Chapter Sixteen
Tossing the slapping, growling Frances Valentine over his shoulder had filled Edward with a twisted thrill.
He’d never been one for aggressive, angry bed sport, and bondage had never before held appeal.
He preferred slow, sensual lovemaking with appreciative women whose bodies were free to writhe as they screamed his name while coming apart beneath him.
But God Almighty, what he wouldn’t do to tie this woman to a headboard as she hissed and kicked and called him every blasphemy known to man.
Then, he could taunt her with touches, and kisses, and licks, until she begged him for release.
Upon reflection, being that close to Franny had been a mistake.
Her little fists pounding on his back, as his palms cradled the curve where her thighs met her arse had heated his blood to the boiling point.
And now he needed to get himself under control since waddling into The Purple Rabbit with a cockstand would not do.
He put her down but kept his hands on her shoulders just in case he needed to push her away.
Since they might need to make a quick exit, he studied the visible doors and windows of the purple building in front of them as she struggled, then let her go and said in the most authoritative voice he could muster, “Miss Valentine, please control your temper this time. I do not want to drag you out of a gaming hell.”
Even as he spoke, his salacious side mocked him, reminding him of the wanton things he wanted to do to this woman.
Apparently chastened, Franny rested her hands on her hips and lifted her chin. “If you ever do that to me again, I will… Well, I will…”
This was new—Frances Valentine rendered bereft of threats.
“You will what?” he asked, knowing full well he was baiting her. Go ahead, beautiful. Please misbehave so that I can tie you to my bed and play in those fire-red curls covering your quim.
Clamping her lips together, she stomped past him and barged into The Purple Rabbit as if she visited gaming hells all of the time. Deciding that her once-frustrating stubbornness had become adorable, he chuckled.
Edward entered the building and fought through the crowd to catch up with Franny. Once again, he found himself heating at her proximity as he leaned close to ask, “Do you see them?”
“No.” She shook her head. A soft strand of her hair that had come unbound brushed his cheek.
“I think there is another room in the back.” Edward inclined his chin toward the exit at the far end of the room.
Turning her back to him, she snaked through the sea of cheroot-smoking men. God Almighty, they’d be lucky if she didn’t catch her hair on fire.
He sighed in relief when Franny and her unsinged locks stepped into a less crowded room where gamblers sat at tables, playing cards.
Many of the men looked up to shower Franny with appreciative glances.
If Edward weren’t an honorable lawman, he’d throttle every one of these fools wearing lascivious grins.
“They aren’t here,” Franny said.
A bald man whose questioning gaze appeared more curious than lecherous approached. “I’m the proprietor, Mister Bunny. Can I help you?” With his round head and tiny eyes, the man looked more like a racoon than a ball of adorable fluff.
“We are looking for Bear and Whale,” Edward said.
Mister Bunny crooked his finger, calling forth a giant of a bloke whose biceps were the size of Edward’s thighs.
Bunny whispered in the man’s ear. His probable henchman nodded and hurried toward a door off to the right side.
The ill-named proprietor focused on Edward to ask, “Why are you looking for them?”
Franny, predictably, had no patience with being ignored. “No need to be so protective. I’m Franny. They want to talk to me. Just ask them.”
Still more curious than lecherous, the man’s gaze raked over Franny.
“I am a… a pugilist,” Franny stuttered, as if the admission pained her.
“What an honor.” Mister Bunny’s cheeks widened in a genuine grin, softening his countenance, making one almost understand how he’d received his moniker. He bowed as if he’d just met the queen. “Fiery Franny! One of the two women responsible for panicking the patriarchy.”
Edward assumed Jabbing Josie must be the other.
Franny tilted her head thoughtfully. “What?” she asked.
Didn’t she realize just how dangerous The Silk Knuckles was to men of power and influence?
Before he could elaborate, Mister Bunny’s large bouncer returned and nodded to his boss.
“Shark will take you to them,” Mister Bunny said.
Edward and Franny fell into step behind the intimidating henchman.
“How did you get the name Shark?” Franny asked.
He peered over his shoulder to flash a pair of sharp silver teeth.
“Huzzah!” Franny exclaimed.
Edward shivered.
Franny should contain her excitement since there was only one reason for a man to have knife-shaped teeth. What in bloody bollocking hell were they willingly walking into?
*
The occasional oil lamp and dozens of sconces lit up the purple-walled cellar of The Purple Rabbit.
An elevated, roped ring sat in the center of the dank room.
Two men who resembled gargoyles sparred in the ring.
One man was lean and quick on his feet. The other had fists the size of elephant feet and looked as if he had eaten too many pork pasties.
“Bear and Whale,” Franny called as she rushed to two men attentively watching the pugilists.
“Fiery Franny,” one of the men said with a grin. “Take a break,” he called to the pugilists in the ring.
The fighters simultaneously dropped their fists and crawled between the ropes.
Edward lost track of them since he was more concerned with the very bruised Bear and Whale.
The one he suspected was Whale held ice on the side of his swollen face.
The one who had greeted Franny stood, and his legs wobbled. He winced and sat.
Franny wrinkled her adorable, freckled nose. “You two look like you had the shite beaten out of you.”
Edward’s thoughts exactly.
“Mayhap you should learn to defend yourselves if you are going to spend time with fighters.” Franny smirked.
Laurels to the woman for her incessant recruiting and astute business sense.
“Damnable heathens,” Bear said. “Think they are better than us because they come from the other end. Got their hands in everything and now they are encroaching on our territory.”
That sounded as if an East End gang and a West End gaming hell were fighting over territory. Edward’s interest piqued.
“Who is he?” Bear pointed at Edward.
“Edward Robinson,” Franny said. “Don’t mess with him. He works for the magistrate.”
Once they were alone, Edward needed to have a serious discussion with Miss Frances Valentine about her loose tongue. She couldn’t announce he was a lawman five seconds after they’d discovered the location of illegal mills.
Whale dropped his ice and leaped from his seat. Shark was instantly in Edward’s space, his massive hand pressing on Edward’s shoulder blade.
Franny seemed to grasp the significance of her mistake because she stepped in front of Edward as if she could protect him from these reprobates.
“Mr. Robinson is only here to ask questions because someone tried to burn down The Silk Knuckles Saloon,” she said, her expression and voice fierce.
“I heard about your little mishap, Fiery Franny. ’Tis quite unfortunate.” Bear’s eyes morphed into angry slits. “But are you accusing us of arson?”
Franny met his fury and substantially raised him. “Should we be accusing you?”
“We had nothing to do with the fire. Why would we try to burn down your gymnasium when we want you to fight for us?”
Franny pressed a finger into Bear’s chest. Meanwhile, Shark’s fingers dug into Edward’s shoulder. At least the henchman wasn’t using his teeth—yet.
“Mayhap you think that if we don’t have our gymnasium, we might be more inclined to come fight for you,” Franny said, her chin bobbing with attitude.
Did she seriously think she could bob and weave her way out of this situation? If she did not calm down, she would get them both killed. Inwardly moaning, Edward reviewed his battle plan.
If he pivoted to the side, Shark would probably turn with him.
He could grasp Shark’s arm, quickly bend forward, and toss the beast over his shoulder.
The second Shark crashed to the floor Edward would use the distraction to shove Bear into Whale.
If he were lucky, they’d fall like dominoes.
If he were unlucky, Shark would remove a chunk of his ankle before he could withdraw and aim his pistol.
So, the question was, did he feel lucky?
He inwardly sighed. Not particularly. But he might not have any choice because he could not allow these questionable men to harm Franny. Inhaling a large breath, he prepared for battle.