While it seemed to take the man forever to return, she knew it could not have been more than a few minutes that she waited. The thumping of his feet on the hardwood floors heralded his return, whereupon he directed her to follow him. Still nervous, but hopeful that her errand was not in vain. She followed the lumbering giant up the stairs and down the long gallery.
As they approached a set of double doors, the butterflies in her stomach churned wildly about, making her regret not having at least had a piece of toast for breakfast. Determined to see this through, she walked gamely through the indicated doors. Having crossed the threshold, she pulled up short upon discovering a rather handsome man who bore more than a passing resemblance to Flint. In fact, she felt certain if he shaved his beard, they might pass as twins. Had no one else noticed their resemblance? Would she have noticed if she hadn’t known they were related? Clearly, none of the Lustful Lords nor her sister had noticed anything.
The man in question smiled. “Welcome to my establishment, Mrs. Smith. How is it I may help you today?”
Still clutching her purse. She marched forward and claimed a chair that faced his desk. “I have come for information, Mr. Lucifer. I understand that is your stock-in-trade.”
“One part of a diversified portfolio, if you will. But, yes, I do often buy and sell information. Is there a particular bit of information you are in search of, or is this merely a general inquiry?”
She grabbed her purse tighter in her hands and pressed on.
“It seems Lord Flintshire has attracted a spot of trouble from some thugs who would like him to throw a fight. I’m here to learn who that might be. Particularly, since I am currently being threatened in association with this desired outcome.”
Lucifer nodded. “I see.”
The silence stretched between them. Once it grew unbearable, Ros curtailed the moment. “What precisely do you see, Mr. Lucifer?”
“Perhaps this is a question better asked of Lord Flintshire?”
Ros sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I agree. However, his Lordship has chosen not to share that knowledge with me. And as I am the one currently under penalty of death. I believe I have a right to know who’s behind that threat.”
Lucifer smiled slightly. “That is difficult logic to argue with, madam.”
“Yes, well, I wish Lord Flintshire felt that way. Instead, he has gone to great lengths to avoid answering that question.” Ros felt her cheeks heat as she remembered just which lengths he’d gone to.
Lucifer folded his hands and leaned forward on his desk. “Well, it’s not all precisely his fault. He, too, is unsure who is behind these threats. But, he has asked me to help sort that answer out.”
Ros wanted to curse. Why couldn’t the man have simply said he didn’t know? Obstinate, overprotective men were quite frustrating. She considered the cagey, bearded man across the desk. “And have you determined who is behind these threats?”
Lucifer’s considering stare made her feel like a butterfly splayed out and pinned to a board for display.
“If I have and I tell you who’s behind these threats, what precisely do you plan to do with the information?”
She considered his question. What would she do? What value was there in the knowing? “Well, Mr. Lucifer, I imagine I shall lean on my considerable resources, both people and money, to press for an outcome that I find desirable. Primarily, bringing an end to these threats, and for these people to leave Lord Flintshire alone.”
Lucifer smiled at her, as though she were a small child or a doddering old woman to be indulged. “How very enterprising of you. But I do believe you will find the type of men we are dealing with have little compunction when it comes to dealing with a woman—or anyone, for that matter. Were you to confront them, I feel certain things would not go as you expected.”
Ros snorted. “Sir, things never go as I expect. But, inevitably, they work out for the best. And, when I’ve set my mind to something, I have no shortage of determination and ability to achieve whatever goal I’ve set.” She took a breath. “However, I would, in this case, defer to your greater experience in such matters. Might I ask how you would deal with the situation?”
Lucifer sat quietly for a long moment, his handsome face a frozen mask. She began to wonder if he would answer her question at all.
“I’m not sure, I imagine it would depend on who was behind the threats and what threats were made.” He lifted one shoulder in an almost apology for his non-answer.
“Yes, well, as I said, bodily harm has been threatened. My body, to be specific. I do not know what threats were made against Flint…er, Lord Flintshire; however, I can’t imagine they were any less violent than those made against me. I can easily suppose that Lord Flintshire roundly ignored those threats until they were turned in my direction.”
“Well, then, I would likely go right to the source—assuming I knew who it was—and figure out what the end goal is. Clearly, there is something they want as a result of controlling the outcome of Lord Flintshire’s fights. If I knew what that was, then I could determine the correct course of action.” Lucifer seemed confident with that pronouncement.
Ros merely found it resulted in more questions. “Then I must circle back around to my earlier question. Have you determined who is behind this threat?”
Behind her, one of the doors of Lucifer’s office snapped shut, causing her to whip around as Flint lurched into the conversation with all the subtlety of an elephant. “An excellent question, Lucifer. Have you discovered who is threatening me?”
Flint remained near the door, his furious gaze darting back and forth between her and Lucifer. Ros wasn’t sure which of them Flint was angrier with. Perhaps both?
Lucifer was as changeable as the weather, one moment warm and sunny only to turn calm and cool in the blink of an eye. “Do not think that because you and I bear some relation that you may barge into my establishment at will and interrupt my dealings.”
Ros bit her lip and worried that her impulsive action had somehow generated some animosity between the men. Their connection was so new. Could this sudden tension damage it? And then she found herself looking back and forth between them. How could someone not have noticed their likeness? It was like seeing a slightly furrier version of the man she knew. They were strikingly similar.
“Some relation? Was it not you who just the other day informed me we were brothers?” Flint let one brow lift imperiously. “And I shall barge into any room I please when I learn that Ros is alone there with a man other than myself or her father.”
Lucifer laughed, a full hearty belly laugh. “I suppose I should have expected such brutish behavior from you when I had Gordie send word of her arrival.”
Annoyed by all the male posturing, Ros huffed. “My God, Flint. Your thinking is positively antiquated for a man who tumbled from my bed only this morning.”
Flint turned scarlet, and Lucifer laughed again. “Oh, I like you, Mrs. Smith! And here I thought Wolfington had cornered the market on mouthy pieces of baggage.”
Flint growled at Lucifer. “Do not speak to her in such a manner. Brother or not, I shall lay you flat.”
Lucifer gained control of his mirth and sat down. “Oh, do calm down. I meant no offense. I find Mrs. Smith as utterly delightful as Lady Wolfington. Now, the two of you sit.”
Ros took a seat and muttered, “Not surprising, you would find my sister delightful.”
“Do not forget I included you in that lot as well.” Lucifer winked.
Flint glared as he moved his chair next to Ros’s and sat down. Her brain railed against such chauvinism as she continued to absorb his lack of trust.
With a sigh, she attempted to refocus the men on the question at hand. “Mr. Lucifer, do you know who is doing this?”
He sat back and sighed unhappily. “No. I’m having the devil of a time sorting out who is behind it all. The man or woman—mind you, I’ve known more than one woman who’d slip a stiletto between your ribs as soon as loo
k at you—behind this has gone to great lengths to keep themselves unknown. But, I’ll discover them in the end.”
“I’m not sure it matters in the end,” Flint said. He looked uncomfortable for a moment, but then pressed on. “I’ve made arrangements to throw my next fight. I figure when I win that will draw the bastards out.”
Ros blanched, every drop of blood rushing from her head to her toes. “And what of me?”
“The Lustful Lords shall keep you safe, just as we did for Julia and Wolf. You’ll not be at risk.”
Lucifer seemed equally displeased with Flint’s scheme. “That seems a dangerous way to learn who is behind all this. We still don’t know why they want you to lose the fight.”
“It’s too late, the plan is in motion.” Flint stood. “I’d hoped you had sorted out who was behind it, but I cannot continue to put these ruffians off. Send word if you uncover anything.” He held out his hand to Ros.
She couldn’t help but glare balefully at him, but she still took his hand and rose. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Lucifer.”
“Always a pleasure, Mrs. Smith.” Lucifer stood up as Flint escorted her from the office.
Once they were settled in Flint’s conveyance, she turned to him. “Why didn’t you simply tell me what was going on?”
Flint sighed. “It seemed like a great deal to ask of you—to trust me—after we had only just reconciled.”
“Perhaps, but should it not have been my choice?”
“You are quite correct, as usual. However, I had truly hoped to avoid telling you at all.” Flint’s face looked shuttered as he fell silent.
Ros, once more, found herself being shut out of his thoughts. How could she convince him to trust her with his need for pain if he couldn’t trust her with what was happening in his life? As they returned to her home in silence, her thoughts raged like a storm. Would he ever trust her? And without trust, what of love?
Chapter 22
Flint stood across the circle of bodies from the man he was supposed to lose to. Whoever was behind it all had, at least, had the foresight to pick a winner who was large enough to possibly hold such a distinction. Glancing around the crowd, he recognized a few familiar faces. One of those belonged to Lucifer, another, the man he’d made the agreement with. He also saw a few of the poorly disguised Lustful Lords, though he knew Stone and Cooper, along with their wives and Julia, were protecting Ros. Of course, it was all under the guise of a diverting evening with friends.
Determined to make everything look good until the very last moment, he prepared himself to take a beating. In some respects, he anticipated the pain with relish. It had been too long since his last dosing of physical pain, and the truth was the need pounding through him caused a great deal of worry. He’d been considering making this his last fight, and with that prospect in mind, the alarming level of need for pain that pulsed through him had him doubting his ability to quit.
Pushing aside his worries, he focused on the fight to come. The betting was heavy in his favor, as was the norm, with the exception of a few bets placed on his opponent. He saw Lucifer’s man, Gordie, place a stiff bet on him to win. Ten thousand pounds was a hefty wager, but Flint wasn’t worried. He’d yet to meet an opponent who could outlast him.
The issue for most fighters was that they endured the pain in pursuit of the win. For him, the pain was the win, so taking it for long periods tended to energize him rather than to sap his stamina.
The last of the bets were placed, once a finely turned out servant pressed through the rough crowd to lay a final wager. Flint had not seen who the money was placed on because he was focused on trying to remember where he’d seen such livery. The ostentatious gold trim on the dark blue stood out amongst the dockside rabble like a flame in the darkness. He was surprised the footman had been able to make his way through to place the bet at all, but then again, he cut a rather tall and broad figure. Perhaps the dockside rabble had decided the potential payoff wasn’t worth trying to take the toff down.
The chancellor of the fight called them to the middle. “Last one standing wins, that’s the only rule.”
And then the fight was on.
Flint circled the ring once, watching his opponent. He took in the way he moved, how he balanced his weight, how the man observed him. All of it would matter in the end. They circled again. Finally, tired of the dancing, Flint made his move. He swept into the middle, feinted left, and landed a left jab to the man’s face. Then he retreated to the edge of the ring.
“Eh. Don’t punch and run, little man.” The shaggy-haired fighter taunted as he eased into the open ring.
Flint grinned and waited to see what Shaggy would do next. He wasn’t disappointed when he charged Flint. With a deft step, Flint slid out of harm’s way. They circled each other a bit more, and then he stepped back into the center of the ring and beckoned Shaggy to join him.
With a low growl, the muscle-packed dockhand lumbered into the ring and set up opposite Flint. Then, he whipped out his fist and slammed it into Flint’s face.
Pain splintered through his cheekbone and around his head. As though he’d passed out and someone had waved smelling salts under his nose, his whole body came alive. His muscles bunched and relaxed, ready for action. But, for now, he needed to keep his own successful blows to a minimum. This was meant to be a well-choreographed play.
Time slowly slipped past as Flint took punch after punch. His left eye had swollen shut, his ribs were most certainly bruised, and his kidneys ached from the beating they’d already taken. And that was just what was happening above the waist. Shaggy had not hesitated to throw knees into his thighs, kick at his knees, and even stomped on his foot at one point. It was more pain than he’d received in quite a while.
All around him, the crowd was grumbling at his apparent loss. But by the time another round of punches had landed on his lower back, he was ready to turn the tables. As he landed his first punishing blow and Shaggy stumbled backward, the crowd fell quiet. A few of Shaggy’s supporters still cheered him on, but Flint knew it would be to no avail.
He landed a few more punches to Shaggy’s face and then turned his attention to his midsection. As he took the upper-hand in the fight, his opponent went from surprised to shocked and, eventually, resigned. By the end, it was clear to everyone who would win the fight, even before he landed a solid uppercut to the chin that put Shaggy down and out.
As the big man hit the cobblestones, all hell broke loose. The thugs peeled away from the crowd and surged toward Flint. He’d never dropped his stance, prepared for just such an event. But before they could reach him, Lucifer’s men swept in and delivered a second trouncing for the crowd to witness. Those who were not involved in the brawl had melted into the shadows to wait for either the end of the fighting or the Bobby’s to arrive.
Linc and Dunmere made their way through the pack and pulled him out of the fighting. “We’ve got a cab waiting.”
Flint sighed, he knew it was best to leave, but that didn’t squash the desire to discover who was behind everything. Lucifer stopped them as they made their way past. “My men will nab one or two of the key men, and we’ll get to the bottom of who’s behind this. I’ll send word as soon as I know something.”
“I want to be there when you question them. Let me check on Ros and let her know I am well, then I shall meet you wherever you are headed.” Flint was torn between a desire to discover the truth and the need to ensure Ros remained unharmed. He knew the Lustful Lords that were with her would protect her, yet deep down, he needed to see her. Needed to know she was safe.
With a sharp nod, Lucifer agreed. “Tell the driver to go to the warehouse on Charing Lane. He’ll know the place.”
He was surprised—though he shouldn’t have been, why wouldn’t Lucifer have cab drivers in his network? They often were privy to conversations that would otherwise be thought of as private. Without any further contemplation of the matter, Flint was shuffled into the cab and was wending his way thro
ugh foggy London and toward the woman he loved.
His heart stuttered.
Of course, he loved her. How could he not? She was fierce and kind, with a sweet streak that might cause a man to overdose. But he wasn’t the kind of man she deserved. He came with more baggage than a royal visiting party. A woman like Ros deserved a man who could protect her, care for her, be whole for her. Not just some half-feeling beast who needed pain to truly feel alive.
But the thought of giving her up, of pushing her away again, was so repugnant that the contents of his stomach curdled. He had to try to be the kind of man she needed because he knew, without a doubt, he couldn’t survive without her in his life. The reality of his decision settled over him slowly as the carriage swayed gently. London slipped by him as surely as the images of his life rolled through his mind. The violence. The fighting. It must all come to an end. If he was going to make a go of it with Ros, to be the kind of man she needed, he would have to learn to live without the pain. Without the fighting.
He shifted on the bench seat, and his ribs cried out in protest. Of course, as fanciful as his thoughts had become, it could have been in protest of his decision to quit the underground fight rings as much as his moving about on the seat.
The carriage slowed and then drew to a halt. With a groan of delicious pain, he climbed from the cab. This might be the last time he felt so alive, so complete. But then he thought of holding Ros, and he pushed the thought aside. Loving her would be enough. It had to be since he couldn’t reasonably expect to have both.
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