Chapter Seventeen #2
Lawrence tried to unclench the hand which had unconsciously become a fist.
He had to harden his heart, push aside all thoughts of Julia, the life they could have had, the love they shared…
“You’ll really marry me? With nothing for me to offer you?”
“Are you not worth anything?”
“You never said how you found him.”
She should have trusted him, Lawrence thought bitterly as he took another sip of the delicious brandy. The golden amber burned his throat, reminding him he was still alive. But she had not. And he could not have a wife that did not trust him.
“Lawrence?”
“What?” Lawrence said, manners slipping back a little too late. “I beg your pardon?”
Alan was frowning. “I said, you never told me how you found him.”
“Him?”
“Mortimer, you idiot, how much have you drunk?”
Lawrence would not have permitted such callous words from anyone save Alan. Of course, he had kept that part of the story to himself, far too interested in getting the blighter off their hands and into the nearest prison.
Which they had now achieved.
“It was…God, it was pure chance,” Lawrence said, sighing heavily as his shoulders slumped. “I was taking a shortcut—you know, through Grapes Alley—”
Alan raised an eyebrow.
“I know, but I can take care of myself, and there he was. Just walking along it, bold as brass, not even attempting to hide his face,” said Lawrence darkly.
It was a wonder. He almost hadn’t recognized him, so lost in his thoughts had he been.
Lost in thoughts of Julia…
“My word,” whistled Alan. “All that time in the ring and it was a damned alley. I suppose it was difficult to subdue him?”
Lawrence laughed bitterly.
“But you got the better of him,” Alan said gleefully, sipping his drink. “This isn’t so bad, y’know. Anyone with him? Anyone saw you?”
A mere shake of his head would have been enough, but Lawrence found himself saying, “No one bothered us—you know what it’s like in those backstreets, no one wanted any trouble. And when Jules—”
“Julia?”
Too late, Lawrence saw his mistake.
Damnation and devilry, had he really permitted her name to slip from his lips?
It was no surprise, he thought as he shifted uncomfortably in the deep armchair. Her name had been so constantly on his thoughts since their argument, it was a wonder he had not mentioned her before.
“I trust you, Lawrence. At least, I trusted—I thought we had an understanding.”
“Miss Dryden was there?” Alan said, all astonishment. “Blimey, you never mentioned—”
“It wasn’t relevant,” Lawrence snapped.
His brandy glass was empty. How had that happened?
“Not relevant?”
Lawrence sighed. It was all a mess, all of his own making. How had it come to this? How had such affection between them disappeared so swiftly?
Perhaps it was a godsend. If they could not traverse this, perhaps they were not well suited…
“Miss Dryden was there,” Alan pressed. “My word. I admit, I am astonished she would be pleased to see you act in such a way, but then I suppose no man deserved a beating quite like Mortimer. How did you explain it to her?”
Lawrence’s gaze drifted to the window. Wintery sunlight, no, spring sunlight he supposed, soared through it, illuminating the remaining liquor in Alan’s glass.
He should lie. It would be easier that way, less painful. But it wasn’t his way.
With every moment that he spent returned to his name, to his life, to himself, it became harder and harder to act with the impunity he had enjoyed as an anonymous man in the shadows.
He had to face what he had done.
“I didn’t,” Lawrence said heavily. “Our engagement—”
Alan choked on his brandy. “Engagement!”
“—is at an end,” finished Lawrence.
They sat in silence as bitter regrets tore through his heart. It was not as though he could have done anything different. How could he have just explained, in the middle of an alley, what Mortimer had done?
Besides, it was a secret—a royal secret. The government would not have appreciated him gossiping about spies in the middle of an alley!
Lawrence shifted again. It was a poor excuse, but it was the only one he had.
“You,” Alan said succinctly, “are an idiot.”
Lawrence’s head snapped up. “I beg your—”
“A complete fool,” his companion reiterated, fixing him with a furious glare. “You maniac, you mean to tell me that you had Miss Julia Dryden committed to you, willing to marry you—a poor boxer with nothing to your name, for all she knew—and you let her get away?”
Lawrence’s eyes were wide, trying to take in his friend’s words. “Y-You were the one—you said…you always acted as though you thought I was too good for her!”
Alan snorted. A few heads further down the Japan Room turned at the uncouth sound. “Did I ever say that?”
Lawrence wracked his brains hastily, but the brandy had done its work, and it was becoming harder to focus. “No, but—”
“You idiot,” said Alan companionably. “I thought she was too good for you! Too good a distraction, you nincompoop.”
The room appeared to be spinning, but this, Lawrence knew, could not be blamed on the brandy. No, everything he had assumed about Alan’s gruff approach to the beautiful lady who had walked into his life now had to be readjusted.
Too good for him?
“Look, it’s as simple as this, and I am astonished I am having to explain it to a toff like you,” Alan said heavily, leaning forward, as though he was about to explain a delicate piece of footwork.
Despite himself, Lawrence leaned forward, his heart skipping a beat. He shouldn’t really indulge this desire to talk about Julia anymore—she was gone from his life—but he couldn’t help it.
Just a few more minutes…
Alan fixed him with a beady eye. “Look. We had a job to do. She was a distraction, a major distraction, and if there’s one thing you cannot have in boxing, it’s a distraction.”
Lawrence grunted his agreement. That was how men lost an eye.
“But you think I would have advised you away from her if we didn’t have that brute to find?” Alan shook his head. “The moment you caught Mortimer you were free, free of the lies, the cover you had lived under…but in that moment, you chose your cover, not her.”
It was hardly the most refined argument Lawrence had ever heard, but it did not need to be.
“The moment you caught Mortimer you were free, free of the lies, the cover you had lived under…but in that moment, you chose your cover, not her.”
Oh, hell. He was right.
It had been the perfect time to explain—when his brother’s killer was unconscious before him and he was free, free to be himself, to be the Duke of Penshaw.
But what had he done? Shouted, berated her for not trusting him when she did not know Mortimer from Adam, and then…
“Mr. Madgwick, please consider this engagement to be at an end.”
Lawrence swallowed. He had just stood there, staring at the woman who made his whole body cry out, and said nothing.
“I am a fool,” he croaked.
“Knew you’d come round to my way of thinking,” said Alan smartly, leaning back in his chair.
“Come on, Penshaw. There’ll always be brigands, rogues, brutes.
There’ll always be blaggards, criminals to hunt down, whether you join me in it or not.
But there won’t,” he said emphatically, waving a finger, “always be great women. Women like Miss Julia Dryden, for starters.”
Lawrence dropped his head in his hands. “I am an idiot.”
There was a snort of laughter from Alan. “That’s what I’ve been saying!”