Chapter 16

Sixteen

"I'm not sure about this, milady." By the light of the carriage's interior lantern, Cassie's lady's maid appeared wan. Even more so than she'd been when Cassie first informed her of the plan for the evening. Ruth squirmed. "Limehouse isn't the finest part of Town, and we've only Patrick in the box for protection."

"We aren't going to need protection," Cassie said. She was beginning to regret bringing Ruth. It had been an attempt to show some propriety, but her maid's complaints were growing tiresome.

Cassie drew in a breath to calm herself. Her frayed nerves weren't entirely Ruth's fault. No, her true annoyance was with Grant. And Hugh if she was being honest. The two of them had shut her out, deciding what wasn't appropriate for her, when Isabel was her responsibility. Not theirs.

Once Grant had left with Tris in his carriage, her face still hot from his ardent show of kissing her hand, Cassie had fled back to Grosvenor Square, where she'd told Patrick to plan for an outing to Limehouse that night. He had not been pleased. Her assurance that they would simply wait outside the club and see what they could see had not been enough to put him at ease. Since she could not enter the club alone, watching from the carriage window would have to suffice. Staying in at home and twiddling her thumbs while Isabel was out there, in danger, was not an option.

Duke's was located in a repurposed warehouse near the river, and several minutes after Patrick had parked the carriage on the street outside, Cassie's spirits lifted. Men in fashionable suits and top hats were entering the club, and women were in the mix as well. By all appearances, the attendees were not lower class. While a few women were unaccompanied, most were on the arms of men.

Cassie slid forward on her seat. "I say we go in."

Ruth balked. "No, milady, we couldn't. It wouldn't be safe—ah!" The maid screamed as a hand pounded on the carriage door, and Cassie practically jumped out of her skin.

"Cassie, is that you in there?"

Her heart re-started when she recognized the voice. "Tobias?"

She reached for the door handle, and Ruth screamed again. Cassie gritted her molars. "It is just my brother," she told the maid, who didn't look at all relieved.

"I thought I recognized this carriage. What in Hades are you doing here?" Tobias asked the moment Cassie flung open the door and saw her brother on the pavements. She extended her hand, and he saw her down.

"I'm attending the match, of course," she said, immediately taking his arm. "With my favorite brother."

He was more agreeable than Michael, and quite the young blade with his walking stick, skewed top hat, and loose cravat. However, he was no pushover. Tobias peered at her skeptically.

"You had no idea I would be here," he said.

"Perhaps I did. Maybe I am having you followed," she replied lightly. "Patrick, stay here with Ruth."

Her driver bowed his head. "My lady. Lord Tobias."

"Are you boxing tonight?" she asked him as she tried to begin walking toward the warehouse.

Tobias kept his feet planted. "I don't box. I bet. And no, you may not come in with me."

"There are women going inside, Toby. Plenty of them."

And an increasingly large part of her wanted to be one of them. If Mr. Youngdale was at the boxing match, he might have Isabel with him. If not, it might be possible to follow him afterward. He could very well lead them straight to her.

"These matches are no holds barred," Tobias said. "They're quite gruesome at times, and besides, Michael would serve my head on a platter if he found out I'd taken you to one."

"He won't find out through me," she replied. "Though, he might find out how you're spending your allowance if you do not escort me inside."

Gracious, now she sounded like Grant Thornton.

Her brother scowled. "Fine. But you will stay right next to me the entire time. Is that clear?"

She promised she would, and at last, they started for the warehouse. Whatever goods the structure had stored in its previous life had been lost beneath its new incarnation. A vast space with high ceilings and worn wooden floors housed four sets of staged seating, all surrounding a raised boxing rink. Lights blazed from lanterns hanging from ceiling beams, and the noise as she and Tobias entered arm in arm stunned her. Men spoke loudly and in teeming throngs. Those they threaded through seemed to be placing bets and discussing the odds of the night's match. The chaos of the floor brought a smile to Tobias's lips, and he raised an arm as he caught sight of someone. He pulled her along while Cassie scanned the lively crowds for the two men who would not be at all pleased to see her there. If they had come, that was.

"Forsythe, you've met my sister, Lady Cassandra," Tobias said, and suddenly, she was staring into the face of Mr. Alaric Forsythe. He quickly removed his hat and bowed.

"This is a surprise, my lady. I had no idea you attended boxing matches."

She gaped, belatedly remembering that he'd sent flowers to her after the opera. And also after Lady Tennenbright's ball.

"Cassie doesn't attend boxing matches," Tobias provided when she continued to stare. "I don't know why she's here, but trust me Forsythe, whatever the reason, you likely don't want to be part of it."

She longed to tweak her younger brother's ear but contained herself. Mr. Forsythe ignored Tobias's advice and animatedly invited them to sit with him. Tobias pounded him on the back, calling him a good chap, and Mr. Forsythe led them toward the far side of the boxing ring.

"I hope you don't mind the front row," Mr. Forsythe said as they filed onto the benches.

"I'm not sure what I prefer," Cassie said honestly. "This is my first match."

He blinked, his curiosity plain. "What has brought you out?"

She had no ready excuse, and with the crush of viewers near them in the stands, Cassie felt slightly panicked. It was hot and close, smelling of salty brine from the Thames, smoke, and sweat, and her heartbeat was beginning to pick up speed. The noise was overwhelming, and though she darted looks all around, she couldn't see any sign of Isabel. Or of Grant and Hugh.

"Lady Cassandra?"

She faced Mr. Forsythe. "I'm sorry, this is all rather?—"

A high roar erupted in the room, and people all around them shot to their feet. Mr. Forsythe took her elbow, and they stood as well. Two large, muscled men wearing breeches and nothing else climbed into the boxing ring. All around her, men and women cheered and clapped, and then just as abruptly, everyone retook their seats. Cassie was slow to do the same, her ears ringing, her mind still spinning. A few seconds behind the others, Cassie had started to sit, but then froze. Across the ring, in the opposite stands, one man remained standing. He linked eyes with Cassie, his own blazing with pure wrath.

She'd found Grant. Or rather, he'd found her.

Tobias tugged her arm and brought her back onto the bench with a thump. Across the way, Grant smoothly lowered himself into his seat. Hugh and Sir were with him. The viscount shook his head after seeing her and leaned over to whisper something in Grant's ear. However, the physician didn't shift his glare from her. As the two men began to circle one another in the ring and throw jabs with their fists, Grant's attention slid to the man on Cassie's left.

"I think I have discovered why you're here, Lady Cassandra," Mr. Forsythe said, leaning toward her ear as people all around them cheered on the fighters. He had to practically shout to be heard above the din, and it made her eardrum ache.

She peered at him, confused as to how he could possibly know. But then, when he directed his attention across the ring, into the stands where Grant was seated, she understood his meaning. Embarrassment stained her cheeks.

"Oh, no! Really, that's not why," she said, but Mr. Forsythe only laughed.

"I do not read the gossip columns, but even I am aware that the gentleman has set his cap at you. And if the way he is looking at you is any indication at all, he is not pleased to see you here at another man's side."

While Sir and Hugh were looking off toward another section of staging, Grant continued to blister her with a glare. But she wasn't here with Mr. Forsythe! They'd simply bumped into one another. No, what Grant was angry about was her being here at all after he'd told her she couldn't come. Well, that wasn't up to him, was it?

"His interest is evident," Mr. Forsythe continued to say as the two men in the ring circled one another. "And dare I say, yours as well?"

She felt a twinge of shock, then an equal one of guilt. "Mr. Forsythe, I don't think you under?—"

He held up a hand again and smiled. "No, no. No need, my lady. You should know that I've made arrangements to return to Egypt next month. Not because of a broken heart," he added with a laugh. "But because it is where I belong, at least for right now."

The announcement left Cassie speechless. She began to feel silly as she gaped at him.

"Oh. Well, then… I am happy for you." She genuinely was. Relieved, too. Cassie did feel terribly that he had fallen for the ruse she and Grant were perpetuating, but she could only hope that he was in earnest, and his heart was not injured.

"I only pray the gentleman endeavors to deserve such a treasure," he added, with a final nod of his head. As if to say, and that is that.

Blushing fiercely at Mr. Forsythe's presumptions, Cassie turned away. She could not look at Grant, however, and followed the direction of Hugh and Sir's attention instead. In the staging adjacent to hers, every row was filled. In the gaps where there were no seats, men and women stood, and several men continued to collect bets being wagered on the opponents.

Her eyes tripped to a stop on a man in a top hat. There was nothing remarkable about him, and without doubt, she would not have given him even a second glance—if not for the healing scratches on his right cheek. Cassie held her breath as the cheers and jeers of the crowds around her faded behind a ringing in her ears. Four long lines stretched from under the man's eye to the corner of his mouth, the gashes red and scabbing over.

In the alley behind Hope House, she had defended herself by raking her hair comb along her attacker's face. Blood had been left behind on the sharp tines, proving she'd cut him.

Thiswas Mr. Youngdale.

His full attention was on the fight unfolding in the ring. He sat stiff and unemotional, unlike the others around him, who were shifting in their seats, standing or clapping or shouting when one boxer landed a punch and sent the other staggering. The more she watched him, the more Mr. Youngdale's cold inspection of the fight began to chill her.

And then, the disturbing spell was broken.

The boxers in the ring barreled into one another, flying up against the ropes directly in front of Cassie, Tobias, and Mr. Forsythe. One man slammed his bare fist into the other's face, and in a blink, a spatter of blood arced through the air. Wetness splattered against Cassie's face, shocking her. She raised her hands to her cheek. Her fingers came away with blood on them.

Laughter for her predicament erupted in the rows around her, and when she looked toward Mr. Youngdale again, his hard stare had fastened upon her. For a moment, she thought he did not recognize her. But then, he raised his gloved hand to his cheek and touched the healing gashes. His lips twisted into a mean grimace.

"Here, take this, Lady Cassandra." Mr. Forsythe pressed a handkerchief into her hand. She peeled her eyes from Mr. Youngdale and attempted to wipe away the gore. The last thing she wanted to do was look across at Grant, so she didn't.

In the ring, one of the opponents received a blow to the jaw and slumped to the stained canvas floor, unconscious. The warehouse erupted into cheers and moans. Tobias, however, was still howling with laughter at her expense.

"You should have seen your expression." He acted it out in absurd exaggeration, and Cassie kicked him in the shin.

"Ow!" He rubbed his leg as everyone around them began to stand.

The entire fight hadn't lasted more than ten minutes. She looked to the stands where Mr. Youngdale had been, but with everyone standing and moving, couldn't see him.

"Try this." Tobias whisked the handkerchief from her fingers and uncapped his flask. He poured some spirits onto the cloth and began to dab roughly at her skin.

She snatched the cloth away. "I can do it myself, you buffoon."

Tobias threw up his hands and turned to speak to some other acquaintances. After wiping at her cheeks, Mr. Forsythe's wince hinted that she had not been totally successful. He gestured for her to give him the handkerchief, and when she did, he applied it to her nose, then forehead.

"Awful luck," he said. "I'm afraid you've some in your hair, too."

Cassie felt silly having her face cleaned by him. Not to mention, his ministrations were blocking her view of the stands where Mr. Youngdale had been. She pulled back from Mr. Forsythe. "Really, it is fine. I'll be?—"

Her voice cut off as a scorching presence seared her. Like the pressure of a hot wind, she did not have to see Grant to know he was there. Cassie rose to her feet and, steeling her spine, faced his wrath full on. He towered in front of their row, his eyes like two emeralds on fire.

"May I have a word, Lady Cassandra?" It was less of a request and more of a terse command. He held out his hand.

Cassie eyed it, dreading his certain scolding while at the same time, eager to put her hand in his. It made no sense. She blamed the chaotic surroundings and the shock of blood spatter that had lashed her across the face.

After thanking Mr. Forsythe, whom Grant had pointedly refused to acknowledge, Cassie slipped her fingers into Grant's waiting palm. He locked her hand in his and began to walk, saying nothing as he hauled her toward the exit.

She dug in her heels. "Stop! Mr. Youngdale is here."

"I know."

"We have to follow him." She again struggled against his route toward the warehouse exit. She tried to look over her shoulder, but the crowds were milling, and Grant was still dragging her forward.

"Hugh and Sir have gone after him. I would be with them, too, if not for your foolish antics."

Cassie ripped her hand from his. "You do not need to concern yourself with me. We are both here for the same reason. Let us find him."

"I don't need to concern myself? Have you lost your senses?" Grant held himself rigid, and close, looming over her. "Not only is this place utterly inappropriate for a woman of your standing, but Youngdale saw you. He recognized you. Did you not think of that before coming here with Tobias—and with Forsythe?" He spit the name.

"I did not arrive with either of them. I met them by chance." Though she knew that wasn't the larger problem. If Mr. Youngdale learned who she was and could place her at Hope House…he could expose her.

"I didn't think of Mr. Youngdale seeing me," she admitted softly. And how it pained her, too.

"No, all you heard was someone telling you that you couldn't do something, and like a child, you did it anyway."

The chiding burned, and Cassie glared, her contrition consumed by a rush of indignation. "Very well, your opinion is noted. Now, I have no need for your protection, Lord Thornton, so you are free to join Hugh and Sir."

She started toward the exit but did not make it two strides before Grant overtook her. He slid in front of her, so close her feet practically tripped over his.

"They are gone, and I am taking you back to Grosvenor Square."

"No, thank you," she bit off, teeth gnashing. "I have my own carriage."

He hooked her arm as she tried to pass him again.

"Unhand me," she commanded. Grant cocked his head, the intensity of his stare enough to thicken the breath in her throat.

"Woman, this is the second time today that I've wanted to bend you over my knee and paddle your hide."

The growled words burrowed under her skin—and ignited. The rest of the club vanished as Grant's eyes dropped to her lips. His vexation with her brimmed to overflowing, and an increasingly reckless part of her delighted in it. That heedless little demon inside her relished that she could push him to the brink of losing control. It wanted to keep pushing until he snapped. What might that look like? What would he do? The attention he was giving her mouth gave her a suspicion.

"Ah, Lord Thornton, I see you've apprehended my harridan of a sister," Tobias said as he joined them. Purposefully, Cassie was sure of it. Grant wasn't exactly masking his anger, and as petulant as Tobias could be, he wouldn't stand back while someone manhandled his sister.

Grant released Cassie's elbow and stepped away. "Lord Tobias, can I ask you to walk your sister to her carriage. She was leaving."

The utter gall! "Do not order me about. I'm not yours to command."

"The match is over anyhow, Cassie," Tobias said, without giving Grant a chance to reply. He hooked her arm and tipped the brim of his hat to Grant, bidding him a good evening.

Her brother pulled her along, and when they'd taken several strides, he leaned closer. "What have you done, dear sister?"

She balked at him. "Me?"

"Thornton looked like he wanted to rip off your head."

Or take her over his knee. Outside, Cassie welcomed the cool air and dragged in several gulps. "I didn't do anything. He is simply unpleasant and bad-tempered."

Tobias frowned down at her. "And yet rumors swirl that he is going to propose."

Cassie blushed. "Nothing will come of that."

Grant did not intend to propose, only court her. And none of it was real anyhow.

They turned toward her carriage. "Good," he replied.

Cassie slowed her gait. "Why would you say that?"

Her brother laughed lightly. "The man's reputation is less than pristine. Michael respects that he's friends with Viscount Neatham but as a match for you? Absolutely not."

Patrick leaped from the box and opened the carriage door for her, but as Tobias released her arm, Cassie swayed. It wasn't as if she was going to marry Grant but hearing that Michael would disapprove of the physician rankled.

"Is it because he works?" Cassie asked before Patrick could shut the door.

Her brother shrugged. "That. And the fact that he has several mistresses."

Disbelief poured through her. "Several?"

Tobias shrugged again. "From what I hear."

He tipped his hat, and Patrick shut the door. Surely, Tobias had to be exaggerating. Or the rumors he'd heard were false.

"Milady, is that…blood on your face?" Ruth's warbling voice drew Cassie out of her whirling thoughts. "And in your hair?"

As Patrick drove them back toward home, Ruth fretted over the dashes of blood that had also landed upon the collar of her pelisse. The whole thing would be lost now, stained irreparably. Cassie half listened to her maid's vexing, and when at last they arrived home, impatiently waited for her driver to come hand her down.

Just then, a coach, made visible by its exterior lanterns, appeared in the streetside window. Had it gone by swiftly, Cassie wouldn't have noticed it. But the coach slowed to a crawl as it passed them, practically stopping entirely as their windows aligned. It was far too dark to see inside the coach, but a strange prickling lifted her skin. She felt eyes on her.

Patrick opened the door, and Cassie quickly took his hand to descend. By the time she was on the pavements, the coach had picked up speed again and was continuing away.

"That coach," Cassie said to him. "Was it following us?"

"Now that you mention it, milady, I did notice it behind us since Limehouse," Patrick said. They watched it go around the oval-shaped square, then out of sight.

"Is everything all right, milady?" Ruth asked.

"Yes," Cassie lied. Her maid would have dissolved into panic if she told her the truth: that she was quite certain they'd been followed since leaving Duke's. And that she was almost positive Mr. Youngdale had been in that coach.

Now, he knew where she lived.