Chapter 25
Cage punched the bag with enough force to send the young man holding it in place, stumbling back two paces. The ropes that held it from the rafters creaked ominously. John repositioned his feet firmly on the sawdust floor and nodded that he was ready. Cage resumed his punishing jabs to the tall canvas bag filled with sawdust after a quick flex of his fingers.
Sweat poured down his back and dripped from the end of his nose. He needed to take out his anger, his frustrations on something, or his head would explode. He rammed his right fist into the bag. A brothel! How had Grace ended up in the brothel? How had Phineas Harlow convinced her to come to London? She knew how dangerous it would be for her if she were recognized by one of her father’s cronies or worse if their father had been in town himself. Cage wished that he could bring Mr. Harlow back to life so that he could kill the silver-tongued snake himself. Something satisfying like strangling him with his bare hands.
Why had the Smethwicks told her he was dead? Had they been approached by one of Wrotham’s men, been paid off to return her? Entirely likely. Damn it, how had Wrotham found her? Cage swiped his damp hair off his forehead. He grunted in frustration and slammed his left hook into the bag. He had so many questions. But Grace wouldn’t even talk to him. That had been like an arrow through the heart. It was no wonder she was angry; he had let her down, again.Jab, jab, right hook, undercut. Cage pounded out his heartbreak in rapid-fire speed.
“Whoa. Morgan, give the poor lad a break.”
A voice broke his rhythm. Cage looked up from his hands. Benedict ambled toward them across the gym, his lips quirked in a smile.
Holt slapped John on the shoulder. “Son, why don’t you go help someone else. I’ll hold the bag for Morgan.”
With the nod of his head, the young man scurried off. John raced past the ring where two men sparred and headed to the far end of the room to help another man practice his footwork. Benedict grabbed the handles at the side of the bag and planted his feet.
A head taller and considerably broader than John, Benedict’s sinewy muscular frame came from years of working on the docks. Smugglers may not work honestly, but they worked just as many long hours hauling cargo as any legit hook. Cage had seen Holt lift a man straight off his feet with just his hand at the man’s throat.
“So what’s got you in such a terrifying mood?” Holt asked.
Cage rolled his shoulders and put his fists up. He hit the bag with all his strength. “I found my sister.”
“Well, that’s good news. Did you kill that bastard Harlow when you found them?”
Cage threw another punch at full strength. His knuckles cracked painfully, and he pulled his hand back to test that he hadn’t broken any fingers. He shook his head. “No, he was already dead. Killed last week in a duel.” He flexed his fingers. “I found out Grace has been working for Mrs. Gwyn. She owes her money and has been paying it off on her back.” He shut his eyes.
It hurt to say it out loud. But if anyone could understand his pain, it was Benedict. Holt’s sister had married a cruel man who had beaten her to death during one of his rages.
“Shit.”
Holt’s simple epitaph loosened some of the anger coiled in Cage’s gut. There was more empathy in that single word than any empty platitudes someone else might offer.
“Where is she now?” Holt asked.
“I grabbed her from a party, some damn, drunken bacchanal. Almost killed the man who’d paid for her. I don’t even have a fucking house where Grace could live. I left her in the care of agood friend.” He sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly in a long stream. “That’s the other thing, by the way, I’m engaged to be married.” Pulling back his right arm, he punched the bag viciously.
Holt stumbled. Not so much from the force of the punch, but if the look on his face was any indicator, from shock. Well, he wasn’t the only one shocked. The duke had demanded an explanation as they sat down in his study after leaving the ladies in the flowery room.
There hadn’t been anything to do but explain the truth, that Caroline proposed the faux engagement. The duke had not been pleased that his sister would go to such lengths to deceive him and the family. Cage told him that he had agreed to the scheme in order to keep himself close to Caroline, to protect her. What better way to keep an eye on her then as her fiancé? And what better way to flush out the culprit than to announce her engagement? Hell, he had been so convincing, he almost believed his own justifications.
The truth was that Caroline Langdon invaded his thoughts day and night. Clever, sharp-tongued, and fierce as an Amazon queen. He should have costumed her as Hippolyta. The fairy costume had not done her justice as she brandished her stiletto while yelling at Mrs. Gwyn.
“What? All right, step away from the bag.” Holt came around to stand in front of Cage. “Who exactly are you getting married to?”
“Caroline Langdon.” Cage glanced around the cavernous room. There was no one in earshot. “She is taking care of Grace for me, and in return, I agreed to a temporary engagement until she comes into to her inheritance at the end of June.”
The other man’s eyes widened. “You’ve entered into a fake engagement with the sister of a duke? Why don’t you just keep her? She must have scads of money.”
“She doesn’t want to get married. And neither do I, for that matter.” He shrugged. “I went to pick up Grace this morning, and somehow the lady talked me into this crazy scheme. I do need help with my sister. She won’t even speak with me. Caroline says Grace just needs time and a woman to talk to…I don’t know what to do about her.”
“To which her do you refer?” Holt laughed and slapped him on the shoulder.
Cage’s lips turned up into a smile for the first time.
Holt glanced over his shoulder. The ring was emptying, one man walking out and the other man being dragged out unconscious. Young John threw a pail of water at the unconscious man, and he came around sputtering. “Come on, Morgan, let’s spar. At least you’ll have a proper challenge with me. This poor bag can’t take any more of your abuse today.”
****
“Andrew, you were uncharacteristically calm today when we walked in on your sister kissing Lord Wrotham.” Emma hefted herself into bed next to her husband.
