“Eh. Didn’t look much like a serpent to me.”
He gritted his teeth so hard, his jaw ached. “No, she doesn’t look like a goddamned serpent. But that does not mean she ain’t one.”
“You’ve been angry ever since you returned,” Dom said.
“And why wouldn’t I be? I nearly cocked up my toes, spent weeks without recalling a single damned piece of my life, my own family left me to rot at a Sutton gaming hell, and I’ve been kept a prisoner and lied to all because the lot of you thought I would be safer hiding like a damned lad behind his mother’s skirts.”
As he finished the diatribe, he became aware his voice had risen to a roar. But it felt good to unleash some more of his fury, damn it. Dom was not wrong. He had been bloody furious since his return. They had all—every last one of them, from his family to Jasper Sutton to Caro—robbed him of his right to choose what was best for him.
Dom winced. “I know you do not see it as we did, but we made the decision we felt was best for you.”
“I should have been the one to make that choice.”
His half brother shook his head. “As you are now, agreeing to fight the man we believe was responsible for trying to see you killed and for nearly having Demon murdered as well?”
“A strange thing happens to a man when he has nothing left to lose,” Gavin said, meaning those words with everything in him. “He forgets what fear is, because it doesn’t matter any longer.”
“Gav, you have much to lose,” Dom countered, frowning in that way of his that suggested he was the wiser older brother, the leader of the family, and he knew better.
But not in this instance, he bloody well didn’t.
“No. I do not. I already lost everything I wanted.”
And that everything had been Caro. How dare she lie to him as she had, then come rushing here to beg him not to fight Jeremiah Jones? As if she cared.Ha!If she had truly loved him as she had claimed, she would have told him the truth when she’d had the chance. Not when it had been too late, when he had caught her in a lie.
“You are speaking of Caro Sutton, are you not?” Dom asked gently.
“I am speaking of the life I had before,” he said, though that was not entirely true. “I was the best prizefighter in England, damn it, and now I’ll never regain the strength I had.”
Admitting as much to Dom was far easier. His pride was too strong to allow Caro to know he believed she was right, that fighting Jeremiah Jones was a damned stupid thing to do. Jones was taller, with a more muscular body than Gavin had possessed even before he’d spent weeks first as an invalid and later chasing after Caro Sutton’s skirts.
In the wake of his return to the bosom of the family he loved, Gavin had made a realization. If Jeremiah Jones had indeed paid to have him murdered to avoid their match and be named the best prizefighter in England by eliminating Gavin as his competition, that meant the man would only try again. And that also meant the stupid bastard could hire more dimwitted criminals who attacked the wrong men instead of him.
He would not put his family in danger. Instead, he would face the problem. Let Jeremiah Bloody Bastard Jones meet him in a match he knew he would win. As he’d said to Dom, Gavin had nothing left to lose. What was one more bout, for the safety of his family?
“Sodding hell, Gav.” Dom’s oath shook Gavin from his troubled thoughts. “If you know you don’t have the strength you had before, then why the devil have you goaded Jones into accepting this fight?”
He met his brother’s gaze, unwavering. “Because Gavin Winter rose from the grave, and I’m either going to put Jones in his, or die trying. Either way, my family will be free. I’ll not have another of you harmed because of me.”
“I do not like it, Gav.” Dom’s expression was hard. Concerned. “Not one damned bit. It’s dangerous, and Jones was doing everything in his power—including hiring assassins—the last bloody time you were going to fight him.”
“You don’t have proof it was Jones who wanted me dead, and you don’t have to like my choices, Dom. I’m doing what I must. You made decisions on my behalf when I was weak and wounded, but now, it’s my turn. I’ll face Jones, and that is final.”
Chapter 13
Caro had decided that if she wanted to keep Gavin from putting his life in danger, she would have to take action. To that end, she found one Mr. Jeremiah Jones at a tavern in the rookeries, surrounded by dangerous-looking men, a tankard of ale in his meaty paw of a fist. Drury Lane vestals—women in various states of undress, some with their breasts on display like the wares on an apple cart—were strewn about. The floor was sticky with years of spilled drinks and blood, and the room was rife with tobacco smoke, raucous laughter, and curious stares.
The moment she had crossed the threshold, entering the dank, forbidding den of thieves, the air seemed to freeze. She was uncomfortably aware of all the curious eyes upon her, for she was a new face in what would be a sea of the familiar, especially the women who frequented the Beggar’s Purse. Thank heavens Randall was awaiting her in the carriage on the street; if he had not accompanied her, she would have feared what would become of her in such an establishment.
Her discreet inquiries, coupled with the passing of coin, had led her to a mountainous man with a buxom blonde in his lap, his hand down her bodice, another up her skirts.
“Is that him?” she asked the man who had volunteered the information she sought in exchange for two guineas.
“Aye.” The man nodded. “That is ’imself.”
“Excellent.” Though the sight of the man she would need to confront hardly felt excellent in that moment, she knew it was what she must do. She swept across the disgusting floor, skirting tables and debauchery in varying degrees, until she reached Jeremiah Jones.
Randall awaited her, she reminded herself as her courage faltered, and he would protect her with his very life, though she hoped this night would not come to that. Still, they were in a particularly ugly, mangy part of the rookeries. One never knew what was going to happen.
