Chapter Seventeen

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The Earl of Lushing's club was packed. Gage could hear the boisterous cheering from where he was warming up. He had only agreed to Lushing's request because he did owe the man a favor for offering up the invitation to the masked event with Evangeline, but fortunately, it was a friendly, amicable exhibition.

He shouldn't have been surprised by the turnout. A fight with Jem Mace, who'd won the title of heavyweight champion of England a handful of years ago from Sam Hurst, would have drawn an enormous mob. The man was a bull in the ring, trained by Nat Langham himself. It would probably be a bloodbath, considering Gage was nowhere near fighting form.

Rolling out the knots in his neck and shoulders, Gage continued to loosen up his body in preparation. He needed this. He needed the challenge to get his mind clear. Recently, his goals had become muddled, especially with his growing feelings toward a certain beautiful and alluring heiress that weren't impartial in the least. Keeping her busy for six weeks had changed into him wanting to keep her for a good deal longer than that.

Some people could save their emotions from getting tangled up in purely physical liaisons, but Gage was evidently not one of them. The more he had of her and the more Evangeline shared with him, the more he craved. He wanted her body, her beautiful brain, her smiles, her caustic wit, her generosity of spirit… all of her.

And that terrified him.

Because he had to stay focused on what he was here for: three more weeks to resolve Asher's debt. Huntington was sure to be here at the fight tonight. The man could not stay away from a chance to throw around his status like the privileged fop he was. Gage's fingers clenched. What he wouldn't give to be facing him in the ring instead!

"Are you ready?" Lushing asked, coming into the room on a roar of noise from the adjacent hall. "It is a madhouse in there." A wide grin stretched his face, and Gage rolled his eyes. The amount of money he would be earning was no doubt responsible for that shit-eating grin.

Gage snorted. "To be pummeled into meal, why, of course. It's my life goal to be a champion's punching bag."

"It's an exhibition match, Vale," Lushing replied with a careless wave of his hand. "You're a duke. Mace knows that."

"Only skill and strength matter once in the ring."

Lushing laughed and patted Gage on the shoulder. "Just don't get knocked out in the first round. I've a few thousand quid riding on you making it to ten."

"Only ten ? You wound me, old friend." He'd be lucky if he lasted five rounds.

"Money is king."

Gage let out a laugh. In Lushing's world—and his as well—wealth was important. He needed it to clear Asher's debt as well as to take care of his estates and his tenants, but he wasn't doing this for the coin. Other than a favor to his friend, he had no stake in the fight. Win or lose, the outcome didn't matter to him.

Why not? a voice taunted.

It would be so easy to make his own bet and not have Huntington's agreement hanging over him. Then he could have Evangeline and be in the clear. Gage hissed out a tight breath. It would be only one time…

No. He swore to himself he'd never gamble, and that was one oath he refused to break.

When he walked out toward the ring, the roars were deafening. People were crammed in from corner to corner. Even the upper mezzanine was packed with standing room only. A man dressed in a florid waistcoat sauntered into his path.

"Ready to lose, Vale?" Huntington drawled with a pugnacious smile. "I've a fortune wagered on you getting knocked out in any of the first three rounds."

His fists balled. Punching a peer with no outward provocation was a crime. "Hope you brought a full purse."

"Lose the fight and I'll make it worth your while," the bastard said in a low voice.

Gage's lip curled. "As much as you think I can be bought by your filthy money, Huntington, I am not a cheat."

"You're just like your foolish brother." Huntington leered. "He never knew when to cut his losses either."

"What the fuck did you just say?" Gage growled, but Lushing's firm hand steered him toward the ring. He didn't have time to do anything but meet his opponent face-to-face, fury boiling over in his blood.

"Mace," he grunted in greeting to the waiting boxer.

The man nodded. "Vale."

As expected, once the fight started and the first round began, his rage at Huntington morphed into motivation, and his vision tunneled into intense focus. Jem Mace, despite knowing that Gage was a peer of the realm, would not go easy on him. Champion pugilists weren't built that way. Grunting, Gage took a deflected punch to his abdomen and then feinted right, ducking as he got in a strike of his own that glanced off Mace's arm.

Within seconds, Gage recognized Mace's superior skill. His adversary was also in peak physical condition. It made little difference that Mace was shorter and smaller. He was agile, skilled, and experienced, his fists snapping out with unerring accuracy and his feet in constant motion. But Gage had the advantage of muscle and brute force. One punch, delivered correctly, could be the end of the match. There was no way, however, he'd be that lucky.

Mace was too good.

Sparring, they circled each other, and the first round went into five, then six, and then seven. The thirty seconds of rest between each round were barely enough to catch his breath before going back to the scratch line in the middle of the ring for the next. Lushing would be happy, Gage thought idly, as he blinked blood out of one eye. They were in the tenth.

The noise was earsplitting, the crowd rowdy and sotted. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see money changing hands as the predictions of the match changed with each second, each punch, grapple, and tug. And then he caught a glimpse of a shard of moonlight that shouldn't be in such a place.

The left hook that Mace landed to his temple would have knocked him out, if it hadn't been for his sideways sway. Gage stumbled back, a blurry gaze scanning the crowd as if in defiance of the blow that would have felled a lesser man. There! His stare swiveled back to stop on a pale beauty, hidden in the deep cowls of a cloak, but Gage would recognize her anywhere.

What the devil was Evangeline doing here?

She and the lady beside her—Lady Briar, if he wasn't mistaken—were intent on the fight, unaware of the criminals and lowlifes surrounding them. The look on Evangeline's face was indescribable. Fascination warred with horror as that silver-blue gaze met his and fled when he roared in anger and frustration.

"Who's that bit of muslin?" Mace taunted, catching his stare.

"No one to you."

The man had the audacity to laugh. "Bet if I won the fight, she could be someone to me. Ladies of quality like a bit of rough in a champion."

Red filled his vision like a cloud. Gage knew it was a mistake as soon as he put himself in striking range of Mace's fists and took a teeth-shattering blow to the chin. Luckily, he landed an answering gut punch that made the other man wheeze. It was worth it to see Mace sucking wind, but fuck, his jaw was going to be sore. His head felt as though it'd been crushed beneath a boulder.

Gage tried to center on the fight, but throughout most of the sixteenth round, his concentration was half pulled toward the upper mezzanine. Lushing must have noticed his earlier distraction and was there now, thank God, and seemed to be in a ferocious argument with Lady Briar. Evangeline only had eyes for him, gloved hands gripping the railing. He ground his molars, his own fierce gaze promising retribution, but her chin only went higher.

That brazen little vixen.

In the next round, it was a miracle that Gage managed to avoid the next few rushes, shifting and bobbing, while he muddled through his own dwindling offense. His jabs were short and powerful when they landed. His opponent was bleeding from his lip, and one eye was swollen shut. Mace was quick and flexible, but he had a predictable fighting pattern, particularly a combination of a two-step feint, jab, weave, and hard punch with his left. That had to be his opening into the man's unbreachable defense.

In the eighteenth round, Mace grinned through a mouthful of bloody teeth, dancing from one foot to the other. "Want to throw in the sponge and go rescue your ladybird?"

"You wish."

"Or is she the earl's jade? Looks like Lushing's got her good."

His glance up to where he'd seen her last— nowhere near Lushing —was automatic and indubitably stupid. Mace's fist crashed hard into his ribs, sending him stumbling back into the ropes. Dimly, he heard a female scream amid the roar of noise, but a jab to the cheek had him reeling. Gage saw stars, black spots dancing in his vision, as he lunged toward Mace. The man dodged, and then started the combination that Gage had noticed before. Two steps, feint. Gage bobbed away from the jab, waited, and once Mace weaved, he struck as hard as he could.

The clip with his right to the side of Mace's nose had a spray of blood flying across the worn mat. It also dropped his opponent to the ground. It wasn't a knockout as he'd hoped. Within seconds, Mace wobbled to his feet, blinking to get his bearings. Twenty fucking rounds and still going. Gage blew out an exhausted breath. There wasn't much more left in him, and Mace had been known to go to forty-three rounds before. Perhaps Gage should throw in the sponge.

Suddenly a whistle blew, and pandemonium erupted. "Police!"

In a panic, his blurry eyes scanned the maddened crowd as they rushed around in a frenzy trying to escape arrest. Hadn't Lushing put measures in place with the Metropolitan Police? And where in the hell was Evangeline?

"Fucking capital, mate!" the earl roared, suddenly at his side as the throng went wild.

"Where's she?" he mumbled, shoving past him.

Lushing's grin vanished. He knew exactly who Gage meant. "Safe. Trust me, she and that reckless brat, Briar, are in a world of trouble for coming here. Follow me. My men are already stalling the police. I'll get a doctor to see to your injuries."

Blood pounding, he followed Lushing through several tunnels and ended up in a ladies' salon filled with agitated women. The earl had created the retiring area for his female members, and with a wild gaze Gage scanned the room, looking for that distinct head of moonlit hair.

Where was she?

"She's not here, Vale," Lady Briar said, coming to his side. Her eyes were wide as she took in his bare and bloodied chest. His state of undress was outrageous, especially among gently bred, unmarried ladies, but Gage did not care. If they were here , in Lushing's enterprise, they were most likely not the swooning sort.

"Where then?" he grunted.

"Upstairs, second room on the right," she replied without hesitation.

He took the stairs three at a time, ignoring the ache in his cracked ribs, and smashed open the door that Lady Briar had indicated. Relief poured through him when he caught sight of his quarry standing near the window. She turned, her beautiful face filled with concern. A maid hovered in one corner.

"Get out," he told the young woman, watching as she scurried from the room with an alarmed squeak.

"Vale, she has to stay," Evangeline began, but he cut her off with another irate look.

"Give me one good reason," he bit out and kicked the door shut behind him, "why you've put yourself in this kind of danger?"

Evangeline gulped.

She had no idea why his growled demands made her core tremble. Her brain was going haywire at the look of him, feral and bruised and so sodding attractive she couldn't find enough air to fill her lungs if she tried. Blood, sweat, and grime streaked him, and she'd never found him more seductive.

Watching him in that ring—the ease and primal power with which he'd faced his opponent—had both shocked and thrilled her. She had winced each time he'd taken a blow, but watching his huge body in action had made parts of her ache with unfulfilled want.

"I've had a bath drawn for you and the doctor will be by soon," she croaked.

He prowled toward her, and her breath snagged in her throat. "I do not want a bath."

Lord, the gravelly burr had her knees quaking beneath her skirts. She resisted the urge to flee, standing her ground when he stalked closer. The musky male scent of his sweat assailed her senses. She should be repulsed, but instead she was aroused. A strangled breath left her lips. Vale looked unhinged as though the slightest movement on her part would cause him to pounce. Was he still in fight mode?

And if he was, why did that excite her so?

"Why did you come?" he demanded, and it jolted her into action. Rounding the armchair, she stepped out of his reach. "Do you think that chair will save you?"

She bit her lip, having seen his strength in action and knowing he could lift the furniture with one hand if he wanted. "No, but perhaps you will be in a better mood once you've had some time to think."

"You still haven't answered me, Evangeline."

This time, her shudder was full body at the dark resonance of her name on his tongue. What was wrong with her? She was a strong woman with her own will who did not tremble at the sinful tone of a man's voice. "I do not need to give you a reason, Your Grace. I wanted to see the match, so here I am."

Wrong answer.

His green eyes darkened to the hue of a roiling ocean, as if Poseidon himself were about to rise from its murky depths. "Do you know the kind of danger you were in?"

"I was positively safe, I assure you."

Stormy eyes slitted. "In a den full of ruffians and thugs?"

"Don't be so dramatic," she said with a dismissive sniff that belied her churning insides. "It's Lushing's club, Vale, and I was surrounded by other gentlemen and ladies. Besides, I can protect myself."

With one swift move, he lifted the chair to one side, leaving her open to him. That chair had to weigh a considerable amount, and he'd just moved it as though it were a feather. And from the way he carried himself, she knew he had to be injured.

"Dramatic?" he echoed softly.

Oh, hellfire.

He was a coiled beast getting ready to spring, and she was his target.

But Evangeline was saved from enduring the brunt of his displeasure when the door opened and Lushing strolled in with both the ousted maid and the doctor. His eyes widened at the fraught scene, a low chortle leaving him.

"You two are lucky I'm not a stickler for the rules of the ton, or I'd have the good doctor here perform marriage rites instead." They both leveled him with identical glares, and he threw his hands into the air. "I'm being practical here."

The duke turned that turbulent stare back to her. "This isn't finished."

Reaching for patience, Evangeline walked over to where the earl stood as the doctor took her place to evaluate Gage's condition. She probably should have gathered her wits and left when she had the chance—for modesty's sake, at least—but for some reason, she didn't want him out of her sight, even if he was being insufferable. From what she could overhear while facing the window, he was as much of a grouchy bear to the poor doctor as he'd been to her, answering in monosyllabic grunts and growling when prodded too hard.

After a lengthy examination, the doctor cleared his throat and beckoned Lushing. "Apart from the cut on his brow, which I've cleaned and disinfected, he has three bruised ribs as well as a possible concussion," he said. "All in all, I'd say he was lucky it wasn't much worse. I would suggest some laudanum for the pain, but His Grace has refused." Evangeline knew the duke would decline. Laudanum was as bad as spirits. "Rest would be a good alternative," the doctor said.

"Minthe," Lushing addressed the maid. "Can you show the good doctor out?"

She bobbed a curtsy. "Yes, my lord."

"You, too, Lushing," Vale ground out. When Evangeline moved to leave with the earl, an ominous growl stopped her in her tracks. "Not you."

"Vale, this is not proper," Lushing said, pausing.

"Fuck what's proper. Get out. She stays."

Evangeline met the earl's eyes. "I'll be fine," she assured him.

"Effie—" he began, clearly uneasy at leaving her and an unmarried and underdressed gentleman together, but she lifted a palm.

"Lord Lushing, I appreciate your concern, but what I do with my own person is my business. I am safe with him, as you well know."

"But your reputation—"

"Is my affair." Her tone was gentle but firm.

With a fulminating look in Vale's direction that promised retribution if he did step out of line, the earl bowed and exited the room, but left the door open a crack. Evangeline rolled her eyes and kicked it shut with her heel. Her eyes met Vale's, who was watching her with an unreadable expression.

She made her way across the room and into the connected bathing chamber, adding more hot water to the bath she'd had drawn, and returned to the bedroom. Vale had not moved, but she caught a wince as he cradled his bruised ribs.

"Bathe now," she said softly. "I'll get you something to eat."

She braced for argument, but after a labored exhale, he pushed upright and moved past her into the chamber. What she wouldn't give to follow, knowing exactly what lay hidden beneath those snug fawn-colored breeches. He's injured, you half-wit!

Shaking her head at her utterly untimely thoughts, she opened the door and conveyed instructions to the nearby footman for food to be sent to the room. She had half expected the earl to still be lurking, ready to defend her precious virtue, but Lushing was nowhere to be seen.

Evangeline glanced down the quiet, thickly carpeted corridor and wondered what this level of the club was for, and then blushed at her own stupidity. Privacy? Elegantly furnished bedrooms? Of course it had to be for intimate liaisons.

Heavens, was the Earl of Lushing running a brothel above his club?

A frown creased her brow. Craning her ears, she didn't hear nary a moan that might accompany such a place. The floor didn't seem to be occupied, but that could have been because of the police raid. She blew out a breath. She was lucky that she and Briar hadn't been crushed in the mass exodus, but clearly Briar knew more about this secret club than she'd been letting on, which was curious in itself.

When the food came—swiftly, steaming hot, and ferried by the maid from earlier—she thanked the young woman as she settled the dishes onto the table near the window. For the first time, Evangeline noticed Minthe's dress, likely because she was not bamboozled by Vale's presence. It was expensive, low-cut, and not at all the kind of clothes a servant would wear. Perhaps Evangeline had been mistaken about the girl's position. "In what capacity do you work here, Minthe?"

The girl's smile was coquettish. "In whatever capacity my lord requires, my lady."

Evangeline blinked. Well, that was illuminating. Minthe's polished speech suggested that she was educated, and Evangeline's mind swiftly considered the significance. Pretty, refined, and obviously not ill-treated. Thanks to Briar, she'd read quite a lot about the plight of women who were forced into terrible circumstances. This woman, however, did not seem to be unhappy or forced into anything. "Are you compensated well?"

"Very well."

Minthe's throaty innuendo was not missed.

"And you're here by choice?"

A smiling Minthe nodded. "Her ladyship is an excellent employer."

Evangeline blinked. Her ladyship ? Didn't Lushing own the place? "Did you mean his lordship?"

"There's a lady and a lord, but it's nice working for a female who runs her own business and cares about the lot of us. Lord Lushing doesn't really have a say. He's more of the face of the place, while the lady is its spine."

Well, that was curious. Who on earth was Lushing in partnership with? Perhaps Minthe had used lady loosely and the true owner wasn't an aristocrat. But if she was… how scandalous!

"Thank you, Minthe."

The girl bobbed. "Let me know if His Grace requires assistance with the bath."

A sound that resembled an actual growl slid from her chest, prompting Minthe to back away with a wide grin. Mortified, Evangeline turned to the delivered dishes, only relaxing when she heard the soft click of the door. Goodness, one moment she was respecting Minthe for her choices, and the next, she was ready to drag the woman out by her hair for doing what she was probably paid well to do. Was Vale a regular here? Just because he was a virgin didn't mean he wasn't experienced.

Oh, button it, you needy twit!

What did it matter if he was a member or not? His habits and proclivities were not her concern.

When the duke emerged with damp hair and a scrubbed face, wearing nothing but a gold and black banyan that spawned a hundred more wicked fantasies in her head, Evangeline felt her cheeks flame. Pinning her lips, she prepared him a plate in silence, a bit of game pie, spiced beef, and toasted mushrooms. "Eat," she told him.

"You seem to enjoy giving me orders," he said, pulling out a chair for her before taking his own.

"What's not to like?" she said. "Having a celebrated pugilist biddable, compliant, and entirely at my mercy is any lady's dream."

Green eyes flared, a dark flush tinting his freshly scrubbed cheekbones. "I am not of the mind to be at anyone's mercy. I am still furious with you for putting yourself in danger."

"And yet, you have no grounds for that, Your Grace." She smiled to soften the blow of her words. "You are neither my father nor my husband."

He finished his mouthful. "I'm not allowed to care what happens to you?"

The unguarded response made her falter. She sucked in a breath, ruthlessly squashing the breathless feelings expanding in her chest. "Veering down that path would be an irredeemable mistake, Your Grace. For both of us. We agreed that this would be a platonic adventure."

Vale stared at her, so many unsaid things in that single glance, but they were feelings that neither of them could express… or perhaps should express.

"Speaking of adventure," he said eventually. "Are you free next week?"

She blinked, mind going to the mountain of invitations that her sister had insisted they accept. The last fortnight had become a blur of balls, soirees, musicales, endless garden parties, and tedious operas. On occasion, she was saved from boredom by her friends as well as the occasional escape to Mary Tealby's shelter home, where she volunteered whenever they needed extra help.

But her friends had their own, full lives. Vesper, who had just announced she was with child, seemed to be casting up her accounts at every turn; Nève was constantly back and forth in Paris, assisting with her sister's ballet school; Laila was busy being a mother; and Briar was off on her marches condemning the patriarchy and scoffing at any event celebrating the archaic marriage mart.

"I was thinking of going back to Chichester soon," Evangeline admitted, though she didn't reveal the full reason behind it—that she was petrified of what consummation with Vale meant to her heart. Already, it seemed to be unreasonably possessive, and that was alarming in the extreme. Vale wasn't hers . "I'll ask the girls to chaperone Viola or pay someone if they can't. I'm not needed here, and well, my shelter is important to me."

Was that a sheen of panic in those green eyes? "You can't leave. Not yet. And besides, we have to fulfill our… er… agreement."

Her cheeks heated. "You're injured, so I assume that might be a challenge."

"Barely bruised," he replied. "Please don't go. Stay until next week, at least."

She started to shake her head and then stopped. Everything inside of her felt needlessly jumbled. The astonishing spike of possessiveness with Minthe had troubled her, and the duke's soft words about being allowed to care had burrowed under her skin and arrowed directly to the yearning organ in her chest. She should say no and leave… save herself before she sank too deep.

"Why? What's next week?" she asked instead.

"The Henley Royal Regatta." With the slightest wince, the duke propped his arm on one bent knee. "I'm racing on the first day with Lushing, Marsden, and Greydon for sport. It would be… nice if you were there to cheer us on."

Pleasure filled her at the request, and Evangeline warmed at the dull flush that deepened his cheekbones. This did not seem like an offer bound by the nature of their arrangement. It felt like a sentimental invitation. As though perhaps, just maybe, he wanted her there.

Her good sense told her to refuse, to keep it impersonal, but her silly, foolish heart bullied its way forward. "I would love to."