Chapter 21
Charles
Thursday
The sun shines brightly outside my study window. Too brightly. Desperation claws at my insides, and I find it rather rude that the weather has chosen not to mirror my dour disposition.
I flip through the correspondence from this morning to reveal nothing spectacular. A ball here. A meeting there. Nothing of import. Nothing to reveal any nefarious nature of the man I’m about to spar with today.
Leaning back in my chair, I sip on my coffee, staring at the dying fire. No missive from the blackmailer today either. Whatever shall I do with myself. Perhaps they’ve grown bored with taunting me and decided to pursue someone else to torment.
Thursday. Just a handful of days before the final banns.
It eats at me, slicing through me until I try yet fail to capture a full breath.
I should have uncovered something by now.
I should have been able to stand up last Sunday and declare before Cynthia and the Ton that Henhaven was not a worthy match.
But I couldn’t. I sat there, impotent, as the man asked if anyone saw cause for them not to be married. And then the bastard purred for her. Stood behind her and gave her the comfort I couldn’t.
Even now, the rage simmers below the surface, begging to come out. I wanted to throttle him there. I wanted to grab him by the front of his shirt and drag him down the aisle before the congregation and demand he confess whatever sins lie at his feet that would allow Cynthia and me to marry.
Hell, even a string of dead wives would have been at least something that could have caused concern, but so far, even that’s turned up with nothing. Not that dead wives really stopped anyone. Just ask Lewis’s wife.
Rubbing a hand over my face, I glance at the clock. Two hours before I have to be at Jackson’s. Whatever shall I do in the meantime?
Though it’s never truly too early to go to the Rose and Thorne, I refuse to be inebriated before the match. That, and no woman there holds any sway over me.
Before I can figure out an occupation, a loud rap sounds at my door. The footman enters, his face a touch ragged. That can only mean one of two things. Either my sisters have descended upon him, or my friends have.
Based on the masculine laughs coming down the hall, I no longer have to guess which. One by one, the footman announces the dukes, following up with Lewis at the end. They slide in, identical smiles on their smug faces.
“What the devil do you lot want?” I grumble under my breath as I make a grand show of organizing my papers.
“What does any Alpha really want?” Benedict asks, his grin growing even wider. “A lady to bed in the most diabolical way ever.”
They laugh, but it rings hollow from Lewis and Robert. Those two always were the most rigid of us. Makes sense they would not wish to make ribald jokes at their mates’ expenses.
“And yet,” I murmur to Benedict, “you’re here in my study. Has your eyesight grown so dim as to think I’m such a lady that can bed you? Try it. I can assure you that you will not like the outcome.”
William slides closer to the desk. “I’m sure if he’s given enough alcohol, you can look like a bonny lass.” Then he looks me up and down again. “A keg or two, maybe four, should do it?”
“I see. I am only pretty to Benedict when he is passed out?”
Lewis stifles a chuckle. “Are you disappointed that he does not find you attractive?”
My tone is cool and clipped when I answer him. “Not in the slightest.” Though I am willing to make absurd conversation with my friends, Lewis is currently not among that lot. Until he and I eventually have it out, I consider him an acquaintance and nothing more.
“Come,” William persists. “You are not preparing yourself. What if Henhaven is a formidable foe?”
At that, I can’t help the bark of laughter that rips from my throat. “Him? Formidable? He’s one polished buckle away from being a fop.”
Lewis crosses his arms. “Do not underestimate fops. They could be putting on airs for appearance’s sake.”
“Not everyone is conniving and slippery like you,” I hiss. The others look between us, their gazes uneasy.
“And not everyone is a stubborn arse like you,” he says back.
“If you’ll allow me to be so rude, I must bid you all a good day. I have matters to attend to at White’s before I meet Henhaven at Jackson’s.”
The others laugh and follow me out, not giving me an ounce of space to think or even breathe. I certainly don’t have to go to White’s, but I do need an occupation that’s not reliant on my friends occupying the very air I take into my lungs.
As I mount Erebus, the others take to their horses, still talking and laughing amongst themselves. Even between them, they lay friendly bets on who will win and who will lose. Thankfully, my brother seems to understand the nature of this spar and has rightfully put his bet on me.
By the time I reach White’s, my heart pounds in my chest. It’s been several days since I’ve actually checked the betting books, so there might be a new entry of note.
I meant to check yesterday while I was there, but found myself too preoccupied with that farce of a handwriting experiment that ended with no new information.
As I stride to the back, the others, thankfully, stay behind. There are several new entries, but that is to be expected. The Ton thrives on games, and they seem especially enamored with placing bets on any little thing that strikes their fancy.
Case in point, I nearly laugh out loud at the first bet that catches my eye.
27th May 1814
Angus Grant, Earl of Loxburn, wagers Jensen Stevens, Earl of Langwike, the sum of five guineas that it will rain Sunday next.
A. Grant J. Stevens
I skim over the rest, just to make sure none of them match the blackmailer. Still no luck. As I read the others, prepared to laugh at the preposterous nature of them, I find that my stomach turns.
29th May 1814
Luke Morris, Baron of Harhall, wagers Aston Wood, Earl of Kinwell, the sum of twenty guineas that the Duke of Norhaven attends the Campbell-Richardson wedding without incident.
L. Morris A. Wood
This one guts like a knife. Can all of London see the desire burning in my soul? Can they truly know the designs I have on the addicting Cynthia?
29th May 1814
Jensen Moore, Marquess of Blackford, wagers Elis Griffiths, Viscount of Oakwell, the sum of thirty guineas that Miss Campbell of Kirden enters her wedding to the Viscount of Henhaven with genuine felicity.
J. Moore E. Griffiths
Genuine felicity… No. If this wedding goes through, I’d wager nearly all my coin that she will cry her way down the aisle. The thought alone makes my blood boil and my vision waver. To know that she will be so miserable if I fail… It’s unconscionable.
Of course, the rest take a turn toward the match I have planned for today. I never expected it to be a secret, but I didn’t expect my friends to get in on the action behind my back. As of this morning, three bets lie on the books, the ink barely dry.
2nd June 1814
Benedict Fortescue, Duke of Portswell, wagers Joseph Harding, Duke of Foxford, the sum of fifteen guineas that the Duke of Norhaven will lose his match to the sprightly Viscount of Henhaven
B. Fortescue J. Harding
2nd June 1814
Robert Dowding, Duke of Blackport, wagers William Dowding, Duke of Birchleigh, the sum of twenty-five guineas that the Duke of Norhaven will, in fact, trounce the unwieldy Viscount of Henhaven.
R. Dowding W. Dowding
2nd June 1814
Lewis Barrington, Duke of Whiteport, wagers Edward Fitzwilliam, Duke of Redleigh, the sum of fifty guineas that the Duke of Norhaven will win in such a fashion that the Viscount of Henhaven will not even get one blow in.
L. Barrington E. Fitzwilliam
That one. That is what I plan to have happen. There is enough rage in me that I doubt he’ll even be able to take one swing. Turning back to the snickering lot, I merely roll my eyes and cross my arms.
They laugh, of course, not fully understanding the nature of this match. It’s not only so I can get out some of this aggression in a way that’s acceptable to the Ton. It’s more so I can find that chink in his armor, that part of him he doesn’t want anyone else to see.
When pressed, a man will reveal his true nature. Only very few can hide it. Lewis being one of them. Henhaven? I highly doubt it. He may put on a respectable face, but once I push him to the breaking point, he’ll reveal to everyone the monster he must be.
My thoughts continue to tumble about as we all sip coffee and look at the papers. I keep glancing over, studying my friends as they read their articles with care. At least Joseph, Robert, and Lewis have the foresight to know I’ll win.
Eventually, we cannot dawdle any longer. They follow me to Jackson’s in a manner that oddly resembles a funeral procession. Such silly notions. Unless Henhaven is hiding something that makes him deadly, I’m sure I’ll be more than fine.
The other dukes find their places on mahogany benches as Henhaven appears in the room. No entourage follows him, and for a brief moment, I actually feel pity for the man. Until he dared go after what was mine, I barely even registered his existence.
He always hung off to the side, watching instead of participating. Much like Lewis in that way. He’s very observant. Maybe there is something more to him than I’m considering? Hopefully, all will be revealed soon.
I divest myself of my tailcoat and waistcoat, leaving them off to the side before I work at my cravat. Now is not the time to recall Cynthia gagging on it as I touched her, teased her, and pleasured her. However, they fly into my brain unbidden.
As Henhaven watches while he undresses as well, I tug at the cravat, smiling boldly at the memory. I wrap the fabric around my fingers a few times and smirk before adding it to the pile.
Gentleman Jackson circles the area, watching both of us closely as we prepare. As I slip on the mufflers and pull the laces with my teeth, I can’t help but feel the flutter of adrenaline run through my veins. It’s been far too long since I’ve fought with another man.
Granted, while at war, we fought in a far different way. It was closer to prize fighting than this, but I’ll take what I can get. Becoming duke certainly has had its advantages, but this is most definitely a drawback I didn’t realize would happen as a result.
“Come to the scratch, gentlemen,” Jackson calls out. “To the scratch, if you please. Let us see a fair display of science.”
Internally, I snort. Science. The fact that he thinks he can distill all this animal ferocity and animosity into a calculation.
I watch as Henhaven takes his stance. Just as Jackson has instructed, he comes to the white chalk line and stands upright, bowed backward to keep his face as far from me as possible.
His posture is almost rigid as he holds his left arm in front and keeps the right closely tucked to his chin.
Exactly as Jackson teaches the men who come through for his education.
Though I, too, come to the line, I hunch down, taking on a far more ruthless stance that never failed me during any fight while in the military.
It’s in complete opposition to the man in front of me.
My weight shifts to the balls of my feet as I keep both hands near my face and elbows tucked in to protect my ribs.
“Don’t hurt him too badly, Charles,” Robert calls out in an odd display of showmanship.
“I’ve got fifteen guineas on you, Henhaven,” Benedict calls out too. “Don’t let me down.”
The man barely acknowledges the words. Good. That means his head is in the game.