Lucian drew his fist back and let it fly toward Lysander’s soft, pale jaw.
He connected with naught but empty air. Strictly speaking, the image of Lysander existed only in his mind’s eye. But imagining his bastard cousin was the one standing across from him lent a little spring to his step—something he desperately needed as he struggled to keep up with Vander, who had always been the best boxer in their set.
Vander had invited Lucian to join him and David at the boxing-slash-fencing parlor attached to the new offices of Beauclerk, Beauclerk, and Beauclerk Marine Casualty. Lucian had assumed he had misheard. What sort of insurance company ran a boxing gym on the side? As well as a coffee house?
But it was apparently a stroke of genius. Sea captains flocked to both establishments, which were conveniently located near the London docks, when they were ashore. The Beauclerks were always the first to know the latest news in the shipping industry, and business was booming.
Lucian managed to block a jab, only to take a cross to his temple. He could not help but notice that Vander had only struck him with a tenth of his usual power.
Lucian straightened. “Come on. You can swing harder than that.”
Vander snorted. “And be the reason your handsome face is marred by a black eye on your wedding day? My mother would never let me hear the end of it.”
From the edge of the room, David called, “You’ve gone a full three rounds, anyway. Come on. Let’s clean ourselves up and go next door for a coffee.”
Fifteen minutes later, they settled around a plain wooden table with their steaming mugs.
“So,” David said, “how goes your quest to woo your lovely bride?”
“Not as well as I would like,” Lucian admitted. Five days had passed since his ill-fated attempt to bring her flowers. He had been stopping by Swanscombe House twice a day in an attempt to explain, but Rosalie was not at home—at least, not to him.
“She called on Letty yesterday,” Vander said.
That caught Lucian’s attention. “Did she?”
“She called on Emily the day before,” David noted.
Lucian leaned back against the wooden booth. “That cannot be a coincidence.”
Vander and David exchanged a look. “I do not believe so, no,” Vander said.
“Emily says she asked about you,” David said. “She tried to be somewhat coy about it, but Emily formed the impression that she was fishing for information.”
“And what did Emily say?” Lucian asked, dreading the answer. He could not picture the face of David’s bride, but that didn’t mean she didn’t carry a grudge toward him. It seemed half the women in London did, after all.
“That she had never had the pleasure of making your acquaintance,” David said smoothly. “But that she knew I held you in high esteem.”
Lucian suppressed a snort. If he knew Rosalie, and he thought he did, she would give that about as much weight as the word of a traveling horse trader at the village fair.
“She asked Letty the same thing,” Vander said. “And Letty gave much the same answer. She was also curious about your grandfather and the days when you used to borrow my phaeton on Tuesdays.”
“Ah.” That didn’t come as a surprise. He knew as much following her call on Vander’s mother.
It was a good thing. The faster Rosalie discovered the truth, the sooner she would realize that their marriage was inevitable.
Vander took a sip of his coffee. “Why would she ask about your grandfather?”
“Lysander told her I used to mistreat him,” Lucian explained. “That I drove him around at reckless speeds and took him out carousing in an attempt to hasten his death. I allegedly wanted immediate access to whatever inheritance I was to receive.” Which, of course, had turned out to be absolutely nothing.
“Oh, that’s rich, coming fromhim,” Vander said, voice dripping with disdain.
“What a cowardly little prick,” David muttered, reaching for his mug.
“I take it she is trying to ascertain what kind of man you are?” Vander said. “And whether you will mistreat her once you are married?”
“Not so much,” Lucian said. “She’s looking for proof of something dastardly enough that her father will agree to let her break the marriage contract, in spite of the fortune they stand to lose if they don’t go through with it.”
Vander frowned. “Why does she dislike you so much? I can understand being skeptical of marrying a noted rakehell. But her hatred toward you seems… personal.”
