by Kelly Boyce
If he hadn’t recognized how damned pathetic he’d become, likely he would still be sitting there instead of being soundly trounced at billiards by the far more skilled Hawksmoor.
“I cannot leave London. I have business to attend to.” That it had little to do with Lord Ellesmere’s estates and everything to do with digging into his own past he did not bother to mention. “I promise I will arrive in time for the annual party at Sheridan Park.”
He took his shot and watched as the ball teetered on the edge of the pocket, mocking him before it stilled and stayed. How closely it symbolized his luck of late. Just when he thought he was getting close to something, the truth eluded him and left him wavering on the edge.
“Why, thank you, Mr. Bowen,” Hawksmoor said with a sly smile. “I almost wish we had bet money on the game. And I don’t recall receiving an invite to the party, Blackbourne. I’m injured.”
“What you are,” Nick said. “—is an abominable liar. You know full well you received an invite. You simply ignored it because you have no more interest in spending two weeks in the country surrounded by lords and ladies you’ve stripped of large quantities of money than you do in marrying a proper young lady and squeezing out a few pups of your own.”
Hawksmoor chuckled, the only answer he’d give on the matter, and bent over the table, his dark hair meshing with the shadows. He split two balls in opposite directions, knocking both—and the one Marcus left teetering on the edge—into the corner pockets. The viscount’s skill at billiards was a thing to behold.
“Disgusting,” Spence muttered in praise before turning back to Marcus. “What business is so pressing that you cannot conduct it from the Abbey?”
“I simply wish to tie up a few loose ends before I leave the city.” Loose ends. As if his identity and origins could be summed up so easily. As if it would change anything and make it possible to put the matter to rest, marry Rebecca and live the life he’d always dreamed of.
But it wasn’t that simple.
When he sent her back to the masquerade he had been determined that was the end of it. He should have known better. He’d spent the better part of the night tossing and turning, his mind working furiously to find a solution and his body reliving her touch, her kiss, her taste, until it became difficult to concentrate on anything else.
By the time morning dawned, he determined he must turn over every stone, look into every dark corner. He could not walk away from her. He could not consign them both to a life neither wanted, without at least trying.
“Then there is no reason for you not to come sooner rather than later,” Nick said. “You need to see your godson, after all.”
Marcus smiled and leaned a hip against the billiards table. “That I do.”
“Why you chose him to be the boy’s godfather is beyond me,” Spence said. “It is obvious I am the better choice.”
Nick turned to Spence and crossed his arms over his chest. “You are his uncle.”
“How can I be his uncle? At best I am a second cousin through marriage or something of that sort. Glenmor is the child’s only uncle.”
“True enough,” Nick allowed. “Either way, we shall make you an honorary uncle.”
Spence appeared only somewhat mollified. “I suppose that will do.”
Marcus didn’t bother to suggest that should things turn out badly with his quest for his true parentage, Nick might want to rethink his godfather status. After all, what lord wanted a bastard for his heir’s godfather? Or as his brother-in-law?
“I cannot believe what I’m hearing.” Hawksmoor straightened as the last ball sunk into the pocket in the far corner of the table. “I invited the three of you here in the hopes of recapturing some semblance of our more youthful escapades and instead the three of you are nattering on about babies like old nannies. What has happened to the lot of you?”
“I believe it’s called happiness, Hawksmoor,” Nick said.
Hawksmoor scowled as he wracked the balls on the table once more. “A state of delusion is more like it. Mr. Bowen, shall we have another go? And have none of you considered that Mr. Bowen here may have a mistress of untold talent and cannot bear to leave her side any sooner than necessary?” Hawksmoor broke and two balls slid into pockets on opposite sides of the table.
Nick turned with a wide-eyed expression. Marcus didn’t know whether to be amused or insulted that the idea he had a mistress seemed so shocking. “Do you?”
“He doesn’t,” Spence informed them. “I have already asked.”
Marcus leaned over the table and took his first shot. One ball, corner pocket. “Both of you need to learn to mind your own business.”
“Why should we,” Nick said, a lazy grin spreading across his face as he leaned a hip against the table. “Yours is proving far more interesting.”
Spence grabbed at his chest. “Sweet Judas! Is this what we have come to, Nick? Have we become so tame that now Bowen is more interesting than either of us?”
Marcus toyed with the idea of running them both through with his billiards’ cue but he didn’t think Hawksmoor would appreciate the bloodletting on his expensive rug. He took another shot but missed.
The game went quickly, though Marcus did not fool himself into how it would end. That was the thing with games such as this. When one went up against a far more skilled player, the end was predictable and inevitable. The best you could do was try not to make a raging fool of yourself.
Hawksmoor knocked another ball into a side pocket. There were only two left. He would not get another chance. He turned his attention to Nick.
“I spoke with Lady Rebecca the other day. She mentioned to me the stipulations regarding your father’s will.”
Nick’s dark eyebrows lifted. “Let me understand correctly, my darling little sister swore me to secrecy about the will and yet she told you?”
“Hardly surprising,” Spence said, as Hawksmoor racked the balls on the table under the misguided thought someone would be foolish enough to damage their ego further by playing another game with him.
Nick turned to face Spence. “Why is it not surprising?”
Spence jerked his head in Marcus’s direction. “She’s always been rather fond of Bowen. She told me once she thought him a pirate king.” He whispered the last part as if it were a secret. “Which I found infinitely amusing given his fear of water.”
“I do not have a fear of water,” Marcus said.
Nick grinned. “No? What would you call it?”
“A healthy distaste. And if you’ll recall, I was the one who jumped into the water to save your darling sister when she decided to swim fully clothed in the lake. If memory serves, the two of you were too busy trying to charm your way beneath the skirts of a rather buxom dairy maid.”
“Ah,” Nick looked upward as if pulling the memory out of the air. “I do recall. Dear Maisie—”
“Marnie,” Spence corrected. “I believe her name was Marnie.”
Nick straightened. “Was it?”
“Quite certain. Regardless, the way that woman pulled on the teats of those cows with long, sure strokes…” Spence let out a long sigh. “It made my heart ache.”
Marcus scowled. “I don’t believe your heart was the organ affected. And regardless, that is not the point of my bringing the matter of Lady Rebecca’s inheritance stipulations up.”
“Right. The will. Of course. What is your point on that?” Nick turned to Spence and filled him in.
Hawksmoor let out a long whistle. “Bloody hell. For a dowry like that, I’d almost be inclined to marry her.”
Nick pointed a finger at the disreputable viscount. “Stay away from my sister.”
“He’d have to get past Bowen first,” Spence said and Marcus considered skewering his friend once again.
“What is that supposed to mean? Have you and Rebecca…do you mean to tell me…Bowen!” The words sputtered out of Nick as he forgot Hawksmoor and turned on Marcus who held up both hands in a calming manner, never lettin
g go of the pool cue, just in case. Nick did not always listen to reason when it came to the women in his family.
“Calm down. My point is, I have come to the understanding she may be marrying Selward for no other reason than to ensure the properties are not lost to your father’s mistress. She feels a duty in that regard.”
“Thank God,” Nick said on a sharp exhale. “That makes much more sense than her actually loving that spineless fop.”
“Oh, come now,” Hawksmoor said, setting aside his billiards’ cue when no one offered to be embarrassed by him yet again. “Selward is a tad spineless, I will give you that, but would we call him a fop? The boy is yet young and, in truth, he’s carried much on his shoulders during his father’s repeated and lengthy absences. He can’t be all bad.”
“Would you marry him?” Nick asked.
“I’m afraid not. Much too hairy for my tastes and should I ever get around to taking a bride, I far prefer the parts that dangle be situated a bit higher than those of young Selward.”
“Can we return to the matter at hand,” Marcus suggested. Having a conversation with these three ranked on the same level as herding geese.
Nick turned his attention back to Marcus. “Why are you concerned about who Rebecca marries?”
Marcus opened his mouth but the words would not come. Mostly due to the fact he had not expected the question and therefore had not prepared an answer. He only meant to convince Nick to delay the situation as best he could until Marcus could find a way around it, or through it. Hell, he’d settle for over or under it. Anything that allowed Rebecca to keep the family properties intact without spending a lifetime with a man she did not love.
“He’s smitten with her,” Spence said, filling the empty space left by Marcus’s own lack of explanation.
Marcus sorely regretted not partaking in the skewering.
Nick’s eyes widened. “Is it true?”
“It’s true,” Spence answered. “He may try to deny it. I suspect he’s been lying to himself about it for quite some time, but honestly, Bowen, is it not time to face facts?”
Forget skewering. He preferred a much slower, painful death for his least favorite friend. “My feelings are irrelevant—”
Nick took a step toward him and Marcus considered grabbing Spence and using him as a shield. It would serve the man right. “Then you do have feelings for her?”
Marcus cleared his throat. “My point is—” If these two idiots would ever let him get it out, “—is that if you allow me to look at the language of the document, I may be able to find a loophole that would allow Lady Rebecca a bit more freedom of choice in regards to her husband.”
Another step. “So that she might choose you?”
Marcus did not answer. That was the problem, she had already chosen him. She had claimed her love and he had admitted to the same. It mattered not that his head told him nothing could come of it, his heart refused to listen. Instead, it insisted there had to be a way. Surely Fate, even at its most cruel, would not dangle such a perfect future in front of him then yank it away just as he reached for it.
“Jesus, Bowen.” Nick rubbed a hand over his forehead and stared at Marcus with disbelief. “How did I not see this?”
“Uh, I believe you have been a bit busy of late,” Spence said. “What with scandals—”
“And Abigail,” Marcus added.
“And babies and such.” Hawksmoor pushed away from the billiards table and went to the sideboard to pour a drink that he handed to Spence. Who handed it to Marcus. Who then passed it to Nick.
Nick threw his head back as the dark liquid shot down his throat. He winced then returned his attention to the group.
“She could have made a worse choice,” Spence suggested.
Nick’s shoulders slumped and he shook his head. “She could not have made a better one.”
Something in Marcus eased as Nick smiled at him. “Don’t start calling me brother just yet. This story is far from over.”
Nick’s brows snapped together. “What do you mean?”
“Does this have something to do with that deuced watch?” Spence asked.
“Watch? What watch? Would someone tell me what the hell has been going on while I’ve been gone?” Nick threw his arms up in frustration but before Marcus could grant his request, the billiards room door slammed opened and bounced against the wall behind it.
“You, there!”
The group turned to face the man brave enough to breach the inner sanctum of The Devil’s Lair and incur Hawksmoor’s legendry wrath. The intruder was older; weathered more by excess than age based on his haggard appearance. One hand held a brandy and from the way the gentleman stumbled into the room, Marcus guessed it wasn’t his first.
He could not claim an acquaintance, though the man’s attention and accusing finger pointed directly at Marcus’s chest.
Walkerton.
A chill ran up Marcus’s spine and settled at the base of his neck. His gaze searched the man’s face, trying to decipher a hint of resemblance. He found none.
Hawksmoor picked up his billiards cue and moved forward, the essence of danger in each silent step. “Walkerton. Returned to London for a brief sojourn, have we? I see you’ve made good use of your time thus far.”
Walkerton took another step but Hawksmoor’s cue shot out like a saber and hit the other man square in the chest, stopping him cold. His body swayed as if equilibrium was a foreign concept. After a few seconds, his glare found Marcus once again.
“You have my watch, you thieving bastard.”
Bastard. The moniker cut into him.
Hawksmoor tilted his head to one side and pushed the cue farther into Walkerton’s chest, eliciting a grunt from the man. “Are you honestly breaking into my private rooms to throw salacious accusations at my guests?”
“You’ve obviously had too much to drink,” Nick said. “Bowen is neither a thief nor a bastard.”
Marcus could attest to the veracity of the first, but not the latter. Still, he held his tongue. Let Walkerton reveal his cards first, then, once he understood what he dealt with, he would determine how best to act.
“Do you deny you have in your possession the watch stolen from my family thirty years ago?” Walkerton swiped an arm through the air and the drink sloshed over the rim and soaked into the wool sleeve of his coat.
“Sweet Judas, Bowen!” Spence asked, a hint of laughter in his voice. He turned to Marcus, his eyebrows arching upward. “Is this what you get up to in your spare time? Shame on you!”
Nick shook his head. “It’s always the quiet ones, isn’t it?”
Walkerton drank down the last of his drink in one toss and set the snifter on a table next to him, but his aim was off and the glass wobbled on the edge before falling to the floor. It hit the carpet and rolled on its curved edges to rest against the clawed foot of the table.
“It matters not how he came to it, but he has it now. My son demanded its return and he refused.” His son. An intentional slight? If so, likely Walkerton would never acknowledge him as such. “The insipid idiot let it go at that, but I’m here now and you will return it to me or know my full wrath.”
Nick started to step forward but Marcus held out a hand and stopped him. He did not want Nick or Spence involved in this mess. He approached Walkerton, resting a hand on the cue Hawksmoor jabbed into the man’s chest and moving it out of his way. He stood toe-to-toe with Walkerton. The earl reeked of drink and the whites of his eyes were bloodshot, the rims edged in red. He searched his face, but aside from the brown eyes and lean build, he could see nothing that pinpointed a relation.
“I thought you had already discovered the thief, Walkerton. Had you not accused one of your maids of stealing it? Tossed her out into the streets without even the benefit of a reference, I was told.”
“Why would I have offered the slut a reference?” The words seethed out of him.
“I suspect the reason for that has more to do with your own lack of character
than any guilt the young lady bore.”
“Lady,” Walkerton spat. “She spread her legs like all the rest and then expected payment for her willingness. When I didn’t give it, she took it herself.”
“You’re a pig.” That this man’s blood ran through his veins sickened him.
“You’ll give me back my watch or suffer—”
“What do you know of suffering?” Marcus had known this man all of two minutes and already despised him. The picture Cosgrove had painted of him had been far too kind. “From what I hear, you’ve brought nothing but grief to anyone unfortunate enough to cross your path.”
“A fact you will discover for yourself if my watch is not returned.”
A man, larger than any two of them put together, appeared in the open door. “Sorry, boss. He got by us somehow.”
Hawksmoor’s voice came from behind Marcus. “Remove him from the Lair, Tobias, and see that he does not grace us with his presence again.”
“Yes, boss.” Tobias reached for Walkerton, but the earl pulled his arm away. “Touch me and you will regret it, you son of a whore!”
“If he does not touch you, I will.” Marcus issued his own threat, the words laced with menace and disgust. Whoever his mother was, she had done him a great service allowing him to claim Edmore Bowen as his father instead of this man. “And if you think to threaten me again, save your breath. The watch is mine.”
“You’ll regret that, Bowen. Mark my words.”
“Mark mine.”
Tobias dragged the drunken Walkerton from the room but it was a long while after before Marcus’s muscles relaxed. And a long while after that before the man’s threats stopped echoing inside his head.
“What the hell was that?” Nick asked.
“That,” Marcus said, turning to face the man he had called friend for most of his life, “was my father.”