What the Groom Wants

by Jade Lee

  Radley frowned. Disquiet grew in his belly. “Did it seem that there was trouble?”

  “No, else I would have told you sooner. But those types are nothing but trouble, if you ask me. Probably some lord wanting something.” Again, he eyed Radley with a hard stare. “Could be about a woman,” Knopp said, obviously fishing.

  Radley shook his head. “No woman, sir. Not that would have a solicitor.” Unless it had something to do with his sister. She was housekeeper to a Scottish lord.

  Mr. Knopp studied his face for a moment longer, then shrugged. “Best find out what you can, soon as you can. Those types don’t relish waiting on the likes of us.”

  “Yes, sir. Right after I visit my mother.”

  That was it. A short conversation that was more an attempt to find out information. But Radley was as much in the dark as Mr. Knopp, so he set it aside in his thoughts. He was finally free to do as he willed, and that would not be chasing after some high-in-the-instep solicitor.

  By the time he finally made it to land, the afternoon was far advanced. If he saw his mother or sister first, it would be too late for afternoon callers. The idea was ridiculous. After all, Wendy would be at work now as head seamstress for A Lady’s Favor dress shop, which she co-owned. She cared nothing for proper visiting hours. But it was one of the ways he could show her respect. A true gentleman followed the rules of proper courtship, and in this way he showed that he valued her as a lady.

  Which meant that he had precious few minutes to get to the lodgings she shared with her mother. He would pay a quick call, do the pretty with her mama, while arranging a better time to visit—one where he could see Wendy—and then be off to his own mama.

  He walked briskly, knowing the route by heart. She’d moved after the fire, but not out of the neighborhood. He had grown up in London and knew the byways from the dock to this quarter better than anyone.

  He mounted the steps to their rooms two at a time. He hadn’t slept above a few hours in the last three nights, but the weariness was fading fast as he neared his destination. He’d just knocked once when he heard it: a woman’s sobs, deep and gut-wrenching.

  He frowned, wondering for a moment whether to proceed when a small voice spoke from behind him.

  “A sad tale there,” said a young girl of about eight. He didn’t remember her name, but he knew the type. She would know all the neighborhood gossip and would share it for a price. A small price now—as she was young—but in a few years, she could turn bad if someone didn’t take a strong hand in her rearing. “And look at you, just back from the sea. Have you seen your mama yet?”

  Did he know her? He hadn’t a clue, but obviously she knew him.

  “What happened here?” he asked. She got a canny look in her eye, but didn’t have time to capitalize on his question. The door was wrenched open by Wendy’s mother—her face streaked with tears and her hair a mess.

  “Henry! The most terrible thing has happened!”

  He shook his head, apologizing even as she recognized him. “Not Henry, Mrs. Drew. I’m sorry—”

  “Radley! My goodness, look at you!” She sniffed and wiped her eyes. “You haven’t seen Henry today have you?” she said with a slight hiccup of a sob.

  “We’re on different ships. He came in with The Northern Glory, likely a week back. But I followed afterwards on—”

  “Yes, yes. He came back over a week now. But I’ve sent for him. I…” She hiccupped again, and then her words were lost.

  Radley was all too aware of the girl standing behind him. Whatever the tale was, there was no point in declaring it to the world. “If I might come in, Mrs. Drew? I’d love a spot of tea. Then you can tell me what you’ve done to find Henry. I’m sure I can locate him, if you give me a little time.”

  She nodded and was just stepping back to let him in when they heard it: footsteps running hard. Light enough to be a woman’s, fast enough to be desperate. He knew without looking that it was her. Wendy. He knew, and yet he still had no time to brace himself as he turned to look.

  There she was, her eyes wide, her bonnet askew, and her skirts stained with mud. She topped the stairs in a leap, and then skidded to a halt before them. Her gaze caught for a moment on him, then narrowed on her mother’s distraught expression.

  “I’m going to kill him,” Wendy cried. “I’m going to kill him and feed him to the dogs. And you—” she said as she pointed a finger at Radley. “You’re going to help me.”

  Her mother was as shocked as he was. “Wendy!” she snapped even as she wiped away her tears.

  He rocked back on his heels while a smile tugged at his lips. That was his Wendy: fierce, passionate, and impetuous. And now he could finally start courting her.

  Two

  “Perhaps we should step inside.”

  Wendy grimaced as she looked at the one man she’d never expected to see standing in front of her door. He was gesturing her inside. And lest she be confused, his gaze shifted to the shadows behind her where Little Lucy stood listening to every word she said.

  Damnation, this was not what she needed. Radley Lyncott was head and shoulders above other men. Rumor had it that he’d been born to the nobility, though on the wrong side of the blanket. Whether that was true or not, his mother had done her damnedest to make sure everyone knew they were related to the Duke of Bucklynde. Truth be told, Radley had never seemed concerned with that. His heart and soul had always been for the sea. And seafaring he had gone, appearing every once in a while bearing gifts that were the envy of everyone in the neighborhood.

  There was a time when she’d thought to catch his eye. A time when she had dangled herself before the prince of their little pocket of London. But whenever she’d tried to put on airs, he had been the one to point out her deficiencies. She hadn’t had the polish his mother taught to lucky girls in their neighborhood. And by the time Wendy had learned it, the man was gone.

  At least she’d managed to get him to take Henry with him. Otherwise, she might now be dealing with both her idiot brothers’ problems instead of just Bernard’s. Unless she was wrong. Unless this had nothing to do with Demon Damon. And that, of course, was what she needed Radley Lyncott to help her with.

  But first—yes, he was right—they needed to be inside and away from Lucy’s prying eyes.

  “Of course,” she said in as polite a manner as possible. “Pray, Mr. Lyncott, would you come inside? Mama, please put on some tea. I’m sure Mr. Lyncott is thirsty, and it is teatime, after all. I would like a cup myself.”

  Then she brushed straight by them both as she went inside. She was putting on airs, of course, acting a great deal more elevated than she was. But she needed to get inside before he did to make sure their home wasn’t in a state of disarray. She and her mother kept things as neat as possible, but Henry was home and had been for more than a week. She needn’t have worried. Apparently, shipboard life had taught her brother something. Everything appeared in its place—most especially Henry’s seaman bag, set in the corner.

  “Where is Henry?” she asked as she pulled off her bonnet and tried to neaten her hair. It was impossible. She’d run nearly the entire way from Demon Damon’s, so even if her bonnet had kept her hair from the worst of the wind, her skirts were stained with mud, and her chemise was stuck to her skin like a wet rag. She felt completely done in, and it if weren’t for the fury that burned in her blood, she’d collapse right here and now.

  “I don’t know where he is,” her mother said as she put the kettle over the grate. “I sent messages to you at the shop and him at the pub. I hadn’t expected you yet. You must have run like the wind.”

  “I wasn’t at the shop.” And wasn’t that just like her mother to send two neighbors—likely two gossips like Lucy—to find them. It would set the neighborhood to talking for sure. But of course, given what she feared had happened, they would be talking in any event.

  She sighed and folded her hands against her belly. It was the only way she’d learned to hide her fists. “
But I’m here now, Mama. Tell me the worst of it.”

  Her mother managed to pull herself together. She dried her tears and spoke in a clear voice. “A man was here. Said he represented Lord Idston, who owns this building, and that he’s turning us out. We have until tomorrow night to be gone.”

  Wendy felt her teeth grind together. So the Demon was right. “Did he say why?”

  “Said we’re terrible tenants. I told him we pay our rent on time, keep everything clean, and that we’ve even helped our neighbors when they couldn’t pay. He should ask people. Everyone knows what good people we are. He didn’t care. Didn’t want to hear any of it. Nine years we’ve lived here. Nine years! And now…” Her voice choked off, and she looked at Wendy with watery eyes. Her next words were half sobbed. “Where will we go?”

  “To my mother’s,” said Mr. Lyncott in a firm voice. “She’s got plenty of room with Caroline living out as a housekeeper. Henry can sleep at his berth, and I will too. You’ll have to bunk tight—the two of you in one room—but my mother will be pleased to have you.”

  Wendy turned to him, relief at war with dislike. She was enormously grateful for the offer, but he’d just returned home. How like a man to assume that his mother would take in guests without even asking.

  “Really?” she asked, trying to keep the anger from her voice. It wasn’t aimed at him, but she had all this fury boiling inside her. She didn’t know what to do with it, so it leaked out in her words. “And have you talked to your mother in the last year? How do you know she has room? How do you know she’ll be pleased to have two strays in her home, and worse, in her son’s room?” What she remembered of Mrs. Lyncott was that Radley’s room was as sacred as a cathedral. No one could stay there but the man himself.

  Radley’s cheeks flushed a ruddy red, but he still held himself as high as Prinny himself. “She’ll greet you with open arms. You can rely on me.”

  She swallowed, nodding in acceptance. He’d said those words once before, and he had done right by them. He’d sworn he’d look after her brother, and Henry was as fine a man as she could have expected. Certainly, her brother had done the maturing himself, but he was healthy, whole, and apparently a fine seaman, if his pay was anything to judge by.

  She had no cause to cast aspersions at Mr. Radley Lyncott now. So she forced herself to nod her thanks. “Just be sure please. Go ask your mother now, and if it’s all right, we’ll come tomorrow. With gratitude.”

  He flashed her an easy smile, deepening the weather lines in his face, and making him all that much more handsome. There was a joy in him when he did that—had been since he was a boy. And not a female around could resist him when he flashed those white teeth with a sparkle in his copper eyes.

  “So I won’t be needed for a murder?” he teased.

  She snorted. “Oh, there may still be one, never you fear.” Then she quieted. She shouldn’t be talking so breezily about killing the Demon. Certainly most people would know she was blustering in her fury. And those same people would assume she meant Lord Idston. But she knew the truth and so would Damon.

  “Who’s talking murder?” asked a laughing voice from the door. Wendy spun around to see her older brother, Henry. He and Radley were the same age, but couldn’t be more different. Unlike the proper Mr. Lyncott, Henry was a man written in sloppy lines. With his brown hair mussed, circles under his green eyes, and his clothing rumpled, he was an easy man to disregard. And yet, somehow he managed to find companionship wherever he went, be it male, female, or even canine. Everyone seemed to like him. He was her brother Henry, and he filled the doorway with his carefree presence.

  “Henry!” their mother cried with relief. “I’m so glad Lucy found you.”

  “I found her, actually,” he said. “On the way home.” Wendy noted that he didn’t say home from where, and she didn’t want to ask. “What’s this about being thrown out?”

  Their mother nodded as she wiped her tears. “Nine years—”

  “’Bout time to find another place, then, right?”

  “But nine years—” she said again.

  Henry waved away her concerns even as he clasped hands with Mr. Lyncott. “Radley, old man! Didn’t realize you’d made it in. Nine years in one place makes it smell bad, don’t you think?” He turned and sniffed the air. “Bad odor here.”

  “That’s you, you lout,” said Wendy as she cuffed her brother affectionately. Some days she thought the man completely useless, but on days like today, his easy acceptance of… well, everything, made her worries fade a little. The Demon made her feel like a worm on a hook, but Henry could make her think that every setback was a good choice.

  Her mother chimed in with her own sniff. “Where were you, Henry? You smell like a brothel.”

  Her brother’s eyes widened in horror. “A brothel? Never you say that!” He sniffed at his sleeve, then held it up to Mr. Lyncott. “What do you think, Radley? I think I smell like a garden of roses. Roses and Lilies and Emilies and Marys. Ah, sweet Mary…”

  Mr. Lyncott rolled his eyes. “I think we’d best forget that. I told your mother she can stay with mine.”

  “What? Right generous of you. So you’ll be staying on the prize ship then while my mother kicks you out of your bed? Smart man—sleeping elsewhere. Mamas tend to ask too many questions.” He waggled his eyebrows for emphasis.

  Meanwhile, Wendy took a deep breath. “Henry, could you help Mama pack?”

  “Pack?” he cried in mock horror as he picked up a pillow she’d made when she was ten. “It’s all trash. We’ll just throw it out.”

  “Throw it out!” exclaimed her mother with gratifying horror. “You put that down. We’ll pack it for our next place.”

  “This old thing? Whatever for?” Then the two set to bickering. It could have been horrible, but with Henry, Wendy just shook her head. It was noisy and sometimes uncomfortable, but he’d gotten their mother to stop crying. And as they bickered over the crockery next, Henry paused enough to shove Mr. Lyncott.

  “Make her stop doing that, will you?” he said as he gestured at Wendy. “Damned uncomfortable sight to see my sis doing that all the time. Makes a brother jumpy.”

  Wendy frowned at her brother. “What are you talking about?”

  It was Mr. Lyncott who answered, his voice a soothing rumble beneath the higher notes of her mother’s diatribe about ignorant sons.

  “You’re rubbing your chest,” he said gently. “Does it pain you?”

  She looked down in surprise, and sure enough, there was her fist planted above her heart, pressing down. She dropped it with a self-conscious shrug. “I ran too fast coming here.”

  He didn’t argue. Instead, his expression softened. “You’ll find a way through, Wind. You always do.”

  She blinked, startled by his use of her nickname. He’d started calling her that on his first leave. He said it was because she blew about like the wind, then he’d tweak her hair or her cheek or her nose. She’d cry out in indignation, and he’d just laugh, saying he was trying to catch the wind.

  “I haven’t heard that name in years,” said her mother.

  Wendy nodded. She’d been thinking the same thing. Meanwhile, she looked about her home, her heart in her throat. Where would they go? Even if Radley’s mother allowed them to stay, they couldn’t rest there forever. They needed a home.

  “Do you still want this?” her brother asked, as he held up her spare chemise. It had been drying in her bedroom, but for some reason, Henry thought it best to bring it out for everyone to see. “Looks a bit small, if you ask me,” he said as he peered at her chest.

  “Henry!” Mama exclaimed.

  Mr. Lyncott turned a snort into a cough, and Wendy shot her brother a murderous look. “You just like touching lady’s things. Now put that back!”

  He shrugged. “Just saying you should toss it in the rubbish if it don’t fit anymore.”

  He was right, damn him. It was too small, but she’d be damned if she admitted that now in front of c
ompany. So she glared at her brother, then pointedly turned her back.

  “Mr. Lyncott, would you mind escorting me back to the shop? We can discuss my plans to murder my brother along the way.”

  Both men laughed, the sound beautiful in a way she hadn’t experienced in a long time. It was so full and open that it made her think of the wide, blue ocean, which she’d never even seen.

  “Well, at least you have come to the right person for advice. I’ve been planning ways to gut your brother for years now.”

  “Then, we do have things to discuss,” she said as she grabbed her bonnet and headed for the door. He joined her quickly enough, but her thoughts were faster. By the time he’d made it to her side, she’d left behind all thoughts of packing and chemises that were too small. Her mind was back on her growing list of tasks for the day.

  There was work at the shop, a new home to find and lease, and then there was the growing problem of Demon Damon. It was that last one that had her mood souring. She meant to be done with the man, but she didn’t know how. She shuddered at the thought of turning into the man’s whore or spending her life at his vingt-et-un tables. She didn’t fool herself into believing that one more month’s work would have her free. After all, she’d thought she’d be done today, but he’d found another way to hold her. What would be his next gambit? And the next?

  “You are doing it again,” Mr. Lyncott said softly as he caught the fist that rubbed her chest.

  She flushed as he gently pressed it down. “I was just thinking—”

  “Of something terribly unpleasant,” he said in a low voice. He released a low sound that was half sigh, half growl. “You can’t commit murder, Wind. I don’t care what has happened or why. It will change you in bad ways.”

  She swallowed, wondering for a split second if she could tell Radley the truth, if somehow he would help her. The Demon had to be stopped one way or another. It was bad enough that he ran gaming hells that had half the aristocracy in his pocket. But she suspected he was behind all the terrible things that had happened lately. Not to her, but to her friends. Murder, attempted murder, and any number of small harassments. Could it really all be laid at the Demon’s door? If the answer were yes, then she and her friends would be in danger as long as the man lived. But could she really kill the bastard?