Well, he would figure it out.Lord Fleming was one of the few men whom Rhys respected.He knew that Fleming had tried to right many of the wrongs his friends had committed.If Fleming needed him to make one last thing right, then Rhys would take care of it.Once he figured out what the hell that wrong thing was.
Chapter Two
Rhys lounged againstthe sturdy oak’s trunk and watched his target through the window.He had been following the Duke of Lavensham all week, observing the man enter his club in St.James, get fitted for new boots at Hoby, and take one trip to the House of Lords.Rhys knew that it was only a matter of time and patience, but he’d be damned if he had any clue yet what the man was up to other than the normal rich toff shit.
It had been two weeks since Fleming’s funeral.The day had been bright and sunny, unusual for February.Rhys’s lips twisted in a wry smile.No doubt the man managed the weather, even from the great beyond.Fleming had controlled every detail of his life.An exacting man, his illness had been an affront to his well-laid life plans.The gathering had been well attended, including all his remaining cronies—the Duke of Lavensham, the Earl of Blackpool, and even Lord Rawlings, who had gotten a pass from his fancy prison cell to pay his respects.
Not that Rhys would judge a man’s friends.He had done plenty of bad shit in his twenty-eight years.He knew that having friends you could trust to have your back, no matter what, was rare.Fleming was the one who had taught him to balance the bad with the good.That it was the balance that kept a man sane.
Tonight, Lavensham had guests.His son and daughter-in-law were over for a cozy family dinner.Rhys snorted softly at his own joke.Nothing about Lavensham’s dining room was cozy.The long table held twenty people, but tonight there were perhaps half that seated around the polished mahogany surface.His son, the Marquess of Sommerset, and his lady wife, Violet, sat near the head of the table, next to the Earl of Sallow and his countess.Farther along the table were other toffs whom Rhys was not familiar with.But it was Violet Sommerset who held Rhys’s attention.
She sat with perfect posture, exquisite and serene.Candlelight from the chandelier above made her honey-blonde hair lustrous as spun gold.There was no doubt of her classic English rose beauty, but as he studied her, he saw a brittle quality to her polite smile.He had met her once before at Lady Hartwick’s house.That day, her eyes had twinkled with mischief and laughter, her smile wide and generous.Tonight, none of that vivaciousness was present; her expression was almost hollow.It was a look he recognized.He had often seen it in his mother’s eyes.
In contrast, Lady Sommerset’s husband was laughing and talking animatedly with his hands.He paid no attention to his wife across from him.Instead, Rhys saw him brush his fingers down the arm of the lady seated next to him.Easily missed if one wasn’t paying attention, as Rhys was.Lady Sommerset’s eyes narrowed, showing she hadn’t missed it either.Well, that explained the hollow look, if her husband was running around already, barely a year married.The man was a damn fool to be anywhere else but between his beautiful wife’s thighs.
The last course finished, the guests around the dining table rose and began filtering out through the large double doors.Lady Sommerset wandered to the window to stare out into the winter night.Her carefully polite façade slipped.The intensity of her sadness radiated from her like a wave rolling out through the glass and hitting him square in the chest.Rhys’s anger flared.Those bloody fools in the aristocracy didn’t know how to treat a woman.They either used them as currency or kept them like fragile birds in a cage.
As the rest of the guests exited the dining room, her husband came up behind her to grip her arm.She flinched in pain.He tugged her so that she faced him, and his smile pleaded with her.Then he bent to kiss her, but she turned away so that his lips hit her cheek.His fingers flexed on her arm.His smile still in place, he guided his wife away from the window.
Rhys’s hands clenched into fists.Enough of fucking toffs for one day.He turned and strode across the lawn of the great house.With a long-practiced grace, he scaled the back wall and jumped to the dirt-packed lane on the other side.He headed back to Bruton Street.Perhaps he would stop by the Blue Angel tonight.The gaming club he was a part owner of was always good for distraction.
As he passed the Bruton mews, a low whimper floated out.Unmistakably, an animal in distress.He paused and then heard it again—a deep whine, soul-deep.Rhys slipped inside the mews.Three stable hands crouched in the far corner, playing dice.Keeping to the shadows, he walked to the back wall, past a row of horse stalls, to the wall that sat along the lane.He heard another low whine.
In the back was a cage holding a big, brindle-colored mastiff.It had a metal collar around its neck attached to a thick chain that tied to the top of the cage, limiting its range of motion.When it spotted him, the dog went from pathetic to aggressive, snapping and growling.
Rhys stopped about ten feet from the cage and went perfectly still.“Hey, boy.I’m not going to hurt you,” he spoke softly.But the dog continued to pull at the chain, its barking escalating in volume.
“He’s a mean one.”A soft voice came from behind him.
Rhys turned to find a stable boy behind him.The young boy, maybe ten, leaned against a tall shovel.“Why do they have it chained?”Rhys asked.
“It was one of His Grace’s hunting dogs, but he’s brought ’im to town.I heard it were going to make him money in the fights.He’s a mean one for sure.”The boy shrugged.“Can I help you with something, guv?”
Rhys shook his head.“No, go back to work before you get in trouble.”
The boy shrugged again and headed back down the aisle to the stall he had been mucking out.
Rhys faced the growling dog once more.“Do you know your fate, then?Is that why you’re so scared?”He slowly stepped around to the side of the cage and pulled his pick from the inside pocket of his jacket.“I can get you loose, but then you have to run.And don’t attack me, all right?”He glanced over his shoulder, but the aisle was empty, and the boy was whistling as he worked in the stall at the end of the row.
He reached carefully into the cage from the top and gripped as much as he could of the mastiff’s scruff.The dog quieted immediately at the grip.A low growl rumbled from its throat, but it held still.It took Rhys mere seconds to pick the lock.The collar dropped to the ground.He pulled his hands out quickly and took several steps back as the dog rounded to snap at him.“Now, one more lock.But remember our deal.Don’t attack me.”
He picked the lock on the cage door, put his pick back into its slot inside his jacket, and then slid the bolt across.Using the door to the cage as a shield, he swung it open in front of him.The dog froze for a moment and then bolted, racing down the aisle.
“Oy!”he heard one of the men call out as the dog raced past.Rhys chuckled, then made his way outside into the night air.The three stable hands ran down the lane after the dog, but they would never be fast enough to catch such a long-legged beast.
Rhys walked at a sedate pace.The night loomed ahead without anything that needed his immediate attention.Things had been quiet since Lord Fleming’s death.Without his work for Fleming, he was starting to feel like a man at loose ends.And matters in the neighborhood ran largely without his direct intervention.He only stepped in when there was trouble.
Rhys filled his lungs with cold air.It wasn’t like him to be maudlin.He had carved out a life for himself from nothing—a true success story for a kid who grew up on the streets.But hell, for the first time, he didn’t have to be the heavy hitter called in to solve problems no one else had the stomach to handle.He didn’t need to do anything he didn’t want to.So, what did he want?He kicked at a loose rock, sending it rattling down the street.
The hair on the back of his neck stood up.He was being shadowed.Rhys pulled his knife from its sheath at his hip but kept walking calmly.He soon realized the shadow was not stealthy and not human.Stopping, he turned toward the snuffling sound.“What are you doing?You’re free to go.Go find something to eat.Plenty of good garbage on the street.”
In response, the mastiff nosed around in the corner of a brick building, following the scent of something down the alley.Shaking his head, Rhys hung a left and walked east toward home, changing his mind about going to the Blue Angel.He wouldn’t make good company tonight.But soon his shadow was back.The dog followed him all the way to Brook Street.Rhys stopped.“Listen, I don’t need a pet.You are barking up the wrong tree.”
The dog’s large dark eyes reflected the moonlight as it stared plaintively up at him.Rhys stepped toward the dog with a sigh, his hand outstretched.But it let out a menacing low growl with its teeth bared.Rhys froze, slowly raising his hands in the air.“All right, no petting.”He tilted his head and studied the mastiff.The dog tilted his head as well.Nobody would call it a beautiful dog, with its wide square face and heavy black jowls, and this one was far too skinny for a dog with such a large frame.“I guess I could find something for you to eat, just for tonight.But you’ll have to sleep in the kitchen.”
He turned down the alley that ran behind his house.The dog trotted after him, as though he hadn’t been threatening him only a moment ago.Rhys entered the kitchen from his back garden.As usual, his housekeeper, Louisa, had left him a covered plate of food.He had no discernible schedule, so she always made sure there was something to eat waiting for him whenever he stopped in at the house.He lifted the kitchen towel.“You’re in luck, boy.Looks like mutton stew tonight.”
The dog sat just outside the door, its head cocked to one side.Rhys got a bowl from the cupboard and scraped half his stew into it.He set the bowl on the floor next to the scarred wooden table, then sat down with his own bowl of stew to eat.Ignoring the dog, he shoveled food into his mouth.Had he eaten since breakfast?He couldn’t recall.Glancing back at the mastiff, he called out, “If you don’t eat it, I will, you stupid mutt.”
