounter in an alley that I should have been more ready for,” Nicholas said as he moved his injured shoulder with a wince.

  “You know better than to not pay attention to your surroundings, especially there,” Rage scolded, sounding more like a worried mother than a dangerous pugilist. Jane couldn’t help but smile at the banter between the two. “They said you hit your head.”

  Nicholas nodded. “Had something broken over it, actually. I was dizzy as hell for the first half hour or so, but I’ve been better since I got into the bed.”

  “Still,” Rage said as he moved toward the door. “Best try to stay awake for the night if you can. To be safe.”

  “I’m sure I can find something to do,” Nicholas said, his gaze moving to Jane.

  She shifted, a flutter of intense awareness and desire awakening in her lower belly. He was teasing, or at least teasing in part, but
his implication that she would stay with him hit her hard. She loved this man. Now that the shock had worn off, she couldn’t deny the truth of it. And tonight might very well be the last they had together. They would each return to their own worlds and be parted.

  So if tonight was all she had, wasn’t she foolish if she threw it away? Wouldn’t she regret it if she left without taking every moment she could? And God knew, she had enough regrets about the past as it was. She didn’t need any more.

  “I’m sure you will,” Rage said with a quick nod to Jane before he departed, shutting the door firmly behind him.

  She moved to Nicholas’s side, perching herself on the high edge of the big bed. Without asking leave, she took his hand and laced her fingers through his.

  “Why do you need to stay awake all night?” she asked softly, watching how his rough fingers engulfed her own, feeling the strength and warmth in his palms. She wanted to memorize every scar and line of them.

  He seemed mesmerized by the sight of their entangled fingers as well, for he watched them as intently as she did.

  “A serious head injury can be deadly if you sleep too soon,” he explained. “I don’t think I have one, nor does Rage or he would have stayed, but it’s best to be safe.”

  Jane shook her head as she lifted her gaze to his face. “You say these things so matter-of-factly. You lived in quite a world.”

  He nodded. “I did. There was danger and uncertainty there, but it made me feel alive.”

  “And could have killed you at any moment,” Jane pointed out, smoothing her fingers against his skin as she spoke. “You should find something else to make you feel alive.”

  He sat up until they were nose to nose. “What do you suggest, Jane?”

  She didn’t pause to think or ponder the consequences. Instead, she tilted her head and kissed him. His arms came around her, flattening her breasts to his chest, and they both moaned in unison.

  The kiss rapidly spun out of control as her hands met around his broad back and her fingers dug into the smooth flesh. She was hungry for him, and desperate to assure herself that he was unharmed.