Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

P hineas Montague, sixth Earl of Delacourt, did not feel like himself. If he were honest, he hadn’t felt himself in a while, even when he was in places he enjoyed, such as the boxing club where he currently stood. He couldn’t place the reason for the discomfort. Perhaps it was because he’d recently parted ways with his mistress, though he hadn’t been particularly attached to Delia, nor she to him. It had ended well enough—she had even found another protector already.

Perhaps it was the recent death of his sister Marianne’s closest friend, Claudia. He hadn’t known her very well—she had been a quiet wallflower—but the sudden departure of one even younger than himself did put one’s mortality into a new light. And yet he’d never been especially fearful of death. He didn’t take wild risks, but he never kept himself from experiencing life for fear of consequences either. So that reason didn’t fit.

Perhaps it was turning thirty. That had happened a few months earlier. It seemed a momentous year in a man’s life. A time when expectations for marriage and the creation of heirs began to truly press on a man’s neck. He’d always known that time would come, yet he couldn’t seem to picture it now. When he thought of a future it felt so damned…blank. There was no woman in his acquaintance that he felt he could easily settle down with. At least not and be happy with the arrangement. He didn’t expect love. Great God, no. Love was the fantasy of children and starry-eyed poets. Finn was too rational to expect such a fleeting, sometimes dangerous emotion. But he didn’t want to be miserable with his choice of wife, either, nor make her so.

He sighed and shook all the maudlin thoughts away. He hadn’t come to his boxing club to ponder, he’d come to forget all that. He’d come to work out some frustration with a clashing of fists. This was sometimes the only place he felt fully alive.

He moved to the back of the large room and began to strip out of his jacket, hanging it on one of the hooks provided. He was working on his cravat when two other gentlemen he knew stepped up a few feet away to do the same.

“—seems an utterly scandalous thing. It makes me want to quit this club entirely,” said one of them, a Mr. Smith.

Finn turned toward them. “What’s that?”

“You haven’t heard?” the other gentleman, Viscount Greenway, said. “Ripley has a great exhibition planned here for next week. Shocking, that’s what it is!”

Finn wrinkled his brow as he unwound his cravat. “We’ve had plenty of exhibitions here before. It’s always entertaining to watch the professionals work. I consider it a benefit of the club. What’s the problem?”

“This time it’s ladies he’s invited in to fight,” Greenway sneered.

Finn had been about to hang his cravat next to his jacket, but he froze now and turned to face Greenway and Smith full on. “I beg your pardon?”

“Exactly,” Smith wheezed in his excitement to condemn such a thing.

“Did you say ladies boxing?”

All three men turned to see the fourth who had come to join the conversation and Finn smiled. It was his best friend—closer to a brother, truth be told—Sebastian, Earl of Ramsbury. They’d known each other since they were children and his wild friend was one of the people Finn cared about most.

“He did, indeed,” Finn said as he extended a hand to Ramsbury. “You’re late.”

Ramsbury laughed while they shook in greeting. “By five minutes, Mother, please do forgive.” As Finn laughed, Ramsbury turned his attention back to the others. “But this exhibition sounds most intriguing, despite your long faces.”

“I understand Ripley has ties to the world of underground boxing,” Greenway sputtered, his cheeks growing redder with every word.

“Which we benefit from regularly,” Finn said quietly as he cast a glance across the room to where Campbell Ripley stood in the ring. The owner of the establishment was stripped to the waist, shouting moves to two fops he was coaching. He was tall and broad, his nose crooked from his previous life as a champion fighter. Finn had never known the man to be anything but calm and steady, he made no decision lightly.

“Yes, yes,” Greenway continued to bluster. “But watching women fight? It’s low.”

“God forbid you drop down a level,” Ramsbury muttered with a side glance for Finn. “Do the women have names?”

“It’s Betty Lightly and the Hellion,” Smith said with a breathless quality that revealed his excitement at the idea was as great as his judgment. Typical.

“The Hellion,” Finn repeated with a low whistle. “Come now, these aren’t just alley fighters, stripping down to their skin to fight for their supper. She’s a champion, known to be very good.”

“She wears a mask, doesn’t she?” Ramsbury added with a smile. “It’s all very dramatic, I like it.”

Greenway let out a huff of frustrated breath. “Well, I suppose you would, Ramsbury. You’re known as a rake.”

“Proudly.” Ramsbury gave a cheeky bow. “Does that mean you two won’t be attending the exhibition?”

The other two men exchanged a look and Smith blustered for a moment. “Well, I…I mean, we’re members of the club and…”

“Ah,” Finn said with a grin for Ramsbury. “I see. Well, then we’ll all enjoy it together.”

The other two men huffed off, leaving Ramsbury alone with Finn. “When is this event that some will pretend to be offended by even as they place their wagers?” Ramsbury asked. “I came in late.”

“Next week, I think. We can speak to Ripley about it. He seems to be finished with his lesson.”

Together they walked the short distance to the ring and Finn leaned on the ropes to look up at Ripley. “Sounds like you have quite a show coming next week.”

Ripley was wiping sweat from his brow with a towel and chuckled. “It’s the talk of the club. If you came to complain—” His Yorkshire accent hung in the air between them.

“Quite the opposite,” Finn said, holding up his hands in acquiescence. “I’m looking forward to it. I’ve heard a great deal about the Hellion. I’m interested in seeing if the skill level for the ladies is different than the men you’ve brought in over the years. And to go to Seven Dials to watch a fight is asking for a picked pocket.”

Ripley shrugged and looked around the large room at the gentlemen sparring. “As for the skill level, the Hellion could teach a few of these ones a thing or two.”

“I’m sure,” Ramsbury said with a smile.

“She’s undefeated, yes?” Finn said.

Ripley nodded. “Aye, she is. I know her a little, personally.”

Ramsbury leaned up closer. “Do you now? I see.”

Ripley rolled his eyes in response. “Get fucked, Ramsbury, that’s not what I meant. Go spar, you two. You could use the practice.”

Both of them laughed. Ripley wasn’t as informal with everyone in the club. Finn actually felt a great deal of pride that he’d been able to earn some respect and friendship with the man. Ripley made those around him earn it.

He and Ramsbury returned to the wall. As they each finished undressing and readying to do as they’d been told, Ramsbury glanced at him. “How is Marianne after last night?”

Finn flinched at the mention of his younger sister. She’d recently lost that best friend of hers and he knew she was hurting. The previous night they had all attended a gathering together, with Ramsbury teasing her a little as he was wont to do.

Finn hung up his shirt and faced his friend. “I’m sure she didn’t need you encouraging her in bad behavior with that little drinking game of yours.”

A faint smile crossed Ramsbury’s expression that Finn didn’t entirely like. He’d been clear with his friend that he couldn’t turn his rakish charms toward Marianne. Sometimes he wasn’t certain that order was recalled.

“I think she can manage herself, Delacourt.”

Finn wasn’t as certain. He’d spent a lifetime trying to protect his sister. A lifetime where he often failed. She had suffered greatly thanks to the behaviors of their late parents. Sometimes he looked at her and felt so guilty. One more thing in his life that made the weight on his shoulders suddenly heavy.

He cleared his throat. “Why don’t we spar as Ripley suggested?”

Ramsbury arched a brow. “Yes. Looks like you could use it.”

With that, Finn pushed away all the odd feelings in his chest and followed Ramsbury to a ring. And as they began to exchange punches, he allowed himself to forget everything but the physical exertion. He could pick up all his troubles again later. After all, he knew they would be waiting.

E sme Crawford sat at the bar in the back of the infamous Donville Masquerade, letting the sights and the sounds of the club wash over her. There were few places in the world where she felt comfortable, but here, with a mask fitted over her face, where she could be anonymous, was one of them. She wore many masks, after all. She was most comfortable where she could be observed but not truly seen.

She almost laughed, for two years ago she would have been anything but comfortable at a notorious sex club, with attendees participating in the most shocking of activities all around her. When she’d first come here at the behest of a lover, not quite innocent anymore but certainly not jaded, she had merely stared, shocked that such things could make her feel so tingly all over. When her affiliation with that man had been over, she’d asked him to buy her a lifetime membership as part of his settlement on her and he had obliged. She’d returned after that, and over time she’d allowed herself to participate. To enjoy more and more. Physical pleasure made life so much more bearable.

She smiled as one of the barkeeps stepped up. A handsome man with a plain mask and a flirtatious way. “And what can I get for such a lovely lady?”

“Whisky,” she said with a wink. “Rivers’ best.”

He inclined his head and poured it for her. He looked like he might stay and talk, perhaps she could even convince him to leave his post and come in the back for an anonymous encounter that would slake a physical need, but he was signaled by another patron and he sighed as he slipped away.

Esme turned her attention back to the crowd. This would be her only drink tonight—she was too clever to lose control over herself—so she savored it. She took slow sips as she allowed herself to be aroused by the crowd around her.

At one of the gaming tables to her left, a woman was passionately kissing a man as they played cards, her arm moving under the table like she was fondling him. Straight ahead of her on the dancefloor, a gentleman cupped a lady hard against him, massaging her backside as they staggered to the music, oblivious to those around them. She turned her attention to her right where other tables for drinks and conversation…or other activities were spread in a small area near the bar. Many were taken up by couples or more, talking or touching or even fucking in the case of one group.

But in the center of it all was a man, seated alone, wearing a black mask adorned with a few scattered diamonds across the bottom edge. So rich, probably. A gentleman. He was well-favored, with an angled jaw and full lips. And he was watching her, his dark eyes sweeping over her from afar. She smiled and he stood, a slow unfolding of a tall, broad-shouldered body that looked very fine even with all those pesky layers of clothing covering it.

Oh yes, if he wanted to play, it looked like a very good time to be had. He stepped closer and she leaned an elbow on the bar behind her, casual even as she devoured every step he took.

When he reached her, he tilted his head. “Good evening.”

She froze, all erotic thoughts and fantasies fading in the moment she heard his voice. She knew it. It came from a different life, one she had fled. One she continued to flee. And if he realized who she was, everything she’d built could come crashing down around her in an instant.