Lady Belling's Secret (14 page)

Thomas’s temper warmed up again but kept his voice low. “You know that I’ve known Francesca her entire life.”

“Well, then it seems you’ve had more than enough time to make your suit known to her, haven’t you?” Dalton countered. “I’m not an idiot, man. I know what you’re doing. Accept that the lady is going to be my wife in less than a fortnight.”

Thomas removed his jacket, tossing it to someone in the crowd of onlookers. As he started unbuttoning his waistcoat, he glared back at Dalton. “Well, it would be a shame to disappoint all these fine young gamblers now, wouldn’t it?” He yanked his shirt off over his head.

Through the excited murmur buzzing about the crowd, Thomas learned that his opponent’s abilities were well known in the ring. He was a solid boxer who sparred in measured and thoughtful yet powerful punches.

Still, Thomas had his own fans as well. Being gone for the last five years added an air of mystery to his reputation. Most of the young bloods in rabble were too young to have known him before he joined the Navy and went to war, but they had heard of him from older brothers, and that was the primary reason for the odds being in his favor.

While the two men stripped down to their trousers and boots, the sound of the mob got louder as the tension in the room built. They were each fitted with gloves before they climbed into the ring.

Thomas’s temper had a firm grip on him, and he swung out and surprised Dalton with a punch to the jaw almost the instant they were both on the canvas. Dalton reeled back, but he recovered quickly. A murmur drifted up from the young men in the club.

“Careful there, old man,” Dalton taunted. “Someone might think that you were taking this seriously.”

“Then step back.” Thomas thrust forward with another powerful punch, but Dalton dodged it easily and shot out his right fist with a blow that met with Thomas’s midsection.

Grunting from the hit, he doubled over and caught his breath, but the blow only fueled his anger. “You’re about fifteen years too late, Dalton.” He straightened and his fist swung out, solidly connecting with the right side of Dalton’s face. A rumble of appreciation came from the audience, and the onlookers pressed closer.

Dalton’s head snapped to the left, but he kept his wits about him. Spitting blood on the mat of the ring and giving his head a little shake didn’t stop him from harassing Thomas further with whispered taunts. “I would’ve thought that fifteen years would’ve given you ample time to make your suit known”—a quick jab in the stomach and then—“I’d say that you’re the one who’s too late.” He swung his other arm in a wide, round arc, and his fist met the flesh and bone of Thomas’s cheek. Thomas spun slightly to the left and then dropped to one knee.

Thomas suppressed a gag at the metallic tang as liquid filled his mouth, and he regained his footing, although he was admittedly a bit dizzy. He wiped the blood that trickled down his cheek with his forearm. He hissed, “I tell you she’s mine, Dalton. She’s always been mine.”

The two men stood, both bleeding but evenly matched. They eyed each other and slowly circled. The gentlemen standing outside the ring waited with fistfuls of money, cheering for a clear winner.

For the first time, Thomas recollected that they weren’t alone. The reality that the entire salon was watching and speculating about what was really going on right in front of them finally brought him to his senses. Thomas glanced to Dalton, who must have come to the same realization himself since he also seemed to have noticed the similar expressions of greed and excitement on the men surrounding the ring.

“As much as I’d like to end this now,” Dalton began, “I don’t think this is the optimum venue. I have to think of my fiancée’s reputation, and her family would not be happy to become the latest
on dit
.”

Blast it all, but he was right. Thomas would never get Francesca on his side if he really did humiliate her. This was ridiculously childlike behavior, and he was chagrined. He hated that every dire thing Francesca had predicted could come to fruition if this rash spectacle continued.

Thomas put down his fists and nodded to Dalton. “I’m sorry to admit that you’re right. As it is, this is going to be enough to keep the gossips going for weeks.”

“I agree,” a droll voice drifted up from the crowd. Christian stood to the side of the boxing ring. While his posture seemed relaxed and congenial to the rest of the room, Thomas knew him well enough to recognize fury in his stance.

“Very interesting,” Christian continued. He took a step closer to Thomas, glaring at a nosy young man who tried to eavesdrop, effectively terrifying the lad with a look that sent him sprinting to the safety of his friends on the other side of the room.

Thomas didn’t speak. There was no way to explain how this looked. Here he was working very hard to beat the man’s future brother-in-law to a bloody pulp. This was sure to arouse Christian’s curiosity, and that was something Thomas didn’t think he could afford right now.

He wiped his cheek again and winced from the sting. The blood flowed down his face and dripped on the floor. Thomas didn’t feel as much satisfaction as he had only moments before when Dalton spit another mouthful of blood on the tarp.

Christian glanced back and forth at them both, and then focused his attention on Thomas. “You want to tell me what’s going on? No? I can always start asking around.”

The man was not an idiot. When Christian found out Thomas was essentially dueling over his sister…

“You seem confused.” Sarcasm rolled effortlessly off Christian’s tongue. “You two jackasses stand there bleeding on each other while every gossiping blowhard in London bets on the outcome. Look at them, fairly panting to run off to the clubs and their wives and mistresses to share this little tidbit.” Christian strode closer to the corner occupied by the fighters. He narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice when he spoke to Thomas. “You, I don’t understand. I have been having the strangest conversations about you the last couple of days.”

The rage against Dalton which had earlier consumed him diminished into a cold, hard ball that sat in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t like the guilty way his thoughts were leaning or where this line of questioning was headed. He yanked the gloves from his hands and snatched a piece of toweling from a nearby trainer to staunch the flow of blood from his cheek. “I don’t really find it necessary to defend my actions to you.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Christian hissed. “In our entire lives, I have never known you to act this way. I’m the violent one with the hot temper, ready to fight. You’re everyone’s friend, ready to laugh, and more often then not, the one who can be counted on to turn the situation around when I get myself into trouble with my temper.”

“Nothing is wrong with me,” Thomas fired back. “Blast it all to hell!” He stood still for a moment with the toweling over his face and took a quick assessment. He was exhausted and bleeding, and it was a certainty that he would be in a lot more pain tomorrow. He was also an idiot. He tenderly touched the abused flesh on his cheek and winced again. “All right. There is something.”

Christian look was of complete disdain. “Get your stuff together and come on.”

Chapter Twelve

“Dear God, that thing stinks.” Christian referred to the poultice that Cook had insisted be applied to the wounds on Thomas’s face.

Thomas and Christian had left the club and adjourned to Thomas’s townhouse. A doctor had been summoned and his wound stitched closed. He slouched in his usual huge leather chair, and Christian sat in the opposite one. They each held a snifter of brandy, but Thomas’s was decidedly emptier.

“Imagine how it would be if it were mere inches from your nose.” Thomas gagged then took another big gulp of brandy.

Christian observed with obvious disgust. “You keep drinking like that and I’m going to have to take you to the country to dry out.” Thomas made eye contact and, without breaking it, downed the rest of the amber liquid. “Seriously, man. I don’t think I’ve seen you for the past week without you being drunk.”

“You exaggerate. I wasn’t drunk today at the boxing salon,” he protested.

“No, but you were in your cups at the club the other day,” his friend noted. “Today was much better. Beating the tar out of someone so that you could have a reason to go home and get drunk.”

Thomas shrugged. He reached across the table between them and grabbed the bottle of liquor. Being not nearly as drunk, Christian leaned over and snatched the bottle from his grasp.

“Hey. What the hell?”

Christian rose and placed the bottle on the desk across the room. He rang the bellpull, and when the butler arrived, he requested a plate of food.

“I’m not hungry,” Thomas growled.

“It’s not for you, you surly bastard.” Christian sat back in his chair and looked long and hard at Thomas. When he responded with his own glare, Christian commented, “I barely recognize you tonight. Where’s my friend? Has the war changed you so much?”

Thomas sat back in his chair, rolled the last remaining drops of brandy in his glass, then held it up and watched the fire through the crystal. He sighed deeply and leaned his head against the cushioned back of the chair. He relished the contemplative quiet. Soon enough, Christian would want explanations. The longer they could sit quietly as friends, the longer Thomas could pretend everything was as it used to be.

The silence was broken when butler arrived with the food. After placing the tray on the table between the two chairs, the servant removed the lids on plates of savory meats and cheeses, crusty breads and fruits.

“I took the liberty of bringing a pot of coffee as well.”

“Masters, you are a credit to your profession,” Christian told the blank-faced butler.

“Agreed, Your Grace.” The butler strode from the room, latching the door behind him.

The two sat in, if not companionable silence, at least not an uncomfortable one. Christian munched on cheese and only checked his pocket watch twice. Thomas opened his mouth to speak several times but, not knowing how to begin the conversation, shut it again.

After a quarter of an hour had passed, Christian finally spoke up. “When I watched you box today, you seemed to be going at it rather vehemently. Now we’ve both been in our share of scrapes, and we’ve sparred many times, but I’m telling you it looked like you were out for blood there.” Christian’s brows arched in question. “I’ve known you almost our entire lives, and I thought I knew no one better than you.”

Thomas didn’t answer, and the silence dragged on.

“I fear I’m at a loss.”

It was best to just dive in. “I have become reacquainted with someone since I’ve come back to town.”

“I’m assuming this person is a lady? I’m relieved to hear that’s all it is. What’s the problem? Did her husband find out?”

“No, this young lady isn’t married—yet.” With a grunt of disgust, he pulled the poultices from his face and tossed them in the fire. He tenderly probed at his wounds and, to his surprise, they did feel mildly better.

“So you’ve become reacquainted with an unmarried lady, and clearly she has you all tied in knots.” Christian chuckled.

“It’s not funny, and I’m not tied in knots over her,” Thomas protested vehemently. That made him sound like a green boy.

“Right,” Christian continued to laugh. “Oh how the mighty have fallen.” Thomas glared at him over the arm of the chair. “Oh you don’t think so? Let’s review, shall we? When did you say was the last time you slept?”

Thomas thought back to the afternoon he slept with Francesca in his arms. Since then though, it had been three nights tossing and turning and prowling around the house in order to avoid dreaming. Unfortunately, that was probably what he had to look forward to tonight as well. Still, he just glared at his friend in response.

Christian raised his index finger and continued on undeterred. “Right. Number one—no sleep. Number two—you’ve been drinking.”

Thomas arose from his chair, crossed to the desk and refilled his glass, refusing to take the bait. He toasted Christian before downing a big swig. Flopping back in his chair, he gestured for the other man to continue cataloguing his faults. He was waiting warily for Christian to come to the inevitable conclusion.

“It’s been about five days since I clearly lost my mind,” Thomas mused.

“Five days since you fell in love you mean,” Christian interjected.

“It is not without some manner of self-loathing that I realize I am woefully transparent.”

Christian laughed with irritatingly excessive mirth. “Oh, obviously! I don’t know if I have ever seen anyone hit as hard as you have been. You’re so in love it’s embarrassing.”

“Yes, well…” He’d let Christian have his amusement.

“Do you want my advice?” Christian asked, but then continued on without waiting for an answer. “Marry her and get it over with.”

“I really wish it were that simple.” Thomas had a very real longing to discuss the situation with his best friend and long-time confidant. He and Christian had shared everything important in their lives since they were young men. It saddened him that he couldn’t really talk about the surprising and fantastic new lady in his life.

Christian took a handful of grapes and popped one in his mouth. “So? What’s so complicated? You’re an earl, for God’s sake. What father is going to refuse you?”

“You might be surprised,” Thomas muttered. He rose from his chair and walked around the room. He passed by the table with the brandy and considered some more liquid courage but decided against it. If he was going to broach this subject with Christian, he was going to need all of his faculties. Besides, his friend was right. He’d drunk enough already. Instead he poured himself a cup of black coffee and grabbed a roll from the tray of food.

“Do I know this lady? If you’re so concerned, maybe I know her father and can have some influence for you.”

Thomas swallowed hard. Here was his moment. All he had to do was open his mouth and Francesca’s name would come tumbling out. The agony would be over. Either Christian would kill him on the spot, or he would grudgingly accept the inevitable.