Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

K eith stilled.

“What did ye say?” He abruptly turned around to face Celia. She was already trying to put her clothes back on, but as he had ripped the skirt of her chemise, she held it in her hands quite helplessly before tossing it aside in the dressing room. “Sweetheart?”

“Please, please!” she begged suddenly, turning back to face him as she pulled her gown back on, doing her best to hide the torn chemise. “Don’t call me that again.”

“Ye know I can’t keep that promise.”

“You must,” she pleaded, turning and finding her shoes as she tried to tie the laces of her gown at the same time. “This is the last time it happens, Your Grace. The last time?—”

“Don’t call me that.” He shook his head firmly.

He couldn’t stand the thought of being called that now, not after what they had done and had come so close to nearly doing.

“It is your title.” Her cheeks were pink, but no longer from what they had done—rather, from a tense fury. “It has to end.”

“Why, exactly?” He raised his eyebrows, but she didn’t answer him. She just shook her head. “Celia?”

“It’s the last time I’m weak with you. My reputation will not stand it if I’m ever discovered in a room like this with you.”

That was her final word. She was still adjusting her hair as she marched out of the dressing room.

He nearly followed her, but he was still half undressed, and it would certainly cause a scandal to run after her through the corridors of a theatre in this state. Hurriedly, he finished changing, his body still thrumming with the excitement of what they had done.

Ah, Celia. Ye may be strong enough to stay away, but I am not.

He couldn’t do it. Hadn’t he been trying to do it? Ever since they had come back to London, he had been trying his best to avoid moments like this, yet it had happened anyway.

And in the name of the wee man above, I loved every second of that.

He growled in frustration at himself, running his hands through his dark hair as he sat on the edge of the chaise longue, reliving in his mind all that he and Celia had just done.

The way she had felt, the way she had moaned breathily, how easily she had melted into his kiss and his touch… it all proved that she was as infatuated with him as he was with her, as intoxicated by his touch as he was by hers.

So, why do we have to stop?

He pulled on the tailcoat he hated so much and left the room. If anyone in the corridor stared at him, wondering why he was there, he didn’t notice. He was far too busy thinking of Celia and the way she had bolted out of that room so quickly.

By the time he found his box again, it was the end of the intermission. As he stepped into the box, he was dismayed to see that his mother and his cousin Frances were no longer alone.

Elizabeth was smiling broadly. She was giddy with excitement to be at the opera, though her eyes were no longer fixed on the stage as the curtain lifted, indicating the performance was about to resume. Her eyes were trained on the two other women who had entered his box.

“Ah, Keith, there you are,” Elizabeth declared happily, turning to take his arm. “You remember Lady Alicia from Lady Arundel’s party? This is her mother, Lady Dawson.”

Lady Alicia bowed her blonde head bashfully as her mother appraised him without any attempt to hide it. She must have approved of him, despite the fact that he was a little disheveled after what he had just done.

“Ladies.” Keith bowed in greeting.

He stole a glance at Frances. As he was now her guardian, he had seen her most days since coming to England. So far, he had judged her to be quite a perceptive young lady.

Frances did not surprise him now. Her eyes narrowed a little as she looked at him. He cleared his throat, shifting his focus back to Lady Alicia and Lady Dawson, in the hope it would dispel any suspicions Frances might have.

“Your Grace, I am delighted to meet you at last,” Lady Dawson said, rising from her seat and moving toward him.

“It is a pleasure to meet ye,” he said stiffly and then nodded toward the stage, where the actors had taken their spots again. “Shall we sit and enjoy the rest of the performance?”

“Yes, of course.”

Despite her words, Lady Dawson made no move to return to her seat. Lady Alicia was looking at him rather eagerly too, her eyes wide.

This is hopeless.

Keith kept the thought to himself, though one glance at his cousin showed she thought the same thing. She shrugged so much that her shoulders practically brushed the two loose dark curls that hung down from her updo.

“I hear you and my daughter met at Lady Arundel’s party,” Lady Dawson said, her smile ridiculously broad.

“Ye could say that,” Keith murmured, glancing at Lady Alicia and wondering what had been said.

Something deep in his gut told him he should have been happy at being accosted in such a way. He was so indifferent toward Lady Alicia that marrying her would surely be the solution he had been looking for.

He couldn’t love her, couldn’t be obsessed with having her at his side the whole time the way his father had been obsessed with his mother.

Yet… when he looked at her, something in his gut curdled. He looked to the other box, desperately seeking out Celia. Her attention was fixed on the performance, which had now resumed.

“We met at the party, aye, My Lady,” he said woodenly.

“Oh, he is too modest.” Elizabeth giggled. “They were seen together, more than once.”

Keith glanced at his mother in alarm, only to see her flash him an innocent smile. Frances was now doing her best not to laugh. She feigned interest in the performance, raising her opera glasses to her face to cover her smile as she looked at the stage.

“I do hope you’ll join my daughter and myself for a promenade tomorrow. We would dearly like to have you with us,” Lady Dawson offered.

Behind her, Lady Alicia sat taller in her chair, looking so full of hope that the guilt churned in Keith’s stomach.

I cannot.

Everything in his body rebelled against the idea of promenading so innocently with Lady Alicia. He was not a man for promenading, to begin with. The idea sounded more like the pastime of a dandy. Yet, there was more to it. Each time he tried to meet Lady Alicia’s eyes, he looked across the auditorium again, seeking out Celia.

“Forgive me, Lady Dawson, I fear there has been some misunderstanding.” He moved to stand in front of Lady Alicia. He was not going to make the apology to the mother before he had made the apology to the daughter. “I wouldn’t want to mislead ye, Lady Alicia.”

At once, her smile dropped, and her eyes didn’t look as wide as before.

“Oh, I see,” Lady Alicia whispered.

“I think ye are a fine lady,” he assured her, “but to promenade with ye would suggest I have serious intentions. Which I don’t.” He bowed a little to her. “I apologize if I have caused any hurt.”

“No matter.” She shook her head a little. Despite her words, she looked very hurt, indeed. “Thank you for your honesty.”

“If ye would excuse me.” He bowed to them all. “I must retire for the night. I’ll walk home and leave the carriage for ye two,” he said to his mother and cousin.

“That’s not necessary,” Frances began.

“Don’t worry,” he assured her, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Ye take it.”

She smiled a little in gratitude.

“Keith?” Elizabeth hissed in alarm.

“Have a good evening, Mother.” He tapped her shoulder too, then turned and left.

He intended to cast one last glance at Lady Alicia, but his eyes defied him yet again. He looked at Celia instead.

To his relief, she had not been indifferent to what had just happened. She was no longer watching the performance but staring straight at him as he turned around and walked out of the box.

“I cannot continue to sit here and do nothing,” Keith muttered to himself, rising from his desk chair.

“W-what?” Frances muttered sleepily from where she had been napping, the book she had intended to read spread across her lap.

Keith laughed as he looked at her. She reminded him so much of his brother. It explained why since he had come to London, the two of them had gotten on so well.

“Oops, sorry,” he said with a chuckle. “Did ye intend to spend all night in here reading?”

“I like it in here.” She yawned as she closed the book, forgetting to mark where she had stopped reading. “It reminds me of my father.”

“I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I made it my own and forgot… It can’t be nice to see me change it.”

“You’d be wrong,” she said with a satisfied smile. “It has both his memories and new life now. It makes me happy to see it.” She waved a hand at the new paintings he had put in the room.

Determined to bring some of Scotland with him, Keith had hung paintings of the Scottish Highlands on the walls. There were other things around the room that reminded him of his home—a decanter of whisky, ornate crystal whisky glasses, and even a display of broadswords.

“So, what were you saying?” Frances asked distractedly, now sitting straight in her chair. “You cannot continue to sit here anymore? Oh good, because your brooding is rather tiring.”

“Brooding?” He nearly laughed. “I’m not brooding.”

“Oh no, no, of course, you’re not.” She smiled as she said the words. “You’ve just sat in here all night, trying to work and failing, then staring out the window. Shall I guess what’s on your mind? Is it the lady you were staring at during the whole performance? Well, when you were in the box, at least.”

He blinked. “Damn yer perceptiveness, Frances.”

She giggled and sat taller in her chair. “It’s my one virtue.” She winked.

This time, he managed to laugh. “Ye have more virtues than that, Cousin. Don’t insult yerself.”

She shrugged, clearly not bothered by such an idea.

“Curious, for I noticed something else last night,” she said, sitting forward in her chair. “When you were not in the box, Lady Celia was not in hers either.”

“Do ye reckon anyone else noticed?” Keith sat back in his chair and covered his face.

“No one else commented, no.” She shook her head. “But if she is on your mind and making you brood so much?—”

“I’m not brooding!”

“Then do me a favor and go out for the evening. Do something with your time and distract yourself.”

“So ye can get back to yer good book?” he said with a smirk.

“Exactly.” She beamed and picked up the book. Opening it to a random page, she laid it down on her lap again, leaned back, and closed her eyes for another nap. “Now, leave me to my favorite place.”

“I hope ye’ll attend more events in the future, Frances,” he whispered.

He knew she had not wanted to attend Lady Arundel’s party, for she was nervous about attending Society events again now that she had lost her father as well as her mother. Tonight, the opera was the first event she had attended since her father’s passing.

Frances peered at him through just one eye. “Maybe I’ll go to more if you promise to get out of this room and distract yourself?”

“It’s a deal.” He stood up.

At first, he had no idea where he was going to go. He just wished Frances a good night and made his way to the door, calling for his horse without any real destination in mind. As he donned his frock coat in the doorway, he reached a hand into his pocket and absentmindedly pulled out a small card.

Emblazoned on the card was the name of a boxing club. Quite an illegal place, somewhere in the dark backstreets of London, it was the club that Aaron and Philip had told him about on that last day at Lady Arundel’s house.

Keith smiled to himself and pocketed the card again. If he was intent on forgetting Celia, then trying to forget her in a bout was a good start.

She won’t come to my bed again. Aye, she made that clear.

This was his final thought as he headed out of the house and toward his horse.

Ketih pushed open the door and halted. The noise that met his ears was cacophonous. He could have laughed at the familiarity of the jeering and the sounds of skin slapping against skin.

It sounded like the training grounds in his castle back in Scotland. A sudden rush filled his veins at the thought of being back in this environment again.

He stepped further into the darkened room, aware of the men crowding the boxing ring as they waved their money in the air, all trying their best to make a wager on the next bout.

“Keith!” a shout went up.

He turned around at the sudden sound to find the Duke of Rowley calling his name.

“Whilst we’re here, call me Aaron. There are too many dukes here, and we’ll end up in a mess if we stick to our titles.” Aaron pushed his way through the crowd and reached his side, extending a hand. “You came.”

“Aye. I’m in need of an escape from the streets of London.”

“I can sympathize.” Aaron smiled at the idea. “Come, watch the first bout.”

“Are ye fighting tonight?”

“Not tonight.” Aaron shook his head. “But they are in need of a volunteer if you’re offering?”

“Tempting,” Keith said enigmatically and stopped beside Aaron as they came near the boxing ring.

Erected on a square platform in the middle of the dark warehouse were two thin ropes stretched around the square in some attempt to separate the bettors from the fighters. The crowds swarmed as money was passed back and forth. Keith couldn’t stop taking in the sight before him.

It seemed he was not the only one eager to escape the frivolousness of the ton to find something a bit grittier. The warehouse was full of people, and on either side of the space, tiered seating had been erected to give people a better view of the boxing ring. There was not a place that wasn’t crowded with two people jostling to stand in a single spot.

“Who’s fighting?” Keith asked as two men took to the ring.

“No point in asking. This one will be over before you know it.” Aaron nodded at the large, bear-like man who stepped into the ring, bare-chested, his knuckles ridged with scars from when he had won multiple fights. His opponent was a third of his size, trembling as he stepped into the ring.

“Surely, they do not intend to put such a man in the ring? He doesn’t even want to be there—” Keith broke off abruptly as the fight began.

Just as Aaron had predicted, it did not last long. The thin man danced around the space for a minute, doing his best to avoid any blows. The one advantage he had was that the bear-like man wasted energy by punching air, but sooner or later, he was bound to hit his target, and he did.

One firm knock to the thin man’s jaw sent him down to the platform. Knocked out, people hollered, and others booed, saying the fight was too easy.

“See?” Aaron raised his eyebrows. “If we’re to bet on anything fun, we need a fairer fight.”

Keith smiled a little to himself as he watched the bear-like man celebrate. He raised his thick fists in the air in triumph as his supporters cheered, and then he slapped his chest as firmly as any gorilla, roaring at the crowd.

“All right, all right.” A tall and weedy man, dressed in a top hat and tails that were both heavily patchworked, took to the platform. He raised his hands, calling for quiet. “I hear you all want a fairer fight. Right?”

“Right!” the crowd bellowed.

“Then we need a volunteer.” The man held his hands out. “Who will dare take on the Bear?”

“Could they think of no better name?” Keith asked in Aaron’s ear, prompting him to snort.

The Bear was slapping his chest again aggressively, gesturing to the crowd in his effort to make someone come forward to fight him.

“Come on, gentlemen.” The ringleader took off his top hat and used it to gesture to the crowd. “No takers? No man brave enough to take him on?”

There were suspicious boos from all around, but no volunteers.

Keith eyed the Bear carefully. It couldn’t be denied he was a brutish-looking man, with more force in his fists than a lot of men had in their whole bodies, but Keith was hardly slender or weedy. He was strong, tall, and perhaps the most similar to the Bear in build in this warehouse.

I also know how to truly fight.

Keith raised his hand in the air.