Chapter Eighteen

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

It was revoltingly hot for July, and not even the slight breeze off the Thames made the stifling air any cooler. His broad-striped blue-and-white jersey and flannel trousers clung to his skin, but thankfully, Gage wasn't the only one suffering, as Greydon wore a disgusted face while yanking at his own snug neckline, and Marsden swiped a damp handkerchief over his head, soaking up the beads of sweat on his brow. Lushing, of course, looked as collected and dapper as ever as he sipped from a hip flask with no sign of discomfort whatsoever.

Gage raised a brow.

"Mother's milk," the earl replied, holding it out in offering, but Gage shook his head. Even if he did drink, alcohol in sweltering weather was a terrible idea. "If my blood's hotter than the air, then I feel nothing," Lushing explained.

"That makes no sense," Marsden said before accepting the flask and taking a deep draft. He groaned immediately as if regretting the sip. "Your theory better work. When's the first heat for our challenge?"

"We go at half past two, which is in an hour," Lushing said, snorting as Greydon refused the flask as well and passed it back to him. "Never thought I'd see the day when my best friend was henpecked by my sister."

The duke scowled. "Not henpecked. She's pregnant. I'd rather not have her spew on me at the smallest hint of whisky. Learned that lesson the hard way the other night. I'll pass, thank you."

"Well pulled, London!" Lushing bellowed when two vessels rounded the bend.

Gage watched as the boats raced past them nearly neck and neck for the Diamonds, the watermen moving in tandem, their oars cutting into the water with precision. Cheers and screams filled the air from the motley crowd on the banks. Smaller boats clogged the waterline but left the main pathway for the contest clear.

The regatta had been Lushing's idea. He'd somehow been roped into a bullish wager with Huntington, of all people. Both members of the London Rowing Club, they had managed to secure a time for the friendly competition, and honestly, Gage had his doubts about their chances of winning. They had not trained together, so the race was going to be either a massive surprise or a colossal disaster.

"Where have the ladies gone, do you know? My marchioness was rather excited to see us win today." Marsden cupped a hand over his brow, looking out toward the crowded banks of the Thames.

Gage forced himself not to follow the man's gaze, although he was desperate to know whether Evangeline had kept her promise to attend. He'd seen her sister Viola earlier fawning over Huntington, so he knew Evangeline might not be far behind. He ignored the thump of his heart in his chest and the urge to search for her.

"They are headed to the grandstand near the Red Lion, I believe, so they can see the end of the race." Greydon pointed to the spectator marquee that had been erected on the lower bank. It was much too crowded for him to distinguish any singular person, and Gage couldn't depend on seeing Evangeline's distinctive hair, as most of the ladies were wearing enormous bonnets and carrying parasols.

Maybe she hadn't come. Squashing the disappointment he felt, he rolled his neck and cracked his fingers. "Tell me again why we're doing this?" he groused.

"For the glory!" Lushing lifted his flask and winked. "And maybe two thousand quid. That sniveling jackanapes, Huntington, better be good for it."

Gage frowned at the number. It could hardly be a coincidence, considering that was the exact amount Asher had owed Huntington. Was it some sort of message? No, Huntington was not that clever. His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the clerk of the course, who'd come to review the rules for the friendly amateur club race. He went over the starting place, downstream at Temple Island, and the end goal, which was just in front of the Red Lion Hotel, nearly a mile and a third of distance.

Gage hoped they had the stamina for it. Not that any of them were men of excess or indulgence, but sculling required experience not to crash into the booms that separated the competing boats, listening to the coxswains, and aiming to keep the same rhythm. Thank God they had all done it at university, albeit for different teams. Rowing was like riding a horse—one never truly forgot how.

At least, that was the hope.

Needing to clear his head, Gage walked the short distance from his crew to the area where the boats were being readied in the water, one on the Buckinghamshire side and the other on the Berkshire, known as Bucks and Berks respectively. What looked like a man swimming away from the bow of their craft caught his attention, but before he could call out, the swimmer disappeared behind another boat.

Gage blinked. Perhaps someone had fallen in from one of the surrounding craft. It was a wonder more people didn't drown from the copious amount of alcohol that was flowing, causing them to do stupid things. Striding past a group of drunken onlookers, he squinted as the blond, drenched man climbed from the water some distance away and melted into the crowd.

" You're racing?" a sneering voice asked.

He turned to see Huntington, dressed in a light blue jersey and flanked by some of his mates all wearing the same toffee-nosed expressions. Gage lifted a brow at Huntington's surprise. Maybe the two thousand was simply a coincidence. "Scared?"

Huntington laughed. "Of you? I shall take great pleasure in trouncing your crew and fattening my pockets while I'm at it."

"You'll need more than luck to win."

The man did not even flinch, though a smile curled his lips. "Haven't you heard, Vale? I am unbeatable even against the worst odds. I'm a man who makes my own luck." He sniffed and beckoned to Viola, who was standing behind him. "Come away, Viola. I've heard misery and misfortune are catching." He sauntered away, but not before Gage caught a look of revulsion crossing Viola's face just as it was smoothed away by a false smile.

When the umpire gave the call for the start of the race, Gage tried to shake off his worry about the swimmer and joined the rest of the crew, but the bad feeling remained. He took his spot at the center seat and grabbed hold of the oars.

"Something doesn't feel right," he said, having long learned to trust his instincts.

Two seats ahead, Lushing craned his neck over his shoulder. "It's nerves. You'll get into your stride once we get going. Let's crush these nurslings."

Gage didn't have time to voice any more concerns, as the race began, and all he could hear and feel were the brutal splash of the water and the answering burn of his lungs. The bruises on his ribs ached dully with each movement of his arms, but he'd taken some willow bark tea that morning to lessen the pain. Thankfully, his concussion was gone. His muscles stretched from the exertion as the skiff pulled forward and then inched back with each effort. Lushing was right; Gage's brain fell into an instinctive mode, following the rhythmic calls of the steersman.

"Pull, lads, pull!" he shouted. "Coming up to Barrier!"

It was one of the first progress markers, and Huntington's team had already gained some yards on them.

"We're taking on the drink!" one of the oarsmen yelled behind him. Marsden, it sounded like. "There's a nail or stud loose!"

The disturbance caused them to flounder in rhythm, leaving them to lag even farther behind while the mistake was corrected by the frantic coxswain. "Pick her up, Brightley! Stroke, lads! We're gaining, up, up!"

They weren't gaining. They were slowing.

The man in the water from earlier niggled at him.

"Marsden," Gage shouted over his shoulder. "Pull your oars up and reach down to where you see the water." He felt the slack when Marsden's oars retracted and the rightward drag when his hand plunged into the river.

"Fawley," the steersman shouted, indicating the second progress marker.

"By God, there's something down here," the marquess barked, grunting as he yanked upward from the underside of the boat. "Metal piling tied to a rope! Someone's trying to bloody sink us."

That no-good sodding cheat! Gage knew it had to be Huntington. The extra weight would have been enough to give the opposing team a slender margin of a lead, but the loss of Marsden while he detached the line had cost them dearly.

"Throw it out and plug the goddamned hole, if you can, then pull, men, pull!" Lushing roared. "No way we're giving up now!"

The boat pressed forward with renewed force, closing the distance to the rear of Huntington's boat. They were still more than a full length behind. Gage gritted his teeth, redoubling his efforts despite the now excruciating throb in his injured ribs. The bridge—and the finish line—loomed in the distance. Their vessel pulled alongside Huntington's team, the boats lurching forward and then surging back. The opposing team's faces were grim, mouths open and nostrils flared, their boat only a yard ahead.

"Pull, Vale! Pull!" a woman screamed.

The roar of the crowd above him at the bridge where carriages lined its surface narrowed to a single voice that sounded like music to his ears, and Gage looked up to catch a flicker of bright hair beneath a wide-brimmed bonnet and a smile so broad, he felt it echo on his own face.

She'd come!

Hell if his arms didn't feel like noodles and his ribs like an elephant had decided to park its arse upon his chest, but he gave everything he had, and when the bang of a cannon shot across the river past the bridge over the howls and the hollers, they were ahead by a nose.

They had bloody won!

"Well done, gents!" Lushing panted as they rowed slowly to the bank and disembarked.

But Gage was intent on one man. Ignoring his cramping upper body, he stalked across the way to where Huntington was standing with his own crew, a rancid look on his face at the loss.

"I know what you did, you louse of a man," he snarled. "With the weight and the hole in our hull."

"Careful, Vale," Huntington sneered, eyes darting around. "Don't forget who's paying your bills."

Gage didn't care who heard. His fingers curled at his sides. He wanted to pound the cheating sack of shit into the earth, but he settled for a different kind of blow… one to the man's ego. "You've barely made inroads into your so-called suit, considering all the time you spend in darkened arbors with other women. Ticktock, Huntington. Your six-week marker is coming up fast." It gave him great satisfaction to see the cad lose his smile. "You are nothing but a disgraceful cheat, and the truth will come out sooner or later."

"Where's your proof?"

Gage scowled. He had none. It was only his word about the man he'd seen in the river, and anyone could have planted the weight, which Marsden had tossed into the river for the sake of the race. Any evidence of wrongdoing was at the bottom of the Thames.

"Is everything all right?" a female voice asked, making them both turn.

Lady Viola was followed by her sister, who had asked the question. Evangeline had brought Lucky, he noticed, as the small dog stayed close to her on a short leash. To Gage's surprise, Viola did not rush forward to console Huntington but seemed intent on remaining at Evangeline's side. Curious.

"Fine," Huntington snapped. "Don't you know better than to have your blade of a nose in everything?"

Gage bristled at his tone toward Evangeline, but to her credit, Evangeline only arched a silver-blond brow in amusement. "Don't you know better than to be such a sore loser, my lord? I'm sure the duke and his crew will give you a rematch and a chance to earn back your pride soon."

Huntington's nostrils flared, rage snapping across his face, but with an avid audience close, he could not say anything that would land him in poor light. "Viola, come!"

While Evangeline had kept her composure when he'd talked down to her, Evangeline's jaw went hard at his attitude toward her sister. Her cool expression went positively glacial after Huntington slammed a hand onto Viola's arm, yanking her toward him. Lucky gave a loud growl, the dog's fur practically standing on end at the man's aggression. Gage stepped in front of Evangeline as she moved toward Huntington, her face a mask of fury.

"Release the lady, sir," he snapped.

A muscle flexed in the man's jaw, his fingers tightening, and Gage felt his own muscles coil in readiness when Viola's pained hiss cut through the air. Fuck, he was going to put that bastard on his arse. How dare he manhandle a woman? Gage stepped forward, and in that instant, Huntington released his grip. "No harm done."

No harm done? Gage stared incredulously at Huntington as Viola rubbed her sore arm. "I should teach you a fucking lesson in manners."

Huntington gave a dismissive laugh, though it was obvious he was simmering with rage… and something else. Fear? Dread? "I'd hardly take lessons from a Highland bumpkin like you, Vale, but keep thinking you're on the same level as the rest of us. You're nothing, just like your brother." He sniffed pompously and crooked a finger. "Viola, I said come !"

Viola shook her head. "I'm not a dog. Take care not to speak to me that way. No, I think I'm staying here with Effie."

Huntington looked taken aback at the rebuff, but his face hardened, then went devoid of all emotion before he stalked away.

"Are you hurt?" Evangeline asked her sister. "God, Viola, has he treated you like that before?"

Viola looked discomfited, sending Gage a sidelong glance. Did she not wish to speak in front of him? "No, I'm not hurt. And he's never been like this, at least not physically. But he's overbearing when he doesn't get his way, and I've a feeling he will be untenable with this loss." Her voice went low. "He had a fortune wagered on them to win."

Evangeline frowned but then nodded, though her brows remained pleated when her sister wandered off to congratulate Lushing and the others as they were being met by their wives and friends. Gage wondered what such a loss meant if Huntington was still plagued with money troubles. Not that it was Gage's problem; he just wanted Asher's debt gone.

Huntington was a cheat… but a desperate cheat was a whole different beast.

Gage clenched his jaw; two more weeks and this would all be over.

Out of the corner of his eye, Gage saw Marsden's marchioness launch herself into his arms, followed by a cherub of a little boy dressed in a smart seersucker striped suit. Vesper also joined her duke but looked a little green to the gills. He thought she might have remained at home, given what Greydon said about her pregnancy at the start of the race, but he suspected Vesper was as stubborn as Evangeline. No wonder they were such close friends.

"Brilliant win, Your Grace," Evangeline said, once they were alone. Lucky deigned to give him a small lick when he reached down to let her sniff his hand in greeting. "I saw it from the bridge. Well done."

"Thank you. I'm glad you came."

"You asked me to," she said and then pinned her lips, a wary gaze darting to the side to her friends as if she didn't quite know how to conduct herself with them watching. It was perplexing, considering the playful, assertive version of her he was used to. Was she nervous?

"You're right, I did," he said. "I'm glad nonetheless."

"It was my pleasure," she murmured.

In a summery cream-colored embroidered gown, she was lovely. Pink roses that matched the color of her lips were gathered on her bonnet, a bit of lace netting hanging over the brim, making her look entirely too delectable. He had the sudden urge to wrap his arms around her as his friends were doing with their wives.

Christ, would he ever get enough of her?

"Oy!" Lushing shouted in their direction. "Where did that cowardly little miscreant get off to? I intend to collect my wager." He stalked down the hill toward the refreshments tent. "Huntington, where the devil are you?"

Evangeline stared after the earl, opening her fan for a modicum of privacy and keeping her voice low. "What happened with Huntington just before? You looked ready to kill the man. In fact, I was certain I would have to shove him into the river to save his useless life. I wouldn't want you to go to prison for murdering a peer."

Gage felt his face break into a smile at her tone. "You would do that for me?"

"Lord Cuntington will get what's coming to him one day, but not at your expense."

Gage couldn't help it. He burst out laughing, the sound drawing the stares of most of his crew, but he could not find it in himself to bother with them. It drew the attention of her friends, too, and he didn't miss their speculative looks. "That's quite a creative insult, my lady. One would never expect to hear such filth from such pretty lips."

She smiled back, her beautiful face half-shadowed in the sunlight, and lowered her voice even more. "I am sure you know by now, Your Grace, that I never hold back."

"I'm well aware."

"In fact, these lips are capable of many things." His mouth went dry at the hint of hunger glinting in her eyes as she rose onto her tiptoes, said lips nearly brushing his ear, just out of sight of prying eyes. With a throaty chuckle, she bit down on his lobe before whirling out of reach.

There was no earthly way a sad piece of flannel was going to contain the trajectory of his cock, which had decided to shoot to violent and painful attention at the sultry bite. His hands shot down to hide the evidence even as a wicked giggle reached his ears. "Evangeline, what the hell?" he ground out. "You cannot do such things to me in broad daylight!"

"Everything is fair play in this little game of ours, Your Grace," she said, tugging Lucky and skipping backward like the minx she was, silvery blue eyes alight with mischief and desire. "One pair of sodden drawers in exchange for one"—her eyes dipped down—"pair of ruined trousers seems a reasonable exchange, don't you think? I must admit that seeing you all sweaty and flushed is enough to get a lady hot and bothered."

Sodden drawers? He goggled at her, his brain on fire at the bald admission of her arousal beneath those layers of pale muslin that he suddenly wanted to tear off with his teeth. He was so hard it hurt… and his friends were much too close for comfort. They would never let him live it down if he sported a raging erection in the middle of a royal regatta. He swallowed and cursed, keeping his body carefully angled toward the river.

"Everything well, Your Grace?" she teased. "You seem overwrought."

His eyes met hers in a dark stare he knew she felt to her bones, especially when her pupils eclipsed the silver of her irises. "I hope you realize what you've started," he said.

"I look forward to it, leannan."

Leannan. Murmured in the sweetest, sultriest voice imaginable. It was the ultimate coup de grace. The proverbial match in the powder barrel. Immolated by lust, Gage did the only thing he could. He took his flaming body and walked it right into the bloody Thames.

"Vale, what on earth are you doing?" Greydon yelled when Lucky started barking, nearly breaking free from her mistress in a frantic attempt to save him. "That water's filthy."

"It's not so bad up here as it is in London proper." At least he hoped it wasn't, but it didn't matter if he was wading in sludge. His swollen body parts were finally getting the message that he wasn't playing around. "Besides, Lady Evangeline dropped her parasol. I thought to retrieve it, but it's lost now."

Greydon narrowed his eyes. "I don't see a parasol."

"Yes. Because she dropped it and it floated downriver."

He could sense Evangeline's glee from where she stood—that wicked little scamp was going to be put over his knee, and he was going to make her scream with pleasure until she was hoarse. He didn't have to look at her to know she was making those adorable, uncontrolled little snorts from behind her fan.

"Effie." Viola strode over to them and frowned with some concern. "I didn't think you brought a parasol. In fact, you distinctly told me that you were leaving it behind so that you could add to your freckle collection."

Those tiny snorts amplified in intensity as his impish and willful quarry collapsed in mirth to the grass in a froth of creamy skirts, not giving a whit that she was getting green stains on the fabric while being licked to death by a small dog, that she was the subject of dozens of stares, or that she was laughing quite openly at his expense. He'd never seen anything lovelier than Evangeline Raine in that moment—eyes crinkled, cheeks upturned and flushed, joy in every line of her body.

He would risk ridicule all day long to keep her thus.

Gage bit back his own grin and waded from the depths of the river, his lower half thoroughly soaked, but back to normal size, thank God.

"What a relief," he pronounced loudly, meaning it in more ways than one. "It must have been a walking cane or some such then, not a parasol. My mistake."

Evangeline was laughing so hard, her eyes were watering.

"My sister was not carrying a cane either." Viola frowned again, her eyes panning between her sister and him. "Are you quite all right, Your Grace? Perhaps you've had a bit too much sun and you're confused. Did you exert yourself overly in the race?"

He smirked. "I assure you, Lady Viola. I am quite well."

Even if he was quite at risk of falling head over heels in love with her sister.

But that was a problem for another day.