The Wallflower’s Absolutely Risky Rendezvous (The Notorious Briarwoods #19)

Chapter 1

London

Heron House

Perseus Briarwood loved to sweat.

In his opinion, it really was the best medicine for the winter months after Christmas.

The Briarwood family had a long tradition, because of his father, Zephyr’s, aversion to winter, of spending the first weeks after the Twelve Days of Christmas upon the Isle of Wight.

The weather was better.

It was less rainy.

It was a trifle warmer, and one might survive the doom and gloom of the first months of an English winter with a bit more cheer.

The family had built a house on the island and loved spending time there. But Perseus loved entertainment. And while the family could be quite entertaining, he had hungered for the excitement of London, as did Deimos, his cousin.

The two young men had returned with the family in tow about a month after the holiday break, ready to take part in the Season, which was now in full swing.

His Uncle Leander, the Duke of Westleigh, was already hard at work in Parliament.

Now, to ensure that Perseus stayed good, strong, alive, and fit during the bleakest months of the year, he and Deimos grappled in the salon next to the library at Heron House.

It was quite possible that his Aunt Mercy and his grandmama would murder them, but at present, it really was the best location.

The usual area they used was being remodeled by Laertes to provide a better dueling strip.

The whole family had taken up an interest in dueling with rapiers as of late.

And outdoors, at present, was out of the question.

He and Deimos had pushed aside the gilded chairs and tables. Overhead, the most beautiful of murals hung, and the frothy surroundings of pastel colors was a boon to the soul, given the rain slashing down outside.

In all truth, most Briarwoods preferred to be out of doors riding horses, taking long walks, swimming in the river, or doing some such activity. But when the rain was so intense outside, one had to find ways of making do indoors.

Most of the Briarwoods were highly energetic, and if they didn’t get their exercise in, after too much time, they all started to cause trouble.

No one really wanted to see the Briarwoods causing that kind of trouble. So, it really was best that he and Deimos were putting the porcelain at potential risk.

Now, Hartigan Mulvaney and the Irishman’s good friend, George Hawkins, were demonstrating Westmorland wrestling techniques.

Hartigan, of course, was a master at the sort of fighting that went to the ground, but the truth was Deimos and Perseus had got it in their heads that it would be an excellent idea to learn to wrestle like the Greeks.

There were no ancient Greeks living at present, of course, and so they could not entirely impersonate the imagery upon the Grecian vases that populated the family abode at Heron House.

So they did the next best thing: Westmorland wrestling.

While Hartigan, of course, espoused a style of fighting that had no rules except don’t kill your fighting partner unless absolutely necessary, Westmorland wrestling did actually have rules, and Perseus and Deimos were delighted to be learning them.

He gazed at his cousin. His cousin gazed back at him.

They circled each other, arms out, ready to grapple each other and take the other man down.

They were both young. They were both strong.

They had gone to university. They had trained with Hartigan.

Both of them were excellent with the sword, masterful upon a horse, and quite exemplary with a pistol.

They also knew how to box, but neither of them was particularly interested in the gentleman’s sport of boxing. They preferred to get down in the dirt, and right now Perseus wanted to be down upon the carpet, rubbing his cousin’s face in it.

Hartigan stood a few feet away, arms over his chest while George Hawkins mouthed advice from the side.

George, like Hartigan, was not a big man.

There seemed to be something said for compact fellows teaching the martial arts.

They had a tenacity that taller gentlemen sometimes did not have.

Some might argue it was the whole idea of a small dog being quite loud.

But with these two gentlemen, the bark came with a ferocious bite.

He would not want to face either of them in a dark alley or in a county fair. Hawkins was a professional fighter.

Deimos darted to the right, his weight splayed over his feet, and then he went for Perseus’s waist. Perseus grappled for him, but he couldn’t get a hold as he let out a laugh.

Deimos was as slippery as a fish. Both of them were bare-chested, dressed only in their breeches and shoes, ready to do the work necessary when trained by the best.

Exhilaration was necessary for both of them to thrive.

Excitement was important because if one did not push oneself to the brink in such times, Perseus knew that one could end up in their bed all day. He had seen it a few times amongst his cousins and uncles. He had even experienced it himself.

But he did not allow such things any longer. No. He knew the danger of succumbing to blankets and bed. One would then descend into the dreary chaos of eating in one’s bed and never getting up. He could not allow such a thing. No, no. He needed to pulse with life and pulse he did.

He circled his cousin, evaded his grasp, went in, and grabbed him about the neck, trying to pin him under his armpit. George Hawkins let out a cheer and, in his rough Yorkshire accent, urged, “That’s it, Perseus. Now use your leverage, lad. Wheel him about.”

And he did exactly as he was told.

Just as he wheeled Deimos slightly to the right, his cousin’s head locked under his arm, he caught sight of something quite astonishing between the door and its frame.

The door was open about eight inches and right there in that parting, he glimpsed the most intriguing sight.

A young lady.

And a lady she most definitely was.

In the flash of a moment, he took her in.

Her hair, soft and lush, was coiled atop her head, spooling about her face in the most delicious of ringlets.

Her eyes were wide. Her lips were parted.

Her cheeks were pink with color. Her dress was quite prim.

The sort of thing a young lady wore when she was determined not to be overly exciting, but extremely practical.

And yet she appeared quite taken with the sight before her.

She was not a classical beauty. Not by any means, but he could not tear his eyes from her.

He could tell from the color upon her cheeks and the way her breath was coming that she was as fascinated by the wrestling as he was by her.

He felt this in all but a few seconds, though it felt as if a whole lifetime passed with that look. And he couldn’t resist.

He winked at her.

He thought it delightful that the young lady had paused to witness the pursuits of the gentlemen. Half of him felt like calling out to her to join them. After all, George Hawkins trained the lady fighters of the county fairs.

But when he winked at her and grinned, ready to call her in to be merry with them, her eyes flared wide, she jolted back, and she slammed the door shut.

Oddly, he felt suddenly bereft. And he laughed at the foolishness of that sharp feeling that swept over him.

It was a mistake, this laughter, this winking, because Deimos managed to weasel his way out from Perseus’s hold, grab him by the waist in turn, pull him up, and slam him down.

Perseus let out a groan. “Yield,” he called. “Yield.”

“Good,” Deimos said.

“What the blazes happened, lad?” Hawkins demanded, clearly amazed. His hard face, which had most certainly known several batterings, stared back at him with dismay. “You had him.”

“I was distracted,” Perseus said honestly.

Mulvaney snorted.

Hawkins let out a sigh. “What the devil did you see? Your entire demeanor changed.”

Perseus grinned at his own teacher now, refusing to be dismayed. Life had to be laughed at. If one did not, one would sob and lament every damned day. “A lady.”

Hartigan Mulvaney let out a groan. “Dear God, man, you can’t be shaken in your boots by a lady.”

Perseus stretched his neck, causing it to pop, before he returned, “You should have seen the lady. She was most intriguing.”

“Is she out in the hall?” Mulvaney drawled, his brow furrowing. “We should bring her in so that you can develop an inoculated experience and do not have such a thing happen to you again. Can’t be getting taken off your feet, young man, by a lady’s presence.”

Perseus laughed again, relieved he could do so. “That’s rich. I think most of the men in this family have been taken off their feet by a lady’s presence.”

“Not me,” Deimos said brightly as he grabbed his linen shirt from the chair to his left and tugged it over his head. “Far too practical. I understand that everyone in this family is a lovesick fool, but it shall not be me. Not for years. A decade for sure.”

Perseus tsked. “Oh, I think it shall be less than that.” He strode to the pitcher of water, poured himself a good bit into a crystal glass, and drank deeply.

George Hawkins swung his gaze between both young men. “Are you sure I couldn’t arrange a prize fight to display you both? Everyone would attend. It would be the social event of the Season.”

Perseus shook his head. “Grandmama would adore it, but I think it is the wrong thing to do.”

“Why?” Hawkins asked. “It would be devilish exciting. Carlton House would love it.”

He scowled.

Carlton House was a damned pain in the rump, in his opinion. Sometimes, there were delightful and fascinating people there, but as of late, he’d begun to find that society was becoming quite prim.

Sometimes he wished that he had lived when his uncles were young bucks on the town.

It seemed as if they had had a great deal more freedom.

Women had had a great deal more freedom twenty years ago too, from what he could tell by the way his aunts behaved, but now everyone seemed to be in a moral twist.

Books were tamer. Plays were becoming sentimental. And everyone seemed interested in keeping everyone else in line.

Deimos shoved his hand through his thick, dark hair, joined him, and poured out a glass of water for himself.

“Should be brandy,” Deimos said.

“No, it shouldn’t. It’s too early,” Perseus said.

“Is it ever too early for brandy?” Deimos asked.

Perseus rolled his eyes. “You only say that because you’re a young rake on the town. Too much brandy makes you look old.”

“Thank God I’m quite young.”

Hawkins and Mulvaney exchanged glances.

“You’re both about two years old,” said Hartigan, who could say just about anything, since he’d known both of their parents long before either Deimos or Perseus had been born.

“Infants?” Perseus scoffed. “You’re comparing us to infants, Mulvaney?”

“Oh, indeed, Perseus,” Mulvaney said, fingering his chin. “If you can be so easily distracted, you are not yet ready to enter the pantheon of great fighters. You are still an infant.”

Perseus snorted. “I’ve read The Iliad, you know, and The Odyssey. You’ve heard of sirens, haven’t you? You’ve heard of the way those gents got. Those great fighters were easily distracted by—”

Mulvaney’s browse rose. “Forgive me, young prince, I have not had such a rich education as you. But, of course, you’re right. Men are ever controlled by their desire for the ladies, whether they wish to admit it or not.”

“Even you, Mulvaney?” Deimos asked, shoving his dark locks back from his forehead. “Do you have a lovely lady in your life?”

Mulvaney began to laugh. “None of your business, young pup.”

“That’s a yes,” Perseus said, waggling his brows. “Do you think we could invite her to tea? I think we’d all love to meet her.”

Hawkins rolled his eyes. “I don’t think Mulvaney will ever let you near her. You’re too charming by half and a right difficult scoundrel.”

“You think so?” Perseus asked with exaggerated woundedness. “Alas, dear friend, that you should think me so ill!”

“First of all, my lady would find you to be delicate and not at all to her liking. And think?” countered Mulvaney. “I know so. I saw you wink at that girl.”

“What are you going to do about it?” Deimos asked.

“What?” Perseus queried.

Deimos let out a long-suffering sigh. “The lady.”

“What should I do about it?” Perseus asked.

Mulvaney shook his head. “You’re a devilish young thing, Perseus, and it’s going to get you into trouble.”

“Can I not enjoy a young lady enjoying me?” he demanded without rancor.

“Was she,” Deimos teased, “enjoying you, or was she merely horrified by us wrestling amongst the settees and porcelain vases painted with shepherdesses?”

“You two were knocking each other about,” mused Hawkins.

“Delicate young ladies must be appalled,” Deimos whispered with his own faux horror.

Hawkins tutted. “You should see delicate young ladies baying for blood at a prize fight. They love it.”

“She definitely was intrigued,” Perseus said. “I think she quite liked it. So many young ladies are forced to live boring little lives.”

Then he wondered if perhaps he could help her to have a more exciting one. It was an intriguing thought. Of course, he was making a great assumption about her. But there had been something…mouselike about her, as if she was accustomed to scurrying away when noticed.

Deimos eyed him. “Bloody hell,” he said, “I can see something’s going on in that head of yours.”

Mulvaney crossed to him and clapped Perseus on the back. “Careful. You know the way of being ridiculous with young ladies, don’t you? Unless you want a special license called for, which your family seems to excel at.”

Hawkins folded his arms across his chest. “Everyone knows what will happen if he’s ridiculous with her. It’s always in the papers, you Briarwoods. It’s complete lunacy. You lot are getting married all of the time.”

“Marriage?” Perseus said, his eyes bulging. “Who said anything about marriage? I’m talking about having fun.”

“In your family,” Mulvaney countered, “it’s one and the same.”

“Maybe,” Perseus said. “But perhaps not.”

“Perhaps not. What sad words.” Deimos sighed. “I think it’s time you best get to it, old boy, don’t you? You’re getting quite old.”

Perseus narrowed his eyes. “Old? I’ll show you old.”

Deimos let out a yelp as Perseus charged after him, to the cheers of Mulvaney and Hawkins. He might have lost one round, but he had a good feeling about the next one.