Chapter Twenty-Four
Jackson’s face was unmistakable even in the patchy moonlight and as smug as the last time he had seen him. The bastard had changed little over the years. Two big men flanked him. Brutes with enormous fists and mean looks in their eyes.
“Well, well,” Jackson drawled, his voice slick with mockery. “If it isn’t Lord High-and-Mighty Stafford sniffing around where he don’t belong. I’ve been informed that someone has been asking questions about me. Was that you?”
“Don’t belong?” Jamie raised a brow and told himself to stay calm.
He was outnumbered, and not thinking clearly would not help that.
“Come now, one would think, considering you were employed as a housemaster in a prestigious school, you could articulate a sentence correctly, Jackson. It’s where he doesn’t belong.
And, of course, I belong anywhere I choose, because I am a marquess, and you—well, you’re a nobody. ”
Jamie’s body thrummed with rage, but he forced his voice steady. “And I’m sure I’m not the only one hunting you, like the animal you are. There are the many boys you tortured for fun at Blackwood Hall before you were dismissed for stealing.”
Jackson inhaled, the smug look fleeing.
“I know everything there is to know about you, Jackson. The charity school, the girls in the Crimson Serpent, the list goes on,” Jamie said.
“I’ve been watching you and yours too. I know what you’ve been doing,” Jackson snarled. “You don’t scare me, Stafford. You’re a weak-kneed noble, just like you were as a boy at my mercy.” He turned to look at the men with him. “He used to cry like a baby all the time. Pathetic, he was.”
Jamie had known that when the day came that he confronted Jackson, he’d be bombarded by memories, but right then, he couldn’t afford to let them consume him. He had to stay clear headed and focused.
He wants you to get angry.
“Come now, not just any baby, but one of noble birth, unlike you. I walk in society, and sit in the House of Lords, Jackson.” The rage on the man’s face made him smile.
There was no doubt Jackson enjoyed the treatment he’d meted out at Blackwood Hall, but Jamie and his friends believed some of his anger had stemmed from his birth. He’d been jealous of the titles the boys under his care held, and he’d extracted retribution and money from them for his lack of one.
“I don’t need blue blood to be important, Stafford.”
Jamie looked at the buildings around him and then back at Jackson.
“Yes, I can see how important you are by your current lodgings.” The words came out heavily laced with sarcasm.
“Come now, Jackson. We both know it bothers you very much that you’re not one of the elite in London society, and never will be. ”
Jamie assessed the situation as Jackson hissed out an angry breath. If he reached for his gun, they’d be on him in seconds, but he had no other options, other than his fists, and those he would be using after he fired the first shot.
“Were you behind the good men who worked with me in Blackwood Hall ending their days in prison?” Jackson snarled out the words. “My friends,” he added.
“Good men?” Jamie forced out a bark of laughter.
“Do you mean the low-life scum like you who preyed on boys for fun? Men who inflicted pain for some kind of sick and twisted thrill?” The words came out like a low growl of thunder.
“Yes, I harmed your friends and made them pay, and now it’s your turn. ”
“You were a sniveling boy,” Jackson snarled, “and cowed like a baby when I beat you and your friends. You—”
Jamie moved so fast the two men with Jackson didn’t see it. He then punched the man as hard as he could in the face. The satisfying crack of his nose was his last thought as the two brutes were on him seconds later, while Jackson howled in pain and dropped to his knees.
Jamie reached for his gun, but he had no time, as one man lashed out with a fist. This would be a fight for his life.
He swung, punching the man hard in the jaw, but he didn’t go down, just grunted. The second charged, slamming Jamie into the nearest wall. Pain shot through his shoulder, but he shoved him back and drove a punch into his gut.
Then Jackson, who had staggered to his feet, blood pouring from his nose, lunged. Jamie ducked the first blow, landed one to Jackson’s ribs, but he didn’t go down. Short but solid, the man could clearly take a punch.
“I will end you, Stafford, never doubt that now,” Jackson hissed. “Your death will come at my hands—if not now, then soon!”
Two against one became three against one, and Jamie’s body began to take the punishment.
Fists to his gut, knees to his ribs, a brutal swing that split his lip.
He gave as good as he got, but the numbers weren’t in his favor.
He managed to punch Jackson again, and this time he stayed down.
At least he would meet his maker, if that happened, knowing he’d inflicted pain on the man who had given him the same and worse.
Jamie spat blood onto the cobbles as a fist smashed into his stomach, folding him in two. Another cuff caught him behind the ear, sending stars spinning across his vision. He staggered, nearly dropped to his knees.
And then—
“Stop!”
A voice cut through the night like a whipcrack.
All four men turned. Jamie managed to straighten.
Alice stood a few feet from them, cloak thrown back, pistol raised with both hands. Moonlight gleamed off the steel barrel, and her eyes blazed with fury. At her side was a boy.
“Step away from him,” she said, voice ice cold.
For a moment, none of them moved. Then one of the men laughed. “Well, ain’t this a pretty picture? Little lady come to rescue her lord with a mongrel. Put that pistol away, sweetheart, before you hurt yourself.”
“I ain’t no mongrel like you,” the boy said in a hard voice. “You’re scum.”
Alice cocked the pistol with a snap that echoed off the walls and fired as one of the men lunged for the boy. He staggered back, clutching his shoulder, howling in pain.
Jamie pulled his pistol from his pocket. He could barely see as his vision was blurred and his body one big ache.
“Give me that.” Alice took his pistol and handed hers to the boy. She aimed it at the only man still standing. “Now we are leaving, and if you try and follow, I will shoot you as I have your friend.”
Jamie was looking at Alice, but when he turned back, it was in time to see Jackson fleeing, throwing over his shoulder the words, “You’ll die at my hand soon, Stafford!”
“Damn,” he muttered, knowing there was no chance he could follow in his current condition.
“We will get him, but now we are leaving,” Alice said in a cool, clear voice. “Can you walk, my lord?”
“Aye,” was all Jamie could manage. “You go first, Alice.”
If the man decided to come at them for retribution, it would be through Jamie, even if his body was one large ache, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be standing. He’d been in pain before, and this was no different.
“Foolish men,” she muttered as one of the thugs hoisted his friend over his shoulder and disappeared into the darkness behind Jackson.
“Alice,” he rasped. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“You’re welcome,” she said tartly, though he noted her hands trembled as she lowered the pistol. “Now, can you walk or not?”
“Of course, I can walk,” Jamie said, straightening, only to wince as pain lanced through his ribs. “Mostly.”
“Mostly will not do.” She slipped an arm around his waist, ignoring his protests. “Take his other side, Bobby.”
The boy moved and slid an arm around Jamie’s back.
“Come on. Hackney’s waiting.”
“I don’t need—”
“Do not finish that sentence,” she snapped, hauling his weight with surprising strength. “You’ll only embarrass yourself.”
Jamie gave a hoarse laugh, then groaned. Together they stumbled down the lane. Alice helped support him, pistol still clutched in her free hand. Jamie cursed under his breath with every jolt, but he let her guide him.
The hackney driver’s eyes went wide as they approached. “Good Lord!”
Between her and the boy, they got Jamie inside. He slumped against the seat, breath ragged, face bruised, blood trickling from a cut above his eye. Alice climbed in beside him.
“You too, Bobby.”
“I’ll make me own way.”
“No, you won’t. Get in this carriage at once.”
The boy looked from her to Jamie. “I’ll sit with him.” He pointed upward, which Jamie thought meant the driver.
“Give the driver my address,” Alice said.
The hackney lurched forward seconds later, and they were rolling away from Well Yard.
Inside, silence stretched, broken only by Jamie’s uneven breathing. Finally, he turned his head, swollen lip quirking in a faint smile. “Alice Smythe, my savior. You’ll never let me live this down, will you?”
She glared at him, though her eyes shone suspiciously. “Not in a thousand years.”
“Good.” He let his eyes close, exhaustion dragging him under. “Then perhaps you’ll finally stop ignoring my notes. But just so you know, I will be yelling at you for the reckless risk you took tonight when I can…yell, that is.” Jamie hurt everywhere.
“I believe I have told you already, you have no say in what I do, Lord Stafford.” She took a handkerchief out of her pocket and pressed it to his lip.
“If I apologize again for my high-handed behavior, will you this time forgive me?” Jamie’s words were muffled by the cotton.
“We shall see,” was all she said, and for now it was enough. Jamie sat back and closed his eyes and tried not to think about the fact Jackson had escaped him, but he wasn’t as angry as he should be, because Alice was here with him.