“I decided that since Cecily was at home, I might as well attend the Chattering’s ball. Met a lovely little deb by the way. A colonel’s daughter.”
At this, all Stephen could do was raise his eyebrows somewhat incredulously.
“She was not your typical deb, Stephen. Let me tell you. She could be a showgirl if she chose to do so. Legs that go on forever and the perfect hourglass shape.” Flavion tipped his head back, closed his eyes again, and continued the recitation of his most recent conquest’s charms. “Thick red hair and the most gorgeous cherry-red lips. I think I’m in love.”
Years ago, before reaching his majority, Stephen would have been amused by Flavion’s unflagging appetite for different women. On this day, however, he was not.
“How long did you stay at the ball?” he asked instead of offering his opinion on his cousin’s infidelity. And God, how pompous and self-righteous his thoughts sounded, even to himself, for a man who had spent the night in a married woman’s bed.
“At the ball?” Flavion roused himself enough to toggle his eyebrows at Stephen. “Enough to get the chit to agree to leave with me. The rest of the evening was spent outside in my carriage enjoying said long legs and perfect hourglass shape… hey, hey.” Except then, Flavion frowned. “And then, just after Alice climbed out, a couple of bruisers climbed in and hijacked my carriage. Not well done at all. I had barely gotten my breeches back on.”
“Had you ever seen them before?” Stephen asked, thinking that if Flavion had spent much time with the Findlays before his marriage, he might be able to recognize some of the industrial giant’s hired thugs.
“Lord, no,” Flavion answered with his eyes closed and head tipped back again. Stephen reached for a nearby pitcher the footmen had left, stood up, and tipped it over Flavion’s head. It was slightly satisfying that the water in this pitcher had not been heated.
Flavion jumped forward, sputtering and gasping. “Hell, Stephen. Tell a man before doing something like that.” Reaching out with his good hand, eyes pinched shut, he ordered, “Hand me my soap, will you?”
Stephen did so, along with another washcloth.
“Where did these thugs take you?”
Flavion did not answer. Instead, he was examining his injured hand with a bewildered look in his eyes. “Do you think it’s broken, Stephen? Where is that blasted doctor?”
Stephen peered closer at the swollen appendage. “It doesn’t appear to be, but we’ll let the doctor decide. Did they twist it behind you?” Stephen had, before his more successful days, been on the receiving end of similar attacks more than once. He hadn’t always had the blunt to frequent the finer establishments while traveling.
“Yeah, I think that’s what they did. Damn near killed me and then left me lying in the street. I’m lucky nobody else came along to finish the job.”
“So robbery was not their intention. It was punishment,” Stephen said baldly.
Flavion let out a deep sigh and then looked over at Stephen again. “I suppose. Do you think it was Cecily’s father’s men?”
Stephen was bothered by this, but yes, he did. It sounded exactly like something Findlay’semployeeswere capable of. “I’m not sure, Flave. I’ll have to investigate the matter.” And on that note, following a quick tap, the door pushed open, and Patterson timidly entered with the doctor following behind him.
Stephen stood up and patted his cousin on the shoulder. “Get some rest, Flavion. Do as the doctor tells you.”
In an absentminded manner, Flavion agreed with a nod before handing over the soap and washrag to his valet. Patterson efficiently lifted one of Flavion’s arms into the air and began eagerly scrubbing his lovely master. Stephen closed the door behind him and frowned. Where was Cecily? He needed to speak with her about this. God in heaven, if that minx was behind this, he would throttle her himself.
We had a deal.
Mr. Sherman informed Stephen that Lady Kensington had left a short while ago in order to take a walk in the park with her friends. He gave him directions as to the approximate place she normally went to on the days when she liked to feed the waterfowl.
With no patience to await her return, Stephen set off on foot toward the park. His adrenaline carried him quicker than he would normally stroll, and as he passed other pedestrians, he received a few curious glances. But he could not be bothered by them.
In his mind, her words replayed themselves over and over again, making him feel like a fool. Women be damned. He ought to have known better.
As he reached the park, he peered across the lawn, hoping to see the object of his wrath without wasting too much of his time. Would she admit to knowing about the attack? She was a woman, after all, and therefore not to be trusted.Where the hell is she?
He did not slow his stride until he noticed some sort of an altercation taking place along the banks of the water up ahead. The normal peaceful atmosphere of the park had been transformed into a carnival-like scene with jeering, cheering, and splashing.
His mind noted a very large man dressed all in black, suspiciously familiar, and an oversized mongrel, also suspiciously familiar, barking encouragingly at the melee. Another smaller, but louder dog yelped frantically as well. Stephen lengthened his strides and rushed over to assure himself that the spectacle was not being created by the person he suspected.
He was to be greatly disappointed.
Realizing immediately that Cecily was one of the mud-coveredladieswrestling in the water, he rushed past the onlookers to pull her off the other nearly unrecognizable creature. Salaam was doing likewise with… Was it? He took a closer look. Yes, it was; Miss Daphne Cunnington.
Cecily was like a woman possessed, though, as she struggled to free herself from his hold. He wrapped one arm tightly about her sodden waist and spoke into her ear. “Relax, Cecily, sweetheart. Let it go. She isn’t worth it.” In spite of the mud, he could see that tears streamed from her eyes. It was impossible to stay angry with a woman when she was so obviously distraught.Oh, hell.
At his words, she ceased her protestations.
