by Kerryn Reid
Lewis bowed. “Merci, monsieur.” Stripping off their gloves, they vacated the piste for the next pair of fencers, crossing the room to the benches where they sat to cool off.
Captain Fuller strolled over to join them as they wiped down the equipment and themselves, offering compliments for them both. “I saw some good footwork and strong concentration. Wedbury, you’d do well to spend some extra time on defensive strategies, like—”
“I know, like walking backward.” Jack spat the words out. Evidently, the exercise had not improved his mood. Lewis suppressed a sigh.
Another man came up behind them and surprised Jack with a clap on his shoulder. “Chin up, old chap. A little more practice and you can drop Aubrey on his arse.”
Jack laughed, finally. “Ha! Were you watching, Lindale? I didn’t see you.”
“Came in just at the end. In time for the kill, you might say.” Jack seemed happy enough to treat that as a joke.
Lindale was one of Jack’s new friends. This was the first time Lewis had seen him during daylight hours—he’d had the impression the man lived only at night, like a bat. He was the fourth son of the Earl of Malbury, one of those reputable families Lewis had mentioned to Jack’s parents. He must be a decade older, yet he had welcomed the two of them into his odd nocturnal circle. Jack found it flattering; to Lewis it seemed a bit sinister. The dramatic birthmark that covered most of one cheek and descended underneath his cravat didn’t help matters. Lewis was determined to last through a night sometime soon so he could take the measure of Jack’s new friends.
Problem was, he had no interest in gaming, still less in petty vandalism, and he cringed at the way his feet stuck to the floor in the grimy places where they drank between their other pursuits. Once he’d had a few drinks, he found himself watching the dark corners for cockroaches, both insect and human. It was about that time he usually headed for home.
“I’m glad I happened upon you,” Lindale said, propping one foot on the bench between Jack and Lewis. “Some of the fellows are planning to visit the theater at Covent Garden tonight, and I hear there’s a cockfight in Seven Dials. You should join us. Your military friend as well, if he’s interested.”
Thus reminded of the social niceties, Jack introduced Lindale and Captain Fuller.
Lewis was not sorry to have an excuse for the evening. “Unfortunately we’re committed to Almack’s tonight. Thank you for—”
“Maybe you’re committed,” Jack exclaimed. “I’m not about to spend the night dancing if there’s something else to do.”
“But, Jack.” Lewis kept his voice low, tamping down his irritation. “You were out with Lindale just last night. You said you’d stand up with Miss Spain.”
Jack’s chin jutted forward and his eyes narrowed in the stubborn look Lewis knew well.
“Almack’s closes early,” Captain Fuller said. “We might have to miss the theater, but we could meet up with the others later on.”
“The cockfight starts at two or thereabouts.” Lindale patted Lewis on the head. “That might be late for Aubrey here.”
Lewis ducked aside and turned to scrutinize Lindale’s expression, but could discern nothing but friendly ribbing. They always laughed at him when he left them to their night’s revels. If they had anything more disparaging to say, they saved it until he was gone.
Jack was not so tactful. “Almack’s!” he railed as they walked toward home along Bond Street. “What a stale old man you are. Could you not see how revolted Lindale was? What do I care about Miss Spain, when I could be down in the pit at Covent Garden with Lindale and Creech and the rest of them? They’re my friends, Lewis.”
Lewis might be his oldest friend, but no longer his best, it seemed. “What is the play?”
“Lord, how should I know? We don’t go to watch the play.”
Lewis sighed. No one seemed to watch the play, whether they sat on a wooden bench in the pit for a couple of shillings or paid a great deal more to rent a box for the Season.
Finally, Jack offered a concession. “I’ll go to Almack’s if you go to the cockfight.”
If Jack was willing to compromise, Lewis could do no less. It would be a very long night, but he refused to leave Anna Spain in the lurch.
Chapter 7
Anna sat at the dressing table while Putnam dressed her hair for Almack’s. All the pulling and twisting made her head pound.
“Stop your fidgeting,” said Putnam, pushing a hairpin into her scalp. “It has to be tight or it won’t stay in place.”
“I swear, Anna, you’re white as a ghost,” scolded her mother. “Use some rouge, Putnam.” The maid waited until Mama left the room to apply it, feathering it out so it appeared more natural than Mama’s ever did.
“Thank you, Putnam. I didn’t know it could look…nice, like this.”
“Your mama likes it her way, but for you, I’ll do it the way it should be.” She stepped in front of Anna, tipping up her chin. “You look lovely, miss. There are all sorts of young men out there. You just need to find yourself a right one.”
At home, Anna never had much contact with Putnam. There, one of the housemaids helped with her dressing as needed. Since coming to London, where she had to be primped and coiffed every evening, she and Mama shared Putnam’s services. This was the first Anna had seen of a soft heart behind the stern, professional exterior.
Anna’s eyes stung with unshed tears. She grasped Putnam’s hand for a moment, steeled herself to face the evening, and went downstairs to greet Cassie and her family.
Mama had jumped at Lady Wedbury’s invitation to include Anna in their party. “I’ll go to that new club I found, where a lady can place a bet that means something! Maybe I can recover some of the cost of this wasted trip to London.” She glared at Anna. “And you! You might just see if you can attach a man. Since you won’t make a push for Gideon Aubrey, you’d best be happy with whomever you can get.”
Anna smiled along with the multitude pushing its way up the stairs to the ballroom. She smiled as they waited in the crush to be announced. She smiled as they made their entrance. Her face ached before the music even began.
For three hours she danced, thanks to the efforts of her friends. She danced with Jack Wedbury. She danced with Mr. Hudson, with Captain Fuller, and with two of his fellow officers. She danced with Cassie’s father, whom she had never seen dance with anyone, and who tried so hard to make her laugh that she wanted to cry.
And she danced, naturally, with Lewis Aubrey, who stood up with her for the supper dance and took her in for refreshments afterward. She thought of him simply as Lewis and avoided addressing him by name, because Mr. Aubrey must always mean his brother. Still there was no sign of Gideon.
After supper, she went with Cassie to the ladies’ retiring room. It was fully as crowded as the ballroom. She dropped her smile while she helped Cassie repair the hem of her gown, but hurried to replace it when she saw her haggard reflection in the mirror. Did she dare hope he wouldn’t come at all?
A few minutes later, Anna stood in line beside Cassie, awaiting their part in the next dance. “Maybe he’s really not coming,” Cassie whispered. “He’d enjoy imagining your anxiety, waiting for him.”
Anna was skeptical. Why merely imagine it? Wouldn’t he want to see it in person? That’s what Lewis had said.
And then, there he was. He stood in the doorway, his insolent gaze sweeping the room. His smirk maddened her. How could she ever have thought him handsome?
She cupped the spark of anger in her hands, blew on it, stoked it, nudged it with a hot poker. Then she laughed with the exhilaration of her fury as she turned back to the dance.
One of the officers led Anna onto the floor for the waltz that followed. She maintained a smile and conversed politely with her partner while her mind’s eye, wearing a very different expression, followed Gideon and Miss Landrum as they circled the room. She could envision Miss Landrum’s adoring gaze and the lecherous gleam in Gideon’s eyes, though she caught only glimpses of them.
She recalled the tightening of his arm, the press of his thigh against hers, the slight movement of his hand at her waist that had made her ache somewhere deep in her belly.
She no longer dreaded an encounter. On the contrary, she itched for a chance to show him how angry she was. If time could only move backward, before she’d fallen in love with him. She should have slapped him in the middle of the dance floor and left him there, alone and humiliated, with the imprint of her hand on his cheek.
Gideon found her just as Lewis took her elbow to lead her out for the next set. With a leer that said he was enjoying himself and expected to continue doing so, he bowed. “Good evening, Miss Spain. I’m here in time to save you from dancing with my baby brother.”
“Miss Spain is promised to me.” Lewis moved to cut his brother off, but Anna stepped past him and took Gideon’s arm.
“I’m sorry,” she told Lewis. “I’ll explain afterward.” The Wedburys would be leaving after this dance, and Anna with them. Who knew how long her anger would burn? This might be her best chance to singe Gideon with it.
“Too bad, little Lew.”
It sounded like a childhood nickname, calculated to mortify a small boy. To her own fury, Anna gladly added a generous dose of wrath on Lewis’s behalf.
She and Gideon took their place in the set, facing one another, awaiting their turn.
“I hope my brother managed to keep you suitably diverted since I saw you on Piccadilly the other day,” said Gideon.
Anna smiled sweetly at Mr. Burke, standing next to Gideon in the men’s line, and said nothing.
Their turn came. They stepped to the center of the column and Gideon took hold of her fingertips. Even that slight touch made her recoil. Thank heavens Miss Landrum got the waltz.
They danced a figure with Mr. Burke and his partner. At the next opportunity, Gideon spoke again. “What are your plans with Lewis later on? Perhaps he hopes to become as close a friend as I am. What a reversal that will be for you, Anna.”
“You do not have permission to use my given name, sir.”
He blinked at her in surprise. “Of course I do, my d—”
“Nor are your endearments welcome, Mr. Aubrey.” She spoke loudly enough for the surrounding couples to hear, and was rewarded by watchful looks directed his way. If only she’d been wise enough to say those things a month ago! The vaunted Bristol Academy for Young Ladies had not taught her what she needed to know. She’d attended only the final year—perhaps the lessons on Recognizing and Repulsing a Rake had come earlier.
He too had noticed the glares from their neighbors, and they nettled him. Though he continued to smile, his smirk was missing.
The dance brought them together again. “You mistake me, Miss Spain. I was going to say, Medusa.” The sibilant hissed between his teeth. “I hardly think that qualifies as an endearment.”
Anna laughed at that, a brittle sound she hardly recognized. Like breaking glass. She had ruffled his fine feathers more easily than expected. He deserved to have them plucked, one by one, and be dunked in boiling oil.
Unfortunately, the dance was not over. For ten more minutes, she had to square her shoulders, appear strong and serene, move as the music demanded, meet Gideon’s sullen silence with her own. And smile! Only pride made it possible.
When the musicians finally stopped their scraping, he offered her his arm. She collided with another guest as she evaded his touch and hurried toward the doorway where Lady Wedbury waited with Lewis, Cassie, and Captain Fuller. Unfortunately, he followed her.
“May I recommend Medusa to you as a suitable partner, Lewis? I wish you joy of her.” He bowed to Lady Wedbury, the barest minimum courtesy allowed, and spoke to Anna.
“Watch you don’t lose your head.” His glare made her shiver, but she managed to speak without her teeth chattering.
“You are no Perseus, Mr. Aubrey.”
He spun on his heel and strode from the room.
“How rude,” exclaimed Lady Wedbury, staring after him. They heard him thudding down the stairs.
Chapter 8
Lewis seethed as the hackney carried Jack, Captain Fuller, and him away from Mayfair toward the blighted streets of another London. He felt like one of Congreve’s rockets, stuck in a box with a lit fuse and nowhere to expend his rage. He’d worked the entire evening to protect Miss Spain from his brother, and she spat on his efforts, trotting off to dance with Gideon as though she could imagine nothing more delightful. He was disgusted with her, and with himself. Whyever had he thought she would appreciate his help?
Then Gideon had insulted her—threatened her, for God’s sake—and though Lewis was angry with her himself, his hands had squeezed into fists and his teeth clenched so hard he thought they would shatter. He’d taken two steps to follow, but Lady Wedbury had gripped his arm and leaned on it as though she really needed his support.
“This is not the place to make a scene, Lewis dear,” she’d murmured, smiling beatifically as they ushered the two girls through the doorway and down the stairs.
Her restraining hand drove him wild, but she was right. He’d been enough of a spectacle at the damned ball, watching over Miss Spain like some Byronic moonling. Tackling Gideon on the stairs, or in the vestibule, or even out on the pavement, would have intensified the rumors, when his whole purpose tonight had been to give them the lie. And Gideon would grind him into mincemeat for the sake of a girl who apparently could not care less.
Lewis, Jack, and the captain had hied it to the Wedburys’ to change out of their formal attire. They were gone again before Cassie and her parents returned, detouring as they must to take Miss Spain home.
Lewis took a gulp from the bottle of brandy Jack had snatched from the library on their way out of the house, searing his throat and the back of his nose, blotting out the smell of God-knew-what that permeated the cab. Tonight, he welcomed the numbing fog alcohol would bring. Cockfights ranked at the very bottom of his list of entertainments, except for dogfights. And hangings.
Jack lowered the window to shout, “Can’t your nag move any faster? Give you a good price for the whole evening if she’s got a good steady trot.”
Lewis could not hear the coachman’s reply, but the whip cracked and the cab lurched forward. He imagined himself home in Yorkshire, risking his neck on a crazy moonlit gallop across the moor. Gideon stood directly in his path, too close to get out of the way. He could almost see his brother’s shocked face go down beneath the pounding hooves.
As they finished off the bottle, the hackney slowed to a snail’s pace, nudging its way through Seven Dials. Lewis leaned forward to join Fuller at the window.
“Might as well be back at Almack’s,” he muttered. The street was just as crowded, filled from one side to the other with people and vehicles. Unlike King Street, however, this one was narrow and filthy, lit only by torches that smoked and sputtered outside the building where, he supposed, the cockfight would take place. They’d not yet opened the doors, and all the denizens of this rat-infested realm clustered on the cobbles, shouting greetings and vulgarities. It looked a bit like a masquerade ball, coal-heavers and shopkeepers cheek-by-jowl with aristocrats in satin coats and snowy muslin cravats. A few females circulated among the crowd selling gin or porter, a few more selling themselves.
“There’s Lindale,” exclaimed Jack, peering out the other side of the carriage, “and some of the others. Let’s go!” He pushed open the door, magnifying the smell of smoke and piss, and hastened off, leaving Lewis and the captain to make arrangements with the driver.
That worthy fellow clambered down from his seat and spat in the direction Jack had gone. “Won’t be goin’ nowheres ’til they let the crowd in, anyways. How ’bout you find me at the Dirty Dog, back there on the corner?”
Fuller agreed and gave the man enough money for a few drinks. “There’ll be plenty more if you’re there to be found, and get us home in good order.”
“Aye, sir.” The fellow delivered a sloppy salute and anot
her gob of spit, narrowly missing their boots. They left him leaning against his cab as though he had all night. Which he probably did.
It was an empty warehouse, none too clean and far too small for the number of people who surged through the doors. The promoters had constructed some rickety tiered seating and a ring for the combatants.
Mostly the night was a blur of flying feathers—black, gray, red, copper—and dead birds. Birds with their eyes pecked out, birds bleeding from everyplace you could imagine, birds cowering before a final onslaught by their conquerors, whose spurs had to be pried from their flesh by the handlers. Lewis must have been the only man there who never placed a bet.
“It’s positively un-British,” claimed Captain Fuller. “Every schoolboy in England learns cocking, along with his maths.” Lewis had never been at school. Perhaps that explained it.
“Come on, Lewis,” cried Jack, flushed with gin and excitement. “Look at that brass-back. He can’t possibly lose against that scrawny-necked fellow.”
But he did lose, which confirmed Lewis in his determination not to waste his blunt. Jack had plenty, he could afford to throw some away. Lindale too, most likely. But Fuller and some of the others surely had no more in their pockets than Lewis himself, yet they wagered significant sums based on little more than whimsy.
“Don’t you think he’s a bit taller than the other?”
“I’m sure the red pyle’s got the advantage in girth.”
“Gad, I like the look in his eye!”
They teased him, but he stood firm. Finally, Lindale gave up. “You’re a smarter man than any of us, Aubrey. Leave him be now, lads.” And they did. Or if they did not, Lewis was too drunk by then to remember it afterward.
He was not lucky enough to forget Gideon’s malicious sneer, somewhat later, inches from his face. “If it isn’t Little Lew, cockeyed drunk at a cockfight. Not so saintly, after all. I hoped you would follow me out of Almack’s so we could do battle over Miss…over Medusa’s honor.”