Chapter 10
“That was quite a night, wasn’t it?” the Duke of Rivers drawled.
Adam looked over at his younger brother, Philip, who had graduated from Oxford this year and was having a damned good time in London, and arched a brow.
What the bloody hell was the Duke of Rivers doing at the boxing club this early in the morning?
“It was indeed a marvelous party, Rivers. Thank you for inviting me and arranging for Lady Larkin and her daughter to attend.”
Rivers cocked his head to the side and drawled, “Well, yes, but you should have seen the way the Larkins departed.”
Rivers took off his long coat, slung it on the bench, and looked at the rather full boxing gymnasium.
Philip laughed, which turned to a snort.
Adam gave him a sharp look. “The Larkins are wonderful people,” he said. “I’m sure I can find a way to make amends for any difficulty that I might have caused last night.”
“Lady Larkin looked as if she had drunk a bucket of flat champagne,” Rivers said.
“Flat champagne can’t possibly be the worst thing in the world to drink,” Philip said. “I think I’ve certainly drunk worse.”
“That’s because you’re twenty years old,” Adam drawled at his brother Philip. “And twenty-year-olds are willing to drink anything.”
“That’s not true,” Philip retorted. “A bad red is a sin against the gods.”
There was a loud slamming sound from the other side of the hall, and all three men swung their gazes in that direction.
“Good God. It looks like the Earl of Seaborough is going to beat that ball to death.”
The Earl of Seaborough’s fists were pummeling the boxing bag at such a fearsome rate that it seemed it might explode.
“Yes, well, I would too if I was the Earl of Seaborough,” Rivers drawled. “Things haven’t been going particularly well for him lately, have they?”
The Duke of Rivers strolled over and clapped the earl on the back. “You’ve got to stop going into closets with married ladies, Seaborough. You’re going to end up in the newssheets in a criminal conversation case.”
Seaborough paused, sweat glistening in his hair and on his muscled chest. “Look, I like going into closets with ladies. They always smile and blow me kisses when we’re done. It’s the husbands I can’t stand,” he said as he lowered his fists. “But they don’t even know where their own closets are.”
Seaborough turned to the duke. “Rivers, what the bloody hell are you doing here?”
“I heard you’re looking for a wife,” Rivers declared grandly.
The earl’s brows shot up towards his thick hair. “And that brought you here?”
“Not a bit of it, but I spotted you, and the Duke of Westfort is also looking for a wife. I thought the two of you could commiserate over the hunt. But if you are looking for a wife, you should probably stop going into closets.”
“I don’t see why,” Seaborough said. “That makes life more interesting, doesn’t it?”
“Ooh, you’re one of those,” Westfort said.
“And what’s one of those?” the Earl of Seaborough queried.
“A real rake.”
The earl smiled a wolfish grin. “No one should be a fake rake,” he said. “Life is too short. If you’re going to enjoy ladies, you really should enjoy them. As opposed to you, who seems to have no idea how to enjoy his life.”
Adam narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me,” he said. “I know how to enjoy my life perfectly well.”
The earl rolled his eyes, turned back to the punching bag, and appeared to annihilate it.
Rivers let out a note of frustration. “Gentlemen, gentlemen, now we don’t need to argue about who is the most fun amongst us. Clearly, that’s Philip.”
Philip winked. “And that’s because I don’t have a very important title, so I can do whatever the bloody hell I like. The rest of you are bound by the needs to procreate and to populate the species, whereas I could go be an actor if I wanted.”
“If you went and became an actor, Mother would swallow poison,” Adam pointed out.
Philip folded his arms across his muscled chest. “She would never swallow poison. She likes herself too well.”
The Duke of Rivers coughed. “Well, I’m glad to know that she loves life.”
“I wouldn’t put it that way,” Philip said.
And just as they were about to turn to the ring, another man strode into the gym. Viscount Skyburn. A tall, vital man who was notorious for turning men to ribbons in debate and racing horses as if the devil was at his back.
“Skyburn,” Adam called. “What the bloody hell are you doing here?”
Skyburn pulled off his gloves and threw them onto a bench. “I was given a strange note and told that I should come here because if I didn’t, I would regret it, which seems rather odd. But it was from my mistress, and so I thought that was a good reason to show up.”
Then the viscount turned to the earl. “You didn’t give it to her, did you? Do I need to worry about that sort of thing? Are you going to sneak over to see her while I’m here?”
“I would never ever poach another man’s mistress,” the earl said, clearly offended. “That goes far beyond the pale.”
“Glad to hear it,” Skyburn returned. “Otherwise, I’d have to call you out tomorrow morning.”
The earl waggled his brows. “I like pistols better than I like boxing.”
“Who says it would be pistols?” the viscount retorted. “I would pin you through and through with my rapier. You would become as flowing as a teapot. Your blood would be all over your shirt.”
“Gentlemen,” Rivers called, raising his hands as if he had entered a nursery that was out of control. “There is really no need to discuss this. So much blood is really quite off-putting so early in the morning.”
“Didn’t know you were so fastidious,” Westfort observed, but then he thought of Agatha and her assertion that men were often like two-year-olds.
At this moment, he rather feared she was right.
“Now, what the bloody hell are we doing here? Having a committee meeting or boxing? And it’s a bit odd that we are all here at once, isn’t it?”
Rivers cleared his throat. “It’s the newest, most wonderful boxing gym in town. And the fellow who owned it sent out a great many notes to the ladies, urging them to convince their gentlemen to go and get fit, don’t you know?”
Philip nodded. “That’s why I brought you here, brother. My favorite opera dancer told me that if I wanted to stay in her good graces that I should get myself down here and make sure that I had the stamina to keep her happy.”
The Earl of Seaborough let out a belt of a laugh. “You see, the ladies know what they want and know how to make it happen.”
Rivers nodded. “There you go.”
Westfort cocked his head to the side. “You too, Rivers? A lady convinced you to come here?”
“Oh yes, absolutely,” Rivers rushed, the big man readying himself to box.
“I didn’t know you were the type that had mistresses,” said Seaborough, suddenly curious.
“I’ve taken up one just recently,” Rivers replied, rolling up his shirt sleeves. “A very clever lady. Very interesting. I love to talk to her.”
“You love to talk to her?” the earl said with the roll of his eyes. “I do think you might be doing it wrong, Rivers, if what you do is talk to her.”
Rivers tsked. “Ladies love to be talked to. It’s a phenomenal form of seduction.”
The viscount nodded. “It’s actually true. So if you’re missing out on the talking, Seaborough, you might want to rethink your own plan.”
“Oh no,” the earl declared. “I have figured out how to avoid talking to ladies. They absolutely adore poetry, and I’m quite good at reciting it. I studied with John Cooke.”
“Oh,” Rivers said. “An actor, is it?”
“Of course, they know what to do with verse,” said Seaborough as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “But I do believe that having a good supply of verse is one of the wisest things a gentleman can do.”
“I don’t know,” Skyburn ventured as he eyed the ring, clearly eager to get in it. He had the energy of a greyhound. “I think that ladies can be quite put off by poetry. They want to know that you’re actually talking to them.”
The earl narrowed his gaze. “Why would I talk to them? I certainly don’t want them to listen to me. I’m there to show them a very good time.”
“Oh God, you really are one of those,” Westfort groaned.
“I’ll show you what one of those can do,” Seaborough lilted with a wink.
The truth was Seaborough was a man who did love ladies. He, just like so many Englishmen, had never been taught how to talk about anything other than the weather and Greek translations of The Odyssey.
And there was a rumor that Seaborough had arranged for more than one horrible husband to find himself in a dangerous situation in an alley.
Westfort raised his hands in supplication. “I’m just here to get in a bit of exercise before the positive debacle that’s about to happen in my salon this afternoon. My mother has invited people to tea, and I have to be there, and it will be on par with any drama in Covent Garden.”
The Duke of Rivers blinked and examined his nails. “Oh, who’s coming to tea?”
He snorted. “I’m sure you have already guessed.”
“The Allens, is it?” the Duke of Rivers queried.
“Yes, Lady Allen. And then Lady Larkin.”
“Booking them back-to-back, is it?” Skyburn said, his lips twitching.
“Oh, that business with Miss Allen is already the talk of the town,” said the earl.
“I thought you didn’t like to talk,” Westfort replied.
“I don’t like to talk. But I do like to listen. That’s what ladies want even more than poetry. And when I hear gossip, how can I resist?”
“I thought the ladies were the ones who liked to gossip,” put in Viscount Skyburn.
Philip grabbed hold of the rope that lined one of rings. “Gentlemen are the gossipiest group of fools that I have ever encountered. Ladies have nothing on the way gentlemen like to gossip.” Philip grinned. “We just dress it up with prancing about, waving our swords, or, of course, our fists.”
The earl stared at him for a moment as if he was trying to discern exactly what Philip meant, but then he shrugged and turned back to Adam.
“Yes, everybody knows that you made quite a scene last night by asking Miss Allen to dance. Rumors have it that the two of you were not even introduced. So what was it, Your Grace? Were you absolutely lovestruck at the sight of her?”
“She’s not a diamond, and she’s certainly not one of the most eligible ladies of the Season,” the viscount put in.
“She doesn’t need to be eligible, and she doesn’t need to be a diamond, but if you had seen what I had seen?” Westfort couldn’t stop himself from smiling before he shook himself. “Well, really this is none of your business,” he said suddenly.
Rivers folded his arms across his chest. “Clearly, it’s mine. It happened in my house, and I’m the one who’s going to have to deal with the Larkins.”
“That’s not true. I’m going to have to deal with the Larkins,” Westfort said. “Or my mother will, and she’s a master at dealing with such things.”
“Mothers,” the earl shuddered. “Is she going to let you live this down, or will she possibly poison you in your sleep and make Philip the duke?”
Philip’s eyes widened to the size of twin plates. “She wouldn’t do it, would she?”
Adam let out a laugh. “She’s not that bloodthirsty.”
Philip let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God. The very idea of me having to be a duke is the most awful thing in the entire world.”
Westfort smiled. He understood. It’s why he’d tried to warn Agatha.
Philip loved life, and he was good at loving life, and there was no way he was ever going to settle down to all the jobs that a duke must face.
“Right then,” Westfort said. “Come along, Seaborough, my fist itches to meet your face.”
Seaborough tsked as he climbed into the ring. “All talk.”
Rivers smiled and clapped his hands together. “Well, this is splendid. I think we should start a multi-weekly session, don’t you?”
“Multi-weekly,” echoed Skyburn.
“Every day?” put in Rivers, his voice surprisingly hopeful.
Was the man lonely? That had to be it. Rivers was notoriously odd and renowned for spending time alone.
Had he arranged all this?
No. It was a ridiculous thought. He never would have sent notes to all the mistresses of the ton.
Seaborough flexed his fists. “Every day? I love it. I’m sure we could make a competition out of it.”
“Does everything need to be a competition?” Philip asked.
“Oh, it does,” assured the earl.
“Life is a competition,” the viscount replied.
Westfort grinned. “So who’s going to knock out who first?”