Wicked Rivals Page 4

  “You may read it, but please do not inform the rest of the staff—I don’t wish them to worry. Would you please have my coach pulled around in an hour? I am going to sort this out. Rest assured I will come back. Please do not let the servants grow overly concerned.” She left Pevensly gaping after her in the hall as she rushed up the stairs, calling for her lady’s maid.

  “Yes, Your Ladyship?” A woman not much older than her appeared through an open doorway at the top of the stairs.

  “Pack my valise at once. The best clothes you can find. Don’t bother with hats. I won’t have space for the boxes.”

  Claire met her as they walked toward her room. “Is this about that man who came by earlier? Pevensly was near frantic when the man left. Seems he suggested you would not be happy when you returned from your errands this morning.”

  There was no point in hiding the truth from her. The woman’s observations missed nothing; it was why she made an excellent maid.

  “Lord Lennox has just tried to buy my life away through my debts. He’s ordered me out of this house.”

  Claire raise a hand to her lips, but just as quickly that hand curled into a fist. “Surely you won’t let that stand.”

  “I will not. I plan to travel to his estate at once to remedy this error.”

  Claire nodded. “Ah. Then I shall be accompanying you, of course.”

  “No, that won’t be—”

  “It will be,” Claire insisted. “You’re a lady. You must have a maid accompany you, and none of the other girls know you as well as I do. I’ll not lose my head in a time of panic.”

  That much was true. Claire was a mother hen who watched over the household, but the woman had a backbone of iron too.

  “Very well, you alone may come. But be warned, the means I intend to use to regain my life are best kept private.” She trusted her staff, but secrets were always easier when one did not have too many keepers. “Thank you, Claire. Pack as much as you can. We leave in an hour.”

  She left her maid to pack while she went to her study to write a few hasty letters. She had a number of business partners who would need to be apprised of the situation immediately. Rosalind could only pray that they would be forgiving given the dire situation. She knew Sir Hugo Waverly would be most understanding. He, more than anyone, was aware of her competitive history with Lennox. Indeed, he had fostered many ideas that had led her to triumph over Lennox in battles of bidding and company purchases.

  She sorted through the letters on her desk and paused when she found a palm-sized package addressed to her. The ink on the return address was blurred from rainwater, but it seemed to be from Scotland. Her heart began to pound as she unfastened the twine and opened the parcel.

  An object wrapped in a handkerchief fell into her hands. She unbound the handkerchief and studied the object.

  It was a pocket watch. Turning her attention to the handkerchief, she noticed an all-too-familiar letter K stitched into the corner. Kincade. Her father carried these. A lump grew in her throat at the thought. Had he finally discovered where she was? Had he known all along? Would he come for her and demand she return to Scotland with him?

  She blinked back tears as she unfolded the cloth further, finding a single sheet of parchment tucked inside. A letter. She read it with shaking hands.

  Rosalind,

  Keep this safe, keep it close. Take it home to Scotland. I’ve entrusted your brothers with a secret that even they do not understand. You may yet have the chance to undo the evils I have created in my life.

  Montgomery

  The pocket watch was a heavy gold piece with no remarkable engravings upon it. She opened it to see a simple clock face, and it appeared to be broken. What sort of game was her father playing? Whatever it was, she had no desire to go along with it. She folded the watch up in the handkerchief and set it back in the parcel next to the letters. There wasn’t time to worry about it now.

  She hastily finished the letters to her business partners, and with a final curious glance at the package she left her study. She found Claire busy packing in her chambers.

  “Would you see that the stack of letters in my study is also packed? I shall need to read them and respond as necessary while we are at Lord Lennox’s estate.”

  “I’ll see to it at once.” Claire departed, and Rosalind sat down on her bed, her mind still racing as she decided what she was to do about Lennox. She would have to worry about her father and his enigmatic gift later.

  *****

  Jonathan St. Laurent stood at the entryway of a fashionable townhouse on Half Moon Street. The keys to the door felt heavy in his palm, and his heart gave a quick thump. The residence had once belonged to a baron, Lord Chessley, who had passed away in early April. His daughter, Anne, had married Jonathan’s friend Cedric three weeks later.

  “Scandal be damned,” as Cedric had said. Since Cedric and Anne both resided in his London townhouse on Curzon Street, they’d had no use for a second house and had chosen to sell it.

  Now Chessley House was his. He’d met with the butler and housekeeper, and it seemed the entire staff except for Anne’s lady’s maid, who had agreed to stay on with him. Yet he felt strangely off balance being the one in charge of a household.

  He’d spent his whole life as a servant of the Duke of Essex, only to discover that Godric was his half brother. After the late duchess had passed, Godric’s father had secretly remarried his wife’s lady’s maid, and Jonathan had been the result of that union. The secret, but legitimate, son of a duke.

  After that revelation his life had been turned upon its head. He was thrust into Godric’s world and was even considered one of the League of Rogues. But now he was contemplating marriage and settling down.

  He snorted. Perhaps not the settling down. The woman he was interested in was not at all tame, and she’d likely never settle down. But he’d wanted to at least have a home to offer her when he proposed.

  “Sir.” The butler emerged from the servants’ quarters. “I did not know you’d be here today. Please come in and let me take your hat.”

  “Thank you.” Jonathan handed his hat to the man. It was still strange to be a gentleman. He’d been a footman, a gardener, and a valet for the last ten years, and it was difficult to curb old habits, such as wanting to see to his own hat or shutting the door behind himself.

  “How is the house? Do you and the rest of the staff have everything you need?” Jonathan asked.

  “We’re quite fine, sir. You received this note an hour ago. I was just about to have it delivered to Lord Essex’s townhouse.”

  A sealed letter was handed over, and Jonathan unfolded it. A familiar hand had scrawled a few lines.

  Jon,

  Meet me at the Fives Court at two this afternoon. I’m of a mind to bloody a few noses in the ring. Should be good fun.

  Charles

  Jonathan snorted. Charles. The Earl of Lonsdale was always up to something. Not that Jonathan was surprised. He’d grown up living on the fringes of the League’s world and was well aware of the antics they got into. Now he was one of them.

  He grinned. Duty calls, I suppose. It would be no hardship to join Charles to watch him box.

  “Is there anything you need from me, sir?” the butler asked.

  “Er…no, I’m going out again. I’m not sure if I’ll be back for dinner, so don’t let the cook worry about preparing anything. Cold cuts and a bit of wine will be fine when I return.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Jonathan glanced at the clock by the base of the stairs. Half past one. He needed to leave immediately. He waved off his hat when the butler held it out.

  “No need for that where I’m going.” He turned right back around and headed outside, relieved to see the hackney hadn’t yet left.

  “Are you still available?” he asked the driver.

  “I am.” The driver jerked the reins up, and the black mare stomped and chomped her bit in irritation.

  Jonathan climbed up into
the cab beside the driver, and the vehicle rocked precariously.

  “Where to?”

  “Fives Court on St. Martin’s Lane in Leister Fields. You know it?”

  The driver flashed him a grin and smacked the ribbons on his mare’s flanks. “I do.”

  Jonathan then slipped into the hackney and it jolted forward.

  By the time they’d reached Fives Court, the sounds of a wild crowd could be heard outside the old brick building that housed the boxing events. Nearly a thousand men could press into the building and surround the square sparring ring.

  Jonathan hopped out of the cab and paid the driver before turning to face Fives Court.

  “Three shillings!” a lad cried out at the entrance. “Just three shillings to watch the pets of fancy fight in the ring!”

  Pets of fancy. Jonathan chuckled. Charles was no one’s pet and likely hated the nickname for the pugilists who fought there.

  The little lad held out a grubby hand to him as Jonathan approached.

  “There you are.” He tossed the boy his three shillings.

  “Thank you, sir. The fight just started.”

  “Oh? Who’s up now?”

  “Some blond-haired bloke. Lonsdale, I think, and another man who I don’t know. He’s a bit of the home-brewed if you ask me.” The cheeky lad grinned.

  “Lonsdale’s fighting someone with little training?” That was unexpected. Fives Court matches were supposed to be between men trained and approved by Gentleman Jackson, London’s finest boxer.

  “He’s a milling cove all right, Jackson approved, but he cheats if you ask me,” the lad whispered conspiratorially.

  “Well this should prove interesting indeed.” Jonathan slipped through the doorway and glanced around the interior of the high-ceilinged building. Dozens of men near him were hollering wildly as two men on a raised platform circled each other, gloved fists raised.

  Charles stood bare-chested facing a man equal his height. Charles was well-toned, strong, and muscled, but his opponent was a massive beast, a real bruiser. There was a fair bit of blood on the other man’s chin, and Charles was dancing lightly on his feet and grinning like the devil himself. That wasn’t a good sign, at least for the other fellow.

  “Knock his block off!” a high-pitched voice cried out ahead of him. It stuck out over the low-voiced shouts of the men around him. Jonathan began weaving through the crowds, shouldering his way to the front of the platform. At the edge of the ring two lads were waving and cheering Charles on.

  “Draw his cork, my lord!” the second lad cried as Jonathan drew even with them at the edge of the ring.

  The profile of the first young man was one he recognized instantly. Tom Linley, Charles’s servant and man-about-town, though barely old enough to be called a man. Jonathan had always felt something was off about him. He couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was. The lad was…shifty, or perhaps simply secretive.

  Secrets. The flashes of fear and defiance he had seen in the lad’s eyes in the past had been a warning Jonathan couldn’t ignore. There was something going on with Linley that puzzled Jonathan. But his loyalty to his master was equally evident now in the prideful expression he wore as he whooped and hollered.

  “Give it to him, Charles!” The second lad’s voice was…higher. Too high. Jonathan leaned forward to peer around Linley’s face, and his heart pounded against his ribs. That darker-haired lad was no lad at all. The breeches he wore fit snugly around his…no…her full, feminine buttocks.

  “Audrey?”

  The dark-haired boy froze and slowly turned his way.

  It was Audrey. Audrey Sheridan, Cedric’s little sister and a notorious hellion. She was also the woman he was considering courting. There was certainly no taming that wild creature.

  His possible future wife was wearing trousers, standing in a crowd of men who smelled like alcohol and was watching a boxing match at Fives Court.

  Audrey’s mouth parted as she wet her lips. She hastily reached up to check her costume and tuck a few stray wisps of her hair back under her cap.

  “Audrey,” he growled, stalking over to her. Linley finally noticed him.

  “Hello, Mr. St. Laurent. Have you come to see the match?”

  Jonathan barely spared Linley a glance. “Audrey, what in blazes are you doing here?” His fingers curled around her upper arm.

  Audrey struggled in his hold. “Let go of me!”

  “Not until you tell me what you’re doing!”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I’m practicing disguises.” Her little pink, all-too-kissable lips formed a delicate pout.

  “Disguise?” Did she have no sense of the danger she was in? If one of the men around her realized she was a woman, she could be hurt, she could be… He shuddered and shook his head. No. That would not happen because he was taking her out of this place at once.

  “If you don’t unhand me this instant—”

  “You’ll what?” he challenged. “I’ve half a mind to redden that little bottom of yours so that you cannot sit down for the next week!” His threatening tone attracted more than one glance from the men around him.

  Audrey’s warm brown eyes were filling with flames from her temper.

  “Everyone is staring. You had better let go of me.”

  “She’s right, Mr. St. Laurent,” Linley leaned in to whisper.

  Jonathan hated to admit they were correct. Several men were losing interest in Charles, and the other man in the ring. They had instead turned to watch him and Audrey.

  “Hellfire and damnation!” he cursed and dropped his hold on her arm.

  With a far too dainty huff, Audrey plucked at her little blue waistcoat and checked to make sure the cap on her head was still concealing what he knew was a coiling of silken dark-brown hair. He’d gotten addicted to the way her skin tasted and the honeysuckle sweetness that clung to her tresses. From the moment he’d met her, Audrey had tied him into knots.

  Sighing, he forced his attention back to Charles. In the short time he’d been distracted by Audrey’s ruse, it seemed Charles had suffered. One of his eyes was a dark red, and blood trickled down the side of his chin from a split lip.

  “What’s the matter with Charles?” Jonathan asked Linley.

  The lad shrugged, but his blue eyes were narrowed as he focused on the two men in the ring.

  “My lord is fighting fair, but the other fellow is set on fibbing him.”

  “Fib?” Jonathan hadn’t had much experience with boxing.

  “Fibbing is a beating,” Linley explained.

  “Poor Charles,” Audrey murmured. The initial excitement in her eyes from the first part of the fight had faded. The bigger boxer swung a gloved fist and Charles ducked, but he was panting hard. That wouldn’t do at all. Charles was not allowed to lose a match, not if Jonathan could lend some support.

  Jonathan rested his palms on the edge of the platform. “Finish him, Charles!”

  Charles’s gaze drifted across the crowd as he danced away from his opponent. When he caught sight of Jonathan, he started grinning again. “Wondered when you’d show up!”

  Jonathan almost chuckled. “Here we go.”

  Charles dodged back, then forward, then to the side, his blows coming swift and hard. The other boxer didn’t see it coming. Charles was finally displaying himself to advantage. The crowd cheered, and the men were shouting wagers on the quickly changing odds.

  A masterful uppercut caught Charles’s opponent off guard, and then he stumbled back and fell like a stone. His body hit the platform with a loud smack, and every man with odds on the bruiser winced. Chest heaving, Charles whooped in triumph and peeled off his gloves, tossing them to a man just off the edge of the ring. Then he slipped under the ropes and hopped off the platform.

  “Jon,” Charles greeted, his gray eyes sparkling with delight. “Just stalling for time until you showed up.” He reached for a cloth a man passing by held out, and he wiped sweat and blood off his face.

  Audrey beame
d at him, sidling closer. “Well done, Charles.”

  Jonathan tracked the movement, a strange prickling sensation under his skin. He did not like the way Charles was standing there bare-chested and not at all aware that he was flaunting that chest in front of a virginal woman who was barely past her debut season.

  “What did you think, lad?” Charles asked Linley.

  The boy pressed his lips together in thought before replying.

  “You missed an opportunity to gouge his eyes when he had you on the ropes.”

  Charles burst out laughing. “That’s not how pugilism works, lad. This isn’t a street match, but of two men with honor.”

  “Humph.” Linley grunted in clear dissent. “If he wasn’t fighting fair, why should you?”

  But Charles was focused on Jonathan again. “Glad you got my note. We need to talk.”

  Shooting a glance at Audrey, Jonathan nodded grimly. “That we do.” He planned to give Charles another black eye if he didn’t have a good reason for bringing Audrey to a match like this.

  “Don’t you think we ought to send the lady home?” He jerked his head at Audrey.

  Her eyes narrowed again, and she crossed her arms. “Oh no. I am staying here.”

  “Absolutely not.” Jonathan eyed Audrey reproachfully and then looked to Charles. “Perhaps we ought to meet later?”

  “I had a letter this afternoon that Ashton is in need of help at his estate. We ought to meet there this evening,” Charles suggested.

  “Very good, I’ll see you tonight.” He turned to Audrey. “Now, you’re to come with me. I am going to escort you straight home, and you’d better pray your brother isn’t there so I don’t have to explain where you’ve been.” He grabbed her arm again.

  “Charles! You can’t let him drag me out of here,” Audrey protested.

  Jonathan shared an intense gaze with Charles, who smiled. “Well, you remember my advice.”

  “I do.”

  “Advice? What advice?” Audrey snapped.

  “That I carry you out of here and put my hand to your backside if you raise another word of protest.”