Their Wicked Ways (9 page)

Chapter Ten

Despite his discomfort, Nick
wasn’t displeased as he left Bronte’s.  He had not imagined that Bronte would
be so passionate.  She’d been on fire for him almost from the moment he’d
touched her, responding to him as readily as she had before, perhaps even more
heatedly.  His body, which had barely begun to cool, was instantly rock hard
once more with only the thought of her to sustain him.

With an effort, he turned his
thoughts elsewhere, willing his body to cool down.  His encounter with Bronte
plagued his thoughts throughout the remainder of the day.

Finally, beleaguered almost
beyond bearing, he decided to go out to his club for the evening to find
something to occupy his mind.  Without a great deal of surprise, he found Darcy
already ensconced at the table they generally occupied.  As he arrived, Darcy
flung his hand on the table and got up.

“My luck’s out tonight. 
Think I’ll take a turn outside and try again,” he muttered, departing without
once glancing in Nick’s direction or acknowledging his presence.

One of the men at the table
laughed.  “You know what they say about luck.”

Nick’s eyes narrowed as he
watched Darcy stride from the room.

The game broke up shortly after
Darcy’s departure and the players got up and drifted off.  Nick took a seat,
summoned the waiter to bring him a drink and a new deck of cards and settled
back in his chair, thinking.

As they had all day, his
thoughts drifted to Bronte once more.  His body reacted instantly and he
shifted uncomfortably in his chair, wondering if he should simply give in his
body’s demands and make a trip to his favorite brothel.

His body promptly cooled, and
he frowned, vaguely irritated.  He felt an odd sense of disquiet also, though
he couldn’t quite put his finger on just what it was that was bothering him.

When the waiter had brought
his drink, he sipped it, musing, idly shuffling the cards.  Finally, he decided
the disquiet was centered around Bronte.  He just wasn’t entirely sure why he
felt the uneasiness.  She’d seemed quiet when he’d left her, but he’d felt her
come.  There was certainly nothing unusual about being lethargic afterward.

A couple of his acquaintances
drifted over to the table and suggested a game.

He nodded absently, settling
back in his chair to finish his drink while one of the men went in search of a
fourth.  He returned some time later with Darcy.

Nick glanced up at Darcy as
he took a seat across from him.

Darcy’s gaze skated away.  He
lifted his hand, summoning a waiter, and ordered another round of drinks.

Nick frowned, passing the
deck of cards to the man beside him, who dealt them.  “I haven’t seen you in a
couple of days,” he murmured, his gaze on Darcy.

The two men on either side of
him glanced at him and then at Darcy.  Darcy looked up, a frown on his face. 
“What?”

Nick arched one dark brow. 
“Preoccupied?”

Darcy stared at him blankly
for several moments, a red tide slowly climbing his throat to his cheeks.  He
cleared his throat.  “No.  I just didn’t hear you,” he growled irritably,
focusing on his hand.  He discarded a couple of his cards.  “Two.”

“It’s not your turn.”

“Oh.  What were you saying,
Nick?”

Nick studied him for several
moments feeling an unaccustomed sense of violence invade him.  “I don’t suppose
you’ve seen Bront--Lady Dunmore recently?”

“Saw her this morning.  Why?”
Darcy asked challengingly.

Nick narrowed his gaze on
Darcy.  “What time?” Nick asked coldly.

Darcy shrugged.  “Noonish, I
guess.”

The two men glanced up
quickly at the scrape of Nick’s chair as he rose abruptly.  “If you’ll excuse
us, gentlemen?” Nick murmured, coolly polite.  “Might I have a word with you,
Darcy?”

Darcy’s eyes narrowed. 
“Something private?”

“Precisely.  Outside.”

Darcy led the way.  The
moment he’d cleared the door, he turned on Nick.  “What?”

Nick’s fist slammed into his
face so hard he staggered back several steps.  Regaining his balance, he let
out a roar of rage and charged Nick, catching him around the waist and slamming
him into the back of the building.  Briefly, they tussled before they
separated.

Darcy managed to catch Nick
across the jaw.  The blow jerked his head to one side, throwing him off balance
and out of the path of Darcy’s second flying fist, which struck the wall
instead.

Letting out a growl of rage
and pain, Darcy stepped back, trying to sling feeling into his hand.  Nick
recovered first, slamming his fist into Darcy’s belly hard enough to double him
over.

They’d been slugging it out
for a good fifteen minutes when a whistle sounded close by, entirely too close
for comfort.  They froze, one fist raised, the other grasping a throat.  “The
watch,” Darcy gasped.

Nick swore.  Releasing
Darcy’s throat abruptly, he brushed at his clothing, straightening his jacket
as he strode purposefully toward the gate on the opposite side of the club’s
garden.  Combing his fingers through his hair, Darcy followed him.

They turned to glare at one
another once they were on the street.

“Exactly what the hell was
that all about?”

“Later.  I’d as soon not meet
up with the watch, thank you.”

* * * *

“If you’ll pardon my saying
so, sir, that is tomorrow’s dinner,” Kingsley said as he reached the door and
opened it, thus assured he had a rapid escape if Darcy didn’t take the hint
well.

Darcy raised up far enough to
glare at his manservant through his good eye.  “Then send someone round to the
butcher in the morning for another roast,” he growled irritably.  “Can no one
around here do any damned thing without having to be told?”

Relieved that Darcy had taken
it so well, Kingsley allowed a smile and bowed himself out, deciding not to
point out that, as the master of the household, it was his place to tell
everyone what he wanted done, or at least those servants whose job it was to relay
the message to the lower staff.

Darcy lay back again, but he
realized fairly quickly that he wasn’t going to be able to get comfortable on
the couch.  It was just too damned short.  He sat up again, deciding to go
bed.  His head was pounding. He doubted very much that he’d be able to sleep,
but there didn’t seem to be much point in staying up.

Pulling the slab of raw meat
from his eye, he blinked it a few times to try to get rid of the blurriness and
finally gave up and left the salon, climbing the stairs to his rooms.  His
manservant, he discovered, was in the process of tidying up his room.

Pleased to see the man where
he was needed for once, Darcy sprawled in a chair and summoned him to remove
his boots.

“You will be retiring, sir?”

“I can’t go out looking like
this,” Darcy muttered.

“No, sir,” Kingsley agreed. 
“I’m sure it would distress the ladies.  If I might offer a word of advice?”

“What?” Darcy asked,
wondering if Kingsley knew of something that might relieve the swelling.

“Next time, duck.”

Darcy’s one good eye
narrowed. “Are you trying to be humorous, Kingsley?”

“No, sir.  I have no sense of
humor,” Kingsley said promptly.

“Well, spare me your advice.”

Kingsley nodded and fell
silent.  When he’d helped Darcy into a robe, he hesitated. “You haven’t taken
to boxing the watch?”

“I’m a little old for that
particular form of entertainment.”

Kingsley nodded.  “Perhaps
you should give up boxing?  I must say, it doesn’t seem to be your forte, and
if you’re to be confined to your quarters to nurse a black eye on a weekly
basis you will have some difficulty pursuing that young lady who’s caught your
eye, won’t you, sir?”

Darcy studied him for several
moments.  “How do you know I’m pursuing a young lady?” he finally asked,
curious.

Kingsley smiled thinly.  “Oh,
if you’ll forgive my saying so, sir, I can always tell when you’re on the
hunt.”

“Well, I’m not!”

Kingsley’s brows rose.  He
nodded, forbearing comment.

“At least … this is
different.”

“If you say so, sir.”

“I do say so, damn it!”

“Very good, sir. Will that be
all, then?”

“Yes.  Go away.  Wait!  Have
you got anything for a blinding headache?”

“I believe we have some
laudanum, sir.”

Darcy shuddered.  “Never
mind.  Wait!  Why do we have laudanum?  I never touch the stuff.”

“Your mother suggested it,
sir.”

“In my household?” Darcy
demanded indignantly.

“It was outrageous, sir, but
what else was I to do?”

Darcy made a shooing gesture
at him, looked around and finally made his way to his bed.  “Did someone
rearrange the furniture in here?  I thought the bed was on the other side of
the room.”

“I expect that’s at Mr.
Cain’s lodgings, sir.”

“Oh.”

He discovered when he’d
climbed beneath the covers that the bed wasn’t nearly as comfortable as the one
he was used to.  Sighing irritably, he lay back against the pillows, wondering
what the hell had gotten into Nick lately.  His head was pounding so
ferociously, however, that he found he was having difficulty concentrating.

He wasn’t wrong about being
able to sleep.  Except for the very few times in his life that he’d been sick,
or wounded, he hadn’t been to bed before two or three AM since he’d attained
adulthood and gotten his own rooms.

Several hours passed while he
lay with his eyes closed, holding the meat to his throbbing cheek.  Slowly, the
throbbing in his eye and cheek subsided and the thundering in his skull became
a distant storm.  Climbing out of bed again, he poured him a nightcap and
sprawled in his chair.

Kingsley was right, damn him. 
His face was bound to look worse tomorrow than it did now, which meant he
wasn’t going to be able to stick his nose out for at least a couple of days
unless he wanted to answer some damned uncomfortable questions.  If he hadn’t
known better, he would’ve suspected Nick had done it for just that reason.

He considered that for
several moments and finally decided he could absolve Nick of such an
underhanded trick.  After all, Nick was bound to know he would almost certainly
be in the same boat.

Which meant that Nick hadn’t
spent a lot of time considering the situation.

It was so unlike Nick to act
impulsively that Darcy examined that conclusion for several moments before he
finally decided that he was right.  The fact that Nick had engaged him in a
bout of fisticuffs right outside the club bore that conclusion up.  They hadn’t
done anything like that in years.

But what had put Nick into
such a rage that he hadn’t taken the time to consider his next move?

He’d been distracted.  He
hadn’t really been paying that much attention because he hadn’t been able to
get his mind far from his aching balls or his throbbing cock since he’d visited
Bronte earlier in the day.