A Good Rake is Hard to Find (16 page)

Leonora felt a cold chill rush down her spine.

She'd been desperate to learn the truth about Jonny's accident from the moment she'd learned of it. He was a careful driver, skilled enough to navigate that stretch of the Dover Road in his sleep. That his driving record remained unblemished, however, was no consolation for the fact that he'd been murdered by men he thought to be his comrades.

If Sir Gerard Fincher were so foolish as to appear before her now, she'd find herself hard-pressed not to tell him exactly what she thought of him and his depraved club. It wasn't a club for gentlemen. There were any number of members who might better be called brutes.

“Miss Craven.” Lady Darleigh's eyes were shadowed with worry. “I do hope I did the right thing in telling you the truth. I simply thought you deserved to know what really happened. And I wished…” She trailed off, bowing her head in shame. “I did so wish to ask for your help. I can tell that you are a lady with true courage. And I know that if you and Lord Frederick would agree to help us, my husband would be able to leave the club for good.”

“Do not fret, Lady Darleigh,” Leonora assured her, despite her shaken composure. “I did wish to know. I needed to know what happened to him. And I am more grateful than I can say.”

The blonde's eyes widened. “Then you will help us?” she asked, her features bathed in relief. “Oh, you cannot know how grateful I am.”

Taking the other woman's hands in her own, Leonora nodded. “I will discuss your concerns about your husband with Lord Frederick. He will need an ally during his time in the club, and if you will tell your husband of our willingness to help, I feel sure that together we can bring Sir Gerard to heel. Preferably with the assistance of the authorities.”

“I will tell him,” the other lady promised. They both rose and crossed to the door leading to the hall. Leonora was surprised when Lady Darleigh gave her a quick hug.

“I will not forget this,” she said, before hurrying to where Mrs. Brown was seated chatting with an elderly cleric with a passion for sonnets.

Not long afterward, the company began to disperse, and when the last guest was finally gone, Leonora collapsed in one of the so recently vacated chairs that were now scattered throughout the room.

She'd thought it would be best to continue with her usual routine so that no one would guess that she and Freddy were actively investigating the Lords of Anarchy. But she hadn't considered that her routine would be invaded by acquaintances from that world.

Her poetry, she'd thought, could prove a welcome distraction from dwelling on her brother's untimely death. But there was no longer any corner of her life that had not been touched by grief.

At least, she thought, sipping a cup of cool tea, it looked as if there were cracks in the foundation of the Lords of Anarchy. Cracks that might prove to be Sir Gerard Fincher's undoing.

Not bad work for a lady poet, she thought, picturing Sir Gerard's expression when he learned she'd been instrumental in exposing his crimes.

The image made her grin.

Not bad work at all.

 

Ten

When Freddy arrived in Half Moon Street, the butler showed him into the first-floor ballroom and he saw that most of the other club members were already assembled there.

Somehow he'd arrived before Payne, and when his cousin approached him he took the opportunity to ask, “What is so important that it necessitated another meeting so soon after the one last night?”

Gerard looked displeased by the question, but said, “Sometimes things happen that require us to come together as a group much sooner than anticipated. And this was an opportunity for you to solidify your standing within the group that I could not, as your cousin, let pass.”

Freddy frowned. What on earth? “I thought I was already a member after the induction ceremony last night. There is more to it than that?”

“There is always room to move up—unless of course, like me, you are the president.” Gerard showed his teeth in the pretense of a grin. “And I do wish you to succeed in our group, Freddy. Don't you?”

Everything about the conversation was making Freddy uncomfortable. He wondered idly if it had been this way for Jonathan, as well. Being welcomed in, then having the rug pulled out from under him. It was not the way clubs usually worked, but he was damned sure that his cousin had planned things that way.

But Freddy had to appear to be the eager recruit his cousin thought him. “Of course I wish to gain position within the club, cousin. I would hardly have accepted your invitation if I didn't. What's the point in joining a club where you remain a plebeian for the entirety of your association? I'm simply surprised at how quickly things are progressing.”

Which was true enough. He'd never expected Gerard to take him under his wing to ensure his swift climb up the ranks.

Gerard clapped Freddy on the back and grinned. “Of course I want to help you, Freddy. We're family, are we not? And family looks out for one another.”

If only Gerard knew, Freddy thought.

“Now,” his cousin continued, “tell me about your betrothal to the delectable Miss Craven. How on earth did you manage that?”

Something in Gerard's tone set Freddy's back up. He disliked even hearing her name come out of the other man's mouth. Let alone describing her as delectable. Swallowing his ire, he shrugged, saying, “I should think you of all people would understand the nature of that arrangement. Mama has been on me to marry, and you must admit that Miss Craven is quite beautiful. And the size of her father's fortune is hardly a deterrent. One must keep oneself in good boots, you know. And Papa has become rather tight with the purse strings of late, if you must know.”

Fortunately, Freddy's recent windfall had not yet become common knowledge, so he could paint a portrait of himself as pockets to let without fear of his cousin finding out.

“Interesting,” Gerard said with what looked like genuine surprise. “I hadn't pegged you for a fortune hunter, but I suppose it makes sense. Especially since your little brother has just wed a duchess. I always thought you were a romantic. I'm impressed, cousin. I believe your years on the Continent have hardened you.”

Again Freddy shrugged. “I had to grow up sometime. And I thought that I might toy with her a bit to make up for the way she broke things off with me the last time. You know. A bit of payback.”

His cousin grinned and threw an arm over Frederick's shoulder. “I like it,” he said with enthusiasm. “You have changed. I must say that I'm impressed. I thought you must be smitten given how closely you attended her every word last night.”

“All for show,” Freddy said with a cruel smile. “Poor chit.”

Gerard laughed at the words. “I vow, I am quite looking forward to seeing how you handle things with Payne. With your new attitude, I suspect you might end up the victor. Though I must admit, my money was on Payne before our little chat.”

“So, there are to be fisticuffs this morning despite our abandoning Jackson's,” Freddy said thoughtfully. “I must admit you continue to surprise me, Gerard. You're up to every rig.”

Gerard preened. “I try,” he said with what was supposed to look like a modest shrug but instead seemed smug. “And without the presence of Jackson, we can be … freer with our fighting.”

Which Freddy translated to mean that the Queensbury rules would not be first and foremost on the minds of the participants.

Just then Payne arrived, and after acknowledging the newcomer, Gerard led Freddy over to where a chair had been placed on one side of a makeshift ring, with a corresponding chair on the other side—presumably for Payne.

Lords Rudyard and Fleming, who seemed to have appointed themselves his pugilistic seconds, stood by while for the second time in as many hours Freddy removed his cravat, coat, and shirt.

Across the room he saw that Payne was also stripping to the waist, and was unsurprised to see that the other man was surrounded by a cluster of club members wishing him luck.

Deciding that he would do better to concentrate on his own readiness for the fight, Freddy twisted his head from one side to the other to loosen the muscles in his neck. He jabbed the air a few times and danced around a bit in his stocking feet.

“He's a mad bastard,” Rudyard said in a low voice from his left side. “I've never seen anyone fight with as much fervor. He's going to beat you bloody.”

“You don't stand a chance,” said Lord Fleming mournfully. “It's a shame because I quite like you. Of course I'd prefer anyone to Payne, but there's no way you're going to best him. I'd say you should concede now, but I think it would end up being just as bad for you. Then Sir Gerard would kick you out of the club, and we all know what happens to men who try to leave the club.”

Before he could ask what that last remark meant, Sir Gerard himself stepped into the center of the open circle formed by the other men. “Gentlemen, you know that from time to time we like to indulge in a bit of fisticuffs. The sort which is not allowed by the civilized likes of Gentleman Jackson and his lot. We are men, and as such we fight with the determination of soldiers facing their final battle.”

Gerard strode a few feet, warming to his subject. “Ours is the kind of fighting that has been around since the beginning of time. And as such, I will warn both of today's players—Lord Frederick Lisle and Lord Payne—that there will be no quarter. The fight ends when one of you falls and is incapable of getting up again. You may neither give quarter, nor may you delope.”

Freddy hadn't realized just the extent of his cousin's taste for drama until that little speech. Soldiers facing their final battle, indeed. He had a feeling that real soldiers like Trent would find his cousin's bombast particularly loathsome considering how many of his compatriots had died in true war.

Still, it was the sort of thing he'd expect from his cousin, who had always found ways to feed his need for power and control. This wasn't about sport or bravery. It was about creating a situation over which Gerard could rule. And manipulating other men into fighting at his urging.

“I will leave you to it, gentlemen,” Gerard said with a loud clap before he stepped back and let Freddy and Payne move to the center of the open circle.

“I'm going to hurt you,” Payne said with vicious fury as he swung and missed. “I'm going to bloody that pretty face so much that your mother won't even recognize you.”

“I really must insist that you don't do that, old chap,” Freddy said, ducking another powerful punch. “I should hate to upset my mama. And I have a feeling she would be quite capable of drawing your cork should she take such a notion into her head.”

“Prepare yourself for pain, you cur,” Payne growled, this time his fist connecting with Freddy's cheekbone.

It hurt more than Freddy was willing to admit, but he managed to keep his voice light. “A pun! I hadn't thought you capable of even that simple form of wit, Payne. I'm quite impressed.”

Having his intelligence denigrated made Payne angry, and he missed seeing Freddy's right fist, which connected solidly with his chin. The other man roared and managed to land a blow on Freddy's jaw.

Damn, that hurt. But the pain sent a jolt of bloodlust through Freddy that made him impervious to the pain. All he cared about was annihilating his opponent and for the next fifteen minutes they danced around one another, first Freddy hitting Payne, then vice versa, neither of them daring to stop lest the other use that pause to gain an advantage.

Finally, his anger getting the best of him, Payne made the mistake of paying more attention to Freddy's right side than his left, and Freddy managed to use his left fist to snap the other man's head back with a force that surprised even him. Stunned, the large man lost his balance and dropped to the hard parquet floor.

Gasping, Freddy shook out his hand, which ached like a bastard, while the two men who had served as Payne's seconds—or whatever one called them—tried and failed to get Payne back up on his feet.

“Gentlemen!” Gerard pronounced loudly to the assembled room. “I declare Lord Frederick Lisle the winner of this bout!”

A cheer rose up from the assembled men and Freddy collapsed into the chair in his corner. For the next hour, he found himself the recipient of congratulations from all the club members in attendance. Even the ones who'd been cheering for Lord Payne at the beginning.

What a difference an hour made.

He was also praised by some other men he was quite sure had not been at the gathering the evening before.

Had his cousin invited outsiders to attend the fight despite his rejection of Mainwaring?

Curious.

“You showed well today, cousin,” Gerard said once the crowd had thinned out. “I am pleased at how well you're coming along.”

Freddy started to shrug but found his right shoulder was hurting like the devil. “Glad you think so, Gerry,” he said with what he hoped sounded like deferential gratitude. He still wasn't sure what the purpose of the fight today had been. To remove Payne from his position of authority in the club? To prove his mettle to the other club members?

“It will be good to have someone I can trust in my inner circle,” Gerard continued. “I had to see to it that you proved yourself to the rest of the club, however, before I could bring you in. After all, how strange would it look for me to simply invite an untested man into my confidence?”

So, Freddy reflected, that was the reason for all this. “I am honored that you thought me worthy, Gerry. Truly.”

“I can see that you are, old fellow,” Gerard said with a nod. “Now, I am sure that you are longing for a bath. And perhaps a beefsteak for that eye. I will not detain you.”

He'd been dismissed. And Freddy was indeed eager to remove himself from his cousin's house to lick his wounds. There was no way he'd show the degree of his pain before the other man. Not knowing how capable his cousin was of using that pain against him.