by Lauren Smith
He prayed that the man he was sent to watch would appear soon. His fingers were turning blue and his blood was like ice in his veins. His quarry, the Earl of Lonsdale, a skilled boxer, could spend hours in the salon. There was no telling when Linley would get a chance to escape the cold and seek shelter inside. He rubbed his hands together, attempting to generate warmth. It didn’t help.
A sudden wave of exhaustion swept through him. He didn’t want to be here. His master had made him come here. Sir Hugo Waverly. A true bastard if there ever was one. Tom tried not to think about it but failed.
He was the man who’d taken advantage of him… and stolen something precious from him. Stolen everything, really. Including his freedom.
The month following his master’s assault, Waverly’s wife had dismissed him without references. That alone had threatened his future and now he had someone who depended on him. But Hugo could always make it worse. It had been easy for his master to take advantage of his desperation and force him into this job. This new identity. This new life of shadows and subterfuge.
My poor baby girl. He thought with aching sorrow of Katherine, the child he cared for. His Kate was the most important thing in Tom’s life. Waverly had threatened to take her away, and Lord only knew what he would do with her…
Unless he gained the confidence of the Earl of Lonsdale and infiltrated his household. Tom sensed something darker and more horrifying was afoot but he was helpless to stop whatever his master had planned. His orders were simple, though far from easy—get hired by Lonsdale to replace the valet who’d recently left his employ and regularly report back to Waverly.
Tom didn’t want to lie to anyone, and certainly not the earl. After a week of discreet surveillance, he’d learned enough about Lonsdale not to want to betray him. He was a rake but not a cad. He was a man who would offer a hand in aid of those who needed it. Tom had seen him more than once toss several coins to paupers as he passed and never had a harsh word for others, even when men deep in their cups tried to start arguments. But to save little Kate, Tom would have to damn himself and do wrong by one good man for the sake of a bad one.
The bizarre sight of Audrey and Linus chasing a stray goat dressed in a lady’s spencer was one Lucien could not draw his eyes away from. The garment, once a lovely shade of baby blue, was now torn in several places and beginning to fray at the edges.
Lucien watched from the window as Audrey screamed bloody murder. She dove at the goat and fell to the frozen ground as it bolted away. Linus had taken up a garden hoe and was charging at the animal but a shout halted his blow. Horatia arrived, hastily dressed for the cold, and urged Linus to back away from the angry goat.
Lucien chuckled at the bleating creature whose wild eyes promised retribution on anyone who dared accost it further.
Horatia bent over and held out a carrot, coaxing the stubborn thing to eye her less viciously. It took a few cautious steps closer, then nibbled the carrot. When Horatia set the vegetable down the goat did not pay any attention to her as she casually extracted the spencer from it. She then returned the ruined garment to a distraught Audrey.
Lucien held his breath from his vantage point, enjoying the sight. Horatia’s hair was a bit windblown and her cheeks flushed with the thrill of the chase. Horatia’s womanly body with ample curves was made for passionate lovemaking and wicked fantasies. She was, in truth, the woman he’d always wanted, always needed. Even in light of his mother’s revelations, it could never happen.
She was Cedric’s sister, and the League had rules.
Lucien couldn’t trust himself with her. He wanted to make love to her by candlelight, to better see the shadows playing across the curves of her body. He enjoyed restraining a woman and rousing her to peaks of pleasure. Never to hurt, no. But he loved to have power over a woman, and more importantly, her trust. He could learn every sensitive place and dark desire she harbored so he might fulfill it. He never once left a woman unsatisfied after a night tied to his bed, and he refused to enjoy himself until his lover had first been fully sated.
Now, this finely honed talent would go to waste. The one woman he longed for was the one woman he could never have. He wanted to be with her in ways he’d never been with other women, to show her a side of himself he’d always held back from others. Perhaps Horatia’s allure was derived from her unattainability. Forbidden fruit. He could only pray she was safe from him, so long as he exercised that damned self-control that had frayed at the edges lately.
Lucien tore himself away from the window as he heard Audrey’s shrill voice echoing in the main hall.
“I swear, Linus, you are the worst sort of man! How could you put my best spencer on a goat?”
“I thought the little fellow looked chilly.”
“It already has a coat. What more does it need?”
“’Tis the season of giving. You should be thankful I exercised my goodwill to ensure the goat’s warmth.”
“The season of giving? I’ll give you something!”
There was a thump and a responding shout of pain.
“What in God’s name did you put in that…rocks?” Linus bellowed.
Lucien came out of his mother’s room in time for Audrey to dodge around behind him, using him as a shield from Linus’s revenge.
“Save me, Lucien!” Audrey begged, her little hands fluttered about his shoulders, along with a rather heavy reticule.
“Hand her over, Lucien. It’s high time I took my hand to her backside.” Linus sounded positively medieval as he glared at the woman.
“You ruined her spencer on that goat, Linus, and I’m sure it was an expensive one.” Lucien crossed his arms and glared back at his youngest brother, lucky to have the advantage of age, since Linus equaled him in height.
“That jacket was six weeks’ worth of pin money I shall never get back,” Audrey said. “Perhaps I ought to have it from your quarterly allowance?” Audrey smiled impishly.
Linus reddened. “Why you…” He took a step forward but Lucien halted him with a firm palm.
“I think that is an excellent idea. You shall pay back the full amount of the spencer, won’t you, Linus?”
Linus growled but gave a curt nod and stalked off.
“Oh and Linus,” Lucien called after him. “You have one week, or I shall pay her myself and deduct it from your allowance,”
Audrey clapped her hands and danced about Lucien. “Oh you are such a dear! My champion!” Audrey stood up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek before she dashed off, no doubt to further incite his brother and cause more trouble. So be it.
“That was awfully kind of you.” Horatia’s voice gave Lucien a start. She’d been hidden near the door to the back garden.
“It is only fair. Linus is over twenty now. He ought to be growing up. The years for pranks are over, but he seems determined to learn this the hard way. I can’t understand why he still acts like a child. Mother coddles him too much, I suppose.”
“Audrey’s provocation doesn’t help matters,” Horatia added. “They played too often together as children to really adjust to their more mature roles in life. It’s one of the reasons I never worry about my lack of diligence as their chaperone.” Horatia confessed this with a small little smile.
Lucien’s chest tightened as a wave of guilt struck him. An awkward silence settled between the pair. Horatia’s warm smile wavered and then wilted as the silence lengthened.
“Pardon me,” Lucien said gruffly and turned to leave. He couldn’t bear to be near her anymore. Caught between deserved guilt and wicked desire, he was damned if he claimed her and damned if he didn’t.
Lucien called for the footman, Gordon, to send a message to the stables that he wanted his horse then went in search of his greatcoat and riding gloves. A ride would do him good. Cold air and solitude would cool his ardor and give him time to think. Thankfully, Horatia did not follow him.
<
br /> A groom brought Lucien’s stallion to the hall steps. The beast twitched its tale. Lucien nodded to Gordon and then mounted up. He trotted from the main yard and crossed the snowy meadow to the east of the hall. His horse plodded along on the icy snow, carefully treading until the snow became thicker. Then Lucien coaxed it into picking up the pace. Then wind whipped through his coat as he cantered through the meadow.
Gray clouds formed a thick winter wall, leaving the land ahead of him a shadowy world between intermittent snowfalls. There was something beautiful about the desolation of Kent in winter, especially this year. More often than not, snow was rare, but this year the grounds were covered with it. The decay of life lay inches below the snow, unobserved. That world held secrets, like the moment before a swimmer breaks the surface for breath, the seeds in the ground waited to breathe, to reveal themselves. Lucien felt much the same, waiting to breathe, waiting to break free.
He remembered the multitude of kisses he’d stolen from Horatia, both in anger and desire. Now, without anger to fuel his emotional blindness, he could see the truth. It wasn’t merely desire, nor lust for forbidden fruit, it was something more. Something secret lay hidden beneath the flames of his passion.
I shouldn’t, but… He watched his breath blossom in a pale cloud as he examined his confusing thoughts about his feelings for Horatia.
Lucien’s horse had slowed to a complete stop now, something the beast had never done before without encouragement.
How odd.
He dug his heels into the horse’s side to give it a kick of encouragement. The horse whipped its head around violently. Lucien kicked again, and this time the horse bucked and whinnied. Lucien clung to the reins as he sought to keep himself in the saddle. The horse reacted even more fiercely and this time Lucien was unprepared. He was flung from the horse, his arms tangled in the reins as he landed with a crunch on the icy ground. Pain exploded through his head and body. His vision spun in slow circles, then started to fade…
Chapter Eighteen
Seeing Ashton wounded had shaken the very foundations of Charles’s existence. He needed to restore some sense of order to his world, to reassert his strength and defense. He stood in the ring of Jackson’s Salon practicing his boxing technique. Sweat gleamed on his forehead and dampened his hair.
He fought like a man possessed. Punch after punch, opponent after opponent, and still he battled on, ignoring his aching muscles. As he punched and ducked, all he saw was Ashton. Pale from blood loss, resting in Essex House as he recovered from his injury. The doctor had assured everyone there was little to worry about and that Ashton would recover control of his arm in time.
Many of the men in the best circles enjoyed to play at boxing, but not Charles. He took the art seriously. A pugilistic match was his way of fighting back against his fears and insecurities.
Conquer the ring and you conquer your demons.
Today, he sported a blackened eye, one he’d deserved but not gotten in the ring. Charles grinned as he withstood the ribbing by the other gentlemen at Jackson’s. They’d all assumed he finally lost a fight and he was not about to tell them the real reason.
His current opponent was a man named Everard Ralph, a young pup compared to Charles, eager to test his mettle against Jackson’s unofficial reigning champion. The two traded blows for a good twenty minutes before Ralph began to weaken.
“Had enough?” Charles asked. His usually light tone was on edge.
Ralph stumbled back a step as Charles pressed his advantage.
“Enough, Lonsdale, enough!” Ralph gasped as he dodged another jab from Charles. “Lord, you fought like the devil himself today.”
He was a decent enough fellow with the sort of grin that made virginal maidens swoon and widows leave their calling cards in his coat pockets. He had nothing on Charles though. Charles had been a rakehell since the age of seventeen and the more blackened his reputation became, the more women seemed to “stray” across his path. However, the game was beginning to change.
It was one thing to abduct a girl like Emily Parr and revel in the delight of such a devilish scheme. But it was another thing altogether to get into his carriage after a night of carousing and find a lady waiting inside to be compromised by him. That was not how the game ought to be played. He was supposed to give chase and the lady to flee, but for the past couple of years he felt as though he was the one fleeing.
Matchmaking mothers schemed when he entered ballrooms and seemed to hear wedding bells when his name was announced at Almack’s. Despite his notorious reputation, he was always able to obtain vouchers to the club’s assembly rooms, probably because the risk of allowing him entrance was worth the opportunity for someone to catch him.
When Charles had relayed this unfortunate turn of events to Ashton, the man had said in his usual wise way, “Perhaps a bit of respectability and restraint would dim your allure to the unmarried ladies.” At the time, Charles had scoffed. “Ash, you and I both know I am capable of many things, but respectability and restraint are not among them.” To which Ashton had pointed out, “It has done wonders for Godric. Look at him and Emily.”
Charles had huffed and stalked away.
“Thank you for the match, Lonsdale. It proved most instructive.” Ralph offered a hand to Charles. Charles shook it before leaving the ring and retrieving his towel. He wiped his face and contemplated the poor state of his clothes. His valet had just left his service to marry a maid from a neighboring household. Charles liked to be immaculately dressed and would need a new valet quickly. It was just one more problem on a growing list.
He needed a drink. Now. With this in mind, he headed for his gentleman’s club, Berkley’s. None of his friends would be there tonight, which was a blessing. He was not fit for company. He was in a foul mood and would soon drink enough to reach a state of oblivion for the rest of the evening. He could also ask around to see if anyone knew of a valet looking for a new position.
In half an hour, he was sitting alone in a private room, glass in hand, listening to the fire crackle in the hearth. Voices outside in the halls sounded merry, so contrary to his own spirits. The door to the room opened as a servant entered. There were many young men and errand boys employed by Berkley’s. Charles rarely interacted with them, unless he was determined to get deep into his cups and he needed them to keep the brandy coming.
“Afternoon, my lord. Care for another decanter?” the lad asked. He was small for his age, with light hair hidden by a cap, and blue eyes. His features were perhaps a little too delicate, his frame a bit odd in places, all the signs of awkward youth. He’d grow into his body like all men did. Funny, he’d never given much thought to the servants here before. Something about this boy however, grabbed his attention.
“Have I finished the first already?” Charles seemed surprised. He looked to the side table where the tray of brandy and extra glasses were. Sure enough it was empty. The lad brought the second to Charles and topped his glass with the warm amber liquid.
“Thank you.” Charles hastily tipped the glass back and downed its contents.
The boy’s eyes went wide with shock.
Charles merely chuckled. “Ever had brandy?” he asked.
The boy shook his head, a lock of hair escaping from his powdered wig to fall across his eyes. Just then, something melancholy stirred inside Charles like twisting shadows. Had he ever been that young? If he had, he couldn’t remember when.
“How old are you?” Charles asked the boy.
“Twenty, my lord.”
“Twenty? That’s a lie if I ever heard one. You’re far too—scrawny.” Charles knew he was a little too drunk to curtail his tongue. The boy’s eyes narrowed.
Charles raised his hands in defense. “My apologies, lad. I’m determined to get foxed and you are the victim of my being two out of three sheets to the wind. Come, sit. I trust they have no need of you do
wnstairs for a while.” Charles pointed to an empty chair by the fire. He hadn’t thought he’d wanted someone to keep him company, but the young man looked as though he could use a rest. His eyes were shadowed with dark circles from lack of sleep. Charles could give the lad a rest and ease his sudden desire for companionship tonight.
“Oh I couldn’t, my lord!” the boy protested. “It’s against the rules.”
Charles dug into his pocket, retrieved a handful of shillings and held them out.
“I’m a member of this club. As such the rules bend when I need them to. I request that you see to my needs. One of those needs is that you sit and keep me company.”
The boy heaved a sigh and took the offered shillings with a grateful smile. It seemed he was in bad need of coin. He knew a man’s pride could keep him from taking charity.
“What’s your name?”
The boy hesitated. “Linley, my lord. Tom Linley.”
“Tell me, have you worked here long?”
Linley shook his head. “Only a few months. I used to work as a valet, but haven’t been able to find new employment. My old Master would not give me a reference.”
“Oh?” Charles sat up a little. “Why’s that?”
Linley scowled. “He and I did not see eye to eye on the upkeep of his wardrobe. Clothes are there to help define a man’s character, and my master did not respect the importance of that.”
This young man had ideas akin to Charles’s own mind. A proper wardrobe was crucial for a man to make a powerful impression upon society. This lad could well be the answer to his valet problem.
“Do you like your employment at Berkley’s? Be honest. I shan’t tell the club owners what you say.” As he waited for the boy to answer, he was seized by a strange desperation to save this lad. Why he couldn’t say. Perhaps he wanted to pass on the kindness his own friends had shown him. Linley was in sore need of someone to look after him. It wasn’t hard to deduce that the lad’s father was out of the picture and there didn’t seem to be any brothers.