Chapter 21

Julian wrapped a layer of linen around his knuckles, tugged it taut, then added another layer. There was nothing new to wrapping his hands before his Monday bout of sparring with Brewster.

But the feeling that had been expanding in his body these last two days…

That was.

He felt different in ways that were difficult to quantify or even name.

A feeling of…lightness.

A lightness of body.

A lightness of spirit.

A fanciful notion, to be sure, but the only way he could think to characterize it was that before yesterday morning he'd been a gray man. Naught more than a shadow stalking his own life as he went through the motions of it.

Then yesterday, he'd awakened feeling…lighter. As if the cells composing the air were brighter, and when they filled his lungs, he went buoyant from the effect. Where he'd been gray in the days and years preceding this one, he now felt as if the sun had risen after a decade-long night and filled his world with warm, golden light.

Of course, it could've been as simple as he'd awakened sober and refreshed after Clarissa's birthday for the first time in years.

But that wasn't it.

Tessa.

She'd commandeered a coach-and-four yesterday and left Nonsuch Castle with the arrival of dawn. He could've hardly stopped her, short of kidnapping, and she'd already experienced enough of that for a lifetime. So, he'd told the footman, who had drawn the short straw to inform the master of the lady's intention, to let her proceed.

Of course, that hadn't been his first instinct.

His instinct demanded he keep her close—within sight at all times, preferably.

But instinct could be wrong.

What he needed ran deeper than reactive instinct.

What he needed was solitude. Only then could he begin to understand the novel feeling unfolding within him. This feeling that wobbled on unsteady feet as it tried to find its footing to take the first step blind into unknown territory, the fledgling idea of lightness filtering through him.

Until two days ago, he'd thought—known—the only contribution his past had to offer his present and future was grief—the sort that caught body, soul, and spirit in its black unyielding grip and never relinquished its hold. Grief that turned one into a gray man—a shadow of oneself.

And even now, in this nascent state of lightness, he understood grief would always walk beside him. But what if…

What if grief's only form didn't have to be soul-destroying sorrow?

What if one could flip that coin and find on the other side…joy.

The feeling that had compelled him to celebrate Clarissa at her birthday supper hadn't subsided. If anything, it had found purchase in his mind and taken root. He hadn't been honoring his sister all these years by holding onto her death so tightly. Rather, the time had arrived to take joy from her life.

And it had been Tessa who had made him see it.

She may have left him to think on his own, but she'd made it clear that he wasn't alone.

If he chose not to be.

He would see her tonight at Vauxhall Gardens—at her invitation.

That mattered.

But first, he had some business to deal with.

Blaze Jagger.

Julian had sent a note first thing this morning requesting—less request than summons, in truth—his presence at Brewster's Boxing Salon at three o'clock. His fists clenched and released several times to test that the linen wraps would hold for sparring and made his way into the ring where Brewster waited. He'd hoped to get a sparring session in before Jagger arrived. Perhaps then he would have purged all his aggression and wouldn't act upon the need to pummel the rogue to a pulp, like his hands were itching to do.

No physical harm had come to Tessa. Further, Julian didn't believe true harm was intended. But those facts didn't make him feel any less murderous toward Jagger. Tessa's home had been invaded under Jagger's orders to scare her into submission of his wishes.

No one treated Tessa thusly.

Not while Julian still drew breath.

Jagger could refuse the summons, of course.

But he wouldn't.

An invitation from a marquess wouldn't arrive on his doorstep every day, and a ruthless and ambitious young man wouldn't be able to refuse—especially given his complicated parentage.

Jagger would want to hear what Julian had to say.

As he entered the ring, Julian gave Brewster a nod of greeting and went light on his feet. As the sparring commenced in its customary routine, he experienced the same invigorating lift as usual, but today something more, too. Today, as he dealt and received blows, it didn't feel like a purging or a punishment or like he was numbing himself.

Today, he wasn't making his body pay for the blood running through his veins.

Today, he was having fun.

In some way, this was a celebration—a celebration of being alive.

They'd been at it for half an hour when a figure appeared in the open doorway. Tall and rangy. Though the man was standing in shadow, Julian knew him.

Blaze Jagger.

He stepped into the light, and the diamond in his left ear winked its brilliance.

Cocksure.

Sudden fury flared through Julian. He wanted nothing more in this moment than to wipe that arrogant smile off Jagger's mouth. His fingers coiled into tight fists with anticipation of that very act.

"Do you box?" asked Julian in greeting.

Jagger shrugged off his greatcoat. "Been known to go a few rounds."

He began unknotting his cravat, before working the buttons of his waistcoat. Then he was tugging his shirt from the waistband of his trousers and pulling it over his head.

Julian took in his opponent. Rangy, yes. A man who appeared composed entirely of sinewy muscle. But it wasn't the fact of his muscle or the potential long reach of lanky arms that would make him a tough opponent.

It was the glint in his eyes.

Jagger liked a fight.

Brewster handed him a length of linen. "There'll be no bare knuckles in the sparring ring."

Jagger flashed Julian a quick grin even as he accepted the wrap.

He shouldn't have invited Jagger into the ring. It was simply the thinnest of excuses to pummel the cocksure smugness off Jagger's face.

This wouldn't be a mannered bout of sparring.

It would be a fight.

Jagger entered the ring and began moving like a man in his element—a man comfortable throwing punches and receiving them. That was the give and take of boxing. One had to be willing to sink into its rhythms and take some blows in order to be able to mete them out. A minor sacrifice of the body for the victory at the end.

Or, at least, that was what one went into the ring thinking. One had to—or one should stay clear of it.

Confidence in one's abilities was one half; respect for one's opponent the other half. Lack of respect was the same as underestimating, and underestimation of one's opponent led to defeat nine times out of ten. Julian wouldn't be underestimating Blaze Jagger. He was young, bold, and fearless.

It was Jagger who landed the first punch. A quick feint to the left before landing a swift left-handed jab to Julian's jaw. Julian ducked, and the follow-up right hook missed. A southpaw. A good thing to know about one's opponent.

Jagger was light and fast on his feet and understood that to be his advantage against a larger opponent. His strategy would be to run circles around Julian and wear him out. He thought he had Julian all figured out. His smile said as much.

While Julian was a big man, it was a wrong assumption to think him slow. It was that young man's arrogance in him. Along with his fists, Julian could use that against him.

Within ten seconds, Julian devised a strategy and began implementing it. He would never land a solid punch on the quicker man in open space. He had to, first, corral Jagger against the ropes. As he went to work on the younger man's torso, he landed a few solid hooks to Jagger's face, while he was at it.

That got Jagger's attention, and he pushed away from the ropes. A killer left hook landed solid on Julian's jaw. That would leave a bruise. Still, Julian kept to his strategy and managed to maneuver Jagger into a corner. This time, he began working him over in earnest, emotion taking over, as a torrent of anger surged through his fists for all Jagger had put Tessa through.

He'd pulled back for another blow when an unyielding hand closed around his elbow and held, preventing him from delivering his next blow.

"That'll be enough for today," came Brewster's voice behind him.

The red haze that had fallen over Julian's eyes began to fade. Jagger was watching him cautiously as he accepted a towel from Brewster and began dabbing at his bloodied mouth. He'd be lucky not to need a suture from a barber in his bottom lip.

"You'll want a cut of meat for that," said Julian, swiping the sweat from his brow.

Of course, violence was never the answer to one's problems, but in all honesty, it felt cleansing to have had it out with Jagger in the ring. Now, perhaps, they could say what needed to be said in a productive manner.

The cocksure glint had already returned to Jagger's eyes. "You've got a right proper lead hook on you. You could go a few rounds with Jackson himself, if being a marquess stops paying your bills."

The arrogance was still there, but a new measure of respect shone in Jagger's eyes, too. Julian snorted. "Afraid I don't have a choice in that matter."

"Oh, I'd say you have more choice than you give yourself credit for," mused Jagger. "Imagine the headlines." Jagger splayed his arms wide. "Gentleman Jackson takes on the Mad Marquess of Mayfair. You could fill the whole of Hyde Park with spectators."

Julian snorted again. "With you running the odds, of course."

Jagger gave a one-shouldered shrug. "Naturally."

While the two men dressed, Julian kept half an eye on the younger man. He was an unexpected sort of person. He'd noted it at the Derby and saw it now, too. Uneducated and brash, but fiercely intelligent, too. He took in every detail of a situation or conversation and stored it up for future use. But skating alongside those qualities was a ruthlessness and raw ambition that bred overconfidence. Therein could lay his downfall, if he wasn't careful.

None of which was Julian's concern beyond how it affected Tessa.

Julian had a quick word with Brewster about giving him and Jagger fifteen minutes of privacy. When Brewster left, Julian leaned against a ring post and crossed his arms over his chest. He got directly to it. "You've made your point, now leave it and walk away."

Jagger shifted on his feet. He knew what and who Julian spoke of—Lady Tessa Calthorp—and he wasn't yet convinced about his best interests in this situation.

Julian would convince him.

"No more nonsense will be tolerated," he said. "Or the consequences won't be to your liking."

Jagger snorted, indicating a foolhardy lack of concern. "What? A high and mighty peer of the realm coming after an East End nothing-worth like me?" That got a chuckle. "I fight dirty, and you have too much at stake, what with your marquessly reputation and all."

And here it was—exactly what Julian had suspected.

Jagger was underestimating him.

He felt the menacing smile stretch his mouth. Jagger blinked, a flash of uncertainty flicking behind his eyes.

"Ah, that's where you've taken a wrong turn, Jagger. I don't care about society or you. I only care about Lady Tessa Calthorp," he said, low, the threat in his voice clear. "You see, I've lost much in life, and I won't tolerate any more losses. I'll burn London to the ground, and you with it, without batting an eyelash, if it will keep her safe. Now, do you truly think I won't meet you blow for dirty blow?"

All traces of arrogance fell away from Jagger as he took Julian's measure.

"I'll tell you only once more," said Julian. "Walk away."

As Jagger weighed the gains and losses of such an action, Julian decided to help the man with his choice. "I've recently happened across some interesting lines of information about you."

That got a lift of Jagger's brow. "Happened across? Or you had me investigated?"

Julian shrugged. It was the wrong question. They both knew the answer. "In addition to your odds laying and making for the Ring, it's become known in certain circles that you've been buying debt all over Town."

Jagger spread his hands wide. "It's what chaps like me do. Buy the debt of nobs. A diversity of interests for the rogue on the rise, if you will."

Julian nodded. "I can see the logic," he said. "Except here's where it doesn't follow. It's the debt of one nob, isn't it?" He let a beat of time slip past. "The nob who happens to be your father."

Jagger's gray eyes went flat with repressed emotion.

"The Marquess of Lydon," continued Julian. "He's a known wastrel, to be sure. In fact, I doubt he has a ha'penny to his coffers. Dead broke, it's said. Vice and debauchery aren't cheap when one puts one's head down and goes at it with single-minded purpose the way he has over the last few decades. I believe he's down to the entailed properties of the marquessate."

"There's a townhouse in Mayfair."

"But not for long, am I correct?"

Jagger sniffed and kept his mouth closed.

"One might not think much of it except for this other snippet of information I happened across," said Julian. "Your mother was quite a beauty. It was known far and wide. And her father was the proprietor of a tavern in Wapping. Now, when I put my mind to it, I can see how it happened. The Marquess of Lydon was out making merry with one and all when he happened into your grandfather's tavern. At some point, he must have noticed the proprietor's fair daughter—and decided he would have her. And we have the proof he did, because, well, there's you."

The clench of Jagger's jaw said he didn't like this story, but he could hardly deny it.

"But Lydon being Lydon, he was soon on his merry way, and your mother?—"

"That'll be enough," said Jagger. "We won't be discussing my ma."

"You're trying to ruin him."

"That man was ruined long before I walked God's dear earth."

Likely true, except…"You have a sister. Aren't you concerned what will happen to her when you call in Lydon's debt?"

Jagger gave a bitter snort. "She'll just marry a nob, and that's her life all sorted."

Julian had his doubts. Lady Beatrix St. Vincent was a different sort of lady, one for whom life wouldn't proceed as straight as line. Now that he was looking, Julian could see similarities between the two siblings. A glint of gray eye that suggested they didn't play by rules that weren't of their own devising.

Jagger sucked his teeth. "Speaking of fathers who happen to be wasters."

Julian braced himself.

"Yours used to tear the East End right up," continued Jagger. "At least, your old marquess had the good grace to shed his mortal coil."

A shocked laugh escaped Julian. "That's one way of putting it."

Of course, Jagger would know about the late Marquess of Ormonde. He'd only been dead for three years, and his legacy of vice and debauchery would long live on.

"You're not much like him, you know," said Jagger.

Julian went still. "Oh?"

"Yeah, you look like him and all, but in here—" Jagger knocked his fist against his chest. "No resemblance."

"You knew him?"

"Aye, I may be five and twenty, but I've been on the rise these last ten years." He nodded contemplatively. "Yeah, your pa wore his sadness like a cloak. Like you, I'd say. That's where you're like for like."

Like for like.

The words struck Julian at a wrong, sideways angle.

He'd spent all these years trying to be the opposite of his father, and yet, he couldn't deny Jagger's observation. Just as his father had, he'd let grief turn to sorrow and destruction of the self.

It was a difficult reality to swallow.

Jagger pushed off the post and grabbed his greatcoat, making ready to leave. "Fathers," he said, shaking his head.

"Yeah," was all Julian had in him to return on the subject.

"Dance a number on your head, they do." The words floated lightly on the air, but the serious look in Jagger's eyes held them to the ground. "You can be better than him."

With that, Jagger pivoted on his heel and strode across the room. Before he passed through the open doorway, Julian called out, "And I would say the same to you."

A scoff floated over Jagger's back. "I already am."

Then he was gone.

And Julian was alone with his thoughts for company.

You can be better than him.

Those had been Jagger's words, but they could've as easily been those of someone else—Tessa.

She thought him worthy of those words.

And it struck Julian for the first time in his life—perhaps he could be.

Perhaps…he was.

For all her sharp edges, Tessa believed in the good in others—believed it of him.

And if a woman like Lady Tessa Calthorp could believe it of him…

It felt like too fragile and too bright an idea to behold directly.

But, perhaps, left alone within all those perhapses, it could find purchase.