A cool glass found its way into my right hand. Smart glass. I took a grateful sip, choking when brandy found the ragged cut inside my cheek and stung it. “You were right, Augie.”
“I think we need to call a surgeon. He’s concussed.”
“Hilarious, Augie. Help me stand?” It was likely a poor idea, but the floor was cold, damp, and smelled of sweat, blood, and other various fluids I didn’t care to consider just now.
Several pairs of hands assisted me, and finally I was righted. I took another sip of the brandy, ignoring the immediate bite in hopes of future relief. They deposited me in a nearby chair before Johnson crowded over me—all apologies.
“It’s my fault, Johnson. There’s no reason to apologize. I shouldn’t have startled you.”
“I’m still sorry, Mr. Wayland. I should have stopped quicker.”
“I think if you could stop quicker, you would be pulling your punches. We certainly don’t want that happening Saturday, do we?” He froze. It was unnerving, unnatural, seeing someone that large so still, particularly out of just one eye.
He jerked into motion just as suddenly, settling into the seat across from me. “Who told you?”
Now I was grateful for my wound. He would be less forthcoming were he not already wrestling guilt for the punch. Not so grateful, that I rejected the refill of brandy from Augie’s outstretched hand.
“The numbers told me. Westfield isn’t bright enough to spread his bookings out across multiple purses.”
“Damn.”
“What did he offer you?”
“£350.”
“You’re undervaluing your honor. He wagered £3,000 against you.”
He shifted his gaze to his feet, shuffling them uneasily.
“How’s £1,500 for a fair fight?” His head shot up at my offer. He stared at me in disbelief. “That and an agreement that you come to me if someone tries to fix one of your matches again. I guarantee I can beat their offer.”
His agreement was almost comical in its enthusiasm.
“Alright then, we’re agreed. And not a word of this to Dalton, yes?” His nod was solemn. Agreement in place, I swallowed the last of my brandy before heading off to ready for supper, wishing the man luck as I departed. I considered bringing the bottle. After all, it could only improve the evening.
Two
GRAYSON HOUSE, LONDON - JANUARY 12, 1814
MICHAEL
Traffic was far toolight for my taste. The carriage rattled down South Street with ease. Where was a carriage accident when you needed one?
Faced with the promise of seeing the lovely Anna, Augie put more care into his dress than usual. As far as I knew, he hadn’t seen her since his father died some time ago. He was unusually reticent in the carriage. It was a slight inconvenience; I was counting on his insubordination and back talk to soothe my own unease. Four years’ absence from the Park Street residence had not been nearly long enough.
I hadn’t missed the place. I hadn’t particularly missed my middle brother either. Every day without my spiteful shrew of a stepmother, Agatha, was a precious gift to be cherished. My youngest brother, Tom, was the exception to my general familial disdain.
As the eldest, the London house and the Kent estate should have fallen to me after the viscount’s death more than a decade ago. Unfortunately, my… slightly dubious parentage ensured that the properties, fortune, and title all fell to the oldestlegitimateson, Hugh. Recently married Hugh.
I was about to make a fine first impression on his wife too. “Darling wife, please meet my degenerate elder brother. He’s a gambling magnate. He’s bankrupted half of the ton.I swear both his eyes opened when we last spoke.”
And then there wasAgatha. Although I would be quite happy never to set eyes—or eye. as the case may be—on the woman again, a small part of me was looking forward to the fit of apoplexy she’d display at the sight of me. With any luck, it would actually kill her.
All too soon, the carriage clattered to a stop. I scrambled out with Augie close behind. He stared at the house with slightly less antipathy than I did. The imposing black-painted, double doors, framed by the harsh archway, stared back at me, taunting me. Centered beneath the redbrick and Grecian-style columns of the rooms above, the house was every bit as ostentatious as I remembered.
“Are you going in the front or the back?” Augie asked. That was the question. Ishouldenter through the front as an invited guest, even if I’d rather dine below with Augie, Anna, and the others.
With a sigh, I replied, “I suppose I should knock. Did we determine a distress signal?”
