Gambling for the Governess: A Victorian Romance (The Seven Curses of London Book 9)

by Lana Williams

  “Fill a plate for Miss Tippin,” Lady Beaumont requested her friend. “You must surely be hungry after all you endured.”

  “Thank you.” Amelia took the plate filled with several biscuits and sandwiches, realizing she was hungry. Yet how could she eat until she knew how Christopher fared?

  “Has the earl been informed of the incident?” Amelia asked.

  “I told him about it,” Lady Beaumont said with a shake of her head. “But I’m not certain he heard me.”

  Amelia set aside her tea and plate untouched. “Please excuse me for a moment while I speak with him as well.”

  “For what purpose?” Miss Singh asked. “She just advised you that she already told him.”

  “I merely wish to see how he’s taking the news.”

  “Hush, Priya.” Lady Beaumont frowned as Miss Singh made to protest again then turned to Amelia. “That is very kind of you. We’ll keep your mother company until you return.”

  “Thank you.” She gave her mother’s arm a squeeze. “I’ll return shortly.”

  “Take your time, my dear. I’m in no hurry.” She passed her cup to Miss Singh. “Perhaps you’d warm my tea?”

  Despite her worry over Christopher, Amelia nearly smiled as she left to check on the earl.

  ~*~

  Malcolm paced the back room of Three Ships Pub, waiting for the return of Shaw and Johnson, the two men he’d sent after Beaumont. Had they made it clear to the lord that his interference wasn’t welcome?

  Though Malcolm had been reluctant to order his men to confront the lord, he didn’t have any choice. Beaumont was obviously suspicious of him. But he had yet to understand why the lord would bother with him. Surely the fact that he sold advice didn’t warrant his attention.

  If Malcolm didn’t take action now, he risked the lord finding out about his blackmail scheme. That would never do. Not when he’d just sent a second letter demanding payment to the Marquess of Millstone. Once he received the money he’d remain hidden for a time. The other targets he had in his sights could wait until Beaumont’s attention shifted to someone else.

  From what little he knew of the nobility, it didn’t take much to cause them to find another matter on which to focus.

  With a frustrated sigh, he glanced out the door into the bar area, wondering what was taking the men so long. They should’ve arrived by now. To his dismay, he saw the pair talking to Frederick, one of the men who worked for McCarthy with Malcolm.

  Anger took hold. He’d specifically told them to keep this private. Yet even as he watched, Frederick’s gaze shifted to where Malcolm stood in the doorway of the back room. The man would like nothing more than to take Malcolm’s place in McCarthy’s organization. Having dirt on Malcolm would be the opportunity he needed. Frederick’s grim smile didn’t bode well.

  While happy to give him his place, Malcolm intended to do so at the time of his choosing. He wouldn’t be forced out by the likes of Frederick.

  Shaw turned to follow Frederick’s gaze and locked eyes with Malcolm. He elbowed Johnson and the pair walked toward him.

  Malcolm leveled Frederick a glare then stepped away from the door to await his men’s arrival. His men. He liked the sound of that. If he could hold tight to his plans and make certain neither Beaumont nor Frederick interfered, he could hire more of his own men. Ones who wouldn’t dare to be loyal to anyone else.

  Pride filled him at the thought.

  “Frederick pressed us for answers,” Shaw said as he entered the room. “We didn’t tell him nothin’.”

  “Not a thing,” Johnson confirmed. “He has suspicions though. He sure seems to think something is afoot.”

  “We’ll get to Frederick in a minute.” Malcolm closed the door to allow them some privacy. “First I want to know what happened with Beaumont.”

  “He gave us a hell of a fight.” Johnson touched his eye, which was already turning black and blue. “Thought he’d be an easy shove, being a lord and all.”

  “Good thing there were two of us.” Shaw shook his head. “Still was a near thing.” He pulled out his knife with his free hand, revealing the dirty blade. “Had to stick him a few times to get him to let go.”

  Malcolm’s eyes widened. “You stabbed him? That wasn’t part of the plan.” He turned to pace the length of the room and back, his thoughts reeling.

  “I just told ye I had no choice,” Shaw said, his tone rising defensively. “He kept fightin’.”

  “It was like he said, Connolly,” Johnson added. “The man kept coming after us.”

  “Did you kill him?”

  “Nah,” Shaw answered. “Some woman interrupted us before we did much damage.”

  Malcolm tipped his head back in disbelief. “A woman?”

  “She knocked on the damned door and insisted we let her in.”

  “So you did?” Malcolm could hardly believe his ears. He needed to rethink his choice of the men he hired, ones who wouldn’t be intimidated by a meddling woman.

  “Only to keep her quiet,” Johnson said, suddenly unable to meet his gaze.

  “Did she see you?”

  Shaw’s attention held on the ground as if he’d found something of great interest there.

  “She might’ve, but what difference does that make?” Johnson asked with a shrug. “She was just someone walking by. She won’t remember us.”

  Malcolm shook his head. “You’d better hope she didn’t get a good look at you. Otherwise, there are now two people who can identify you as having attacked the lord.”

  “Here now,” Shaw argued. “We ain’t hanging our necks out. Ye didn’t pay us enough for that.”

  “If you would’ve followed orders, we wouldn’t be in this mess.” Malcolm paced the room, trying to determine what his choices were while the two men watched him in silence.

  This was turning into a disaster. The question was, what did he do to clean it up? Leave well enough alone and stay out of sight for a time?

  But he’d learned from McCarthy never to leave loose ends. Perhaps the threat of the woman and the lord needed to be eliminated.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “If bettors will only place themselves in his hands, he [the bookmaker] will ‘pull them through, and land them high and dry,’ certainly and surely, and with a handsome return for their investments.”

  ~The Seven Curses of London

  Christopher shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position that would ease the burning pain in his side.

  “Hold still, my lord.” Dauber’s quiet words only confused him. “The doctor should arrive soon.”

  His eyelids fluttered open to see the familiar furnishings of his bedroom. The last thing he remembered was the flash of a blade as fists flew followed by tearing pain when he’d been stabbed.

  His head pounded as though Thor’s hammer had struck him repeatedly. He lifted his head to look at his side but immediately regretted it. What had been uncomfortable before turned to fire in an instant. The pain stole both his breath and his attempt to make sense of things.

  “You must hold still, my lord.”

  He didn’t need Dauber’s reminder. “What happened?”

  “You were accosted by two ruffians at Newmarket, one of whom had a blade. Do you remember?”

  “Now I do. Damn and blast.”

  “Who were they?”

  “Must’ve been thugs sent by Connolly, my one and only suspect.” He’d made the mistake of underestimating the man, not realizing his questions had caught the man’s notice. “How bad is it?”

  “We’re awaiting the doctor to receive confirmation, but by my estimation, you’ll live.”

  Christopher would’ve nodded but his head hurt too much. Breathing hurt his side. Though the pain of his injuries was terrible, it didn’t feel life-threatening. At least not as long as he didn’t move. “Stitches?”

  “More than likely.”

  “Damn.” He’d had them once before and didn’t care for them. “Feels as if those men might’ve
broken a rib or two.”

  “No doubt.” Dauber’s lack of sympathy didn’t surprise him but still stung. “I believe we agreed you would take care while working on this...project.”

  “I thought I was. Connolly must’ve had me followed.” Which meant he had something to hide or why else would he have bothered?

  “Hmm.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “Miss Tippin brought you home.”

  “Amelia?” Yet even as he questioned it, he remembered her presence and the enormous relief he’d felt when he’d realized she was there. The thought of her anywhere near those men caused his breath to catch. “Is she well?”

  “Other than concerned about you, she’s completely unharmed.”

  His fear eased as a knock sounded at the door.

  “Ah, that must be the doctor.” Dauber hurried forward to open it.

  “Got yourself in a bit of a difficulty, eh, my lord?” Doctor Weston nodded at Dauber even as he addressed Christopher, crossing the room with his black leather bag in hand.

  The physician had seen to their family for as long as Christopher could remember though he more frequently tended his father’s injuries from experiments gone awry.

  Christopher scowled. “The odds were not in my favor.”

  “That hurts both pride and body in my experience.” The doctor adjusted his spectacles over his thin nose as he set down the bag and leaned close. “I hope you don’t intend to make a habit of this sort of thing. Any guess as to how long the blade was?”

  The memory of the fight was little more than a blur, and the light in the room had been limited. “No more than five or six inches.”

  “Long enough to do damage.” He pressed his fingers along Christopher’s side, causing him to stiffen in pain. “I’d guess you have a cracked rib or two in addition to the cuts.” He studied Christopher’s face. “Hurt to breathe?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have the urge to cough?” When Christopher shook his head, Doctor Weston nodded. “We’ll take that as a good sign that your lungs are unharmed. How badly does your face hurt?”

  Christopher moved his jaw, realizing how tender it felt. “Not as badly as the back of my head or my side.”

  The doctor turned Christopher’s head to the side to examine the bump. “The swelling is significant but a cold compress should help both that and your face. You must’ve struck your head on something which caused you to lose consciousness. Headache?”

  “Yes.”

  “Nausea?”

  “A bit.” Anger filled Christopher at the realization of how much harm the men had caused. He could only hope he’d caused a little damage of his own.

  As Dauber had warned, the doctor insisted on stitching the knife wounds, stating they’d heal faster. Christopher gritted his teeth, refusing the laudanum the doctor offered. The pain had stolen enough of his thoughts. He didn’t want to take medicine that would make it worse when he needed to focus on what steps to take next with Connolly.

  Obviously, the man was guilty of something. Could it be blackmail? If so, how did he prove it?

  “Stay in bed for at least two days. The less you move with those cracked ribs, the better.” He tied the last knot and clipped the thread and proceeded to wrap the wounds with linen. “Rest will aid your head as well.”

  After putting away his supplies, he set a bottle of medicine on the bedside table and looked at Dauber. “Make him take this if the pain is unbearable. At least at night. A good night’s sleep will serve him better than tossing and turning with pain.”

  “Shouldn’t you be telling me this information?” Christopher asked gruffly, not appreciating being discussed as if he weren’t in the room.

  “What would be the purpose?” Doctor Weston asked. “You wouldn’t heed my advice. How is your father?”

  “Well. Stubborn as always.”

  “Excellent. Call me if your symptoms worsen. Expect the pain to increase over the next few hours.” He paused long enough to give Christopher a stern look. “Take the damned medicine.”

  He took his bag and Dauber escorted him out, leaving Christopher alone and in a foul mood. His side burned with each breath, far worse than it had been before the doctor’s arrival. He swore he could feel each thread that bound him. His head pounded with a vengeance, keeping cadence with the throbbing of his cheek. He didn’t remember ever being this miserable.

  A quiet knock sounded at the door.

  “Enter.” He gently probed his cheekbone, wondering how long it would take before it felt better.

  Amelia peeked inside.

  All his pain lessened in an instant. “Amelia. Do come in.”

  “Has the doctor already come and gone?” She moved forward slowly as if uncertain whether she should be there.

  “Yes.”

  “And?” He couldn’t help but note as her gaze swept over him with concern and a hint of something more.

  “I’ll live.” He didn’t bother to hide his disgruntled tone.

  She smiled as she reached his bedside. “That is excellent news. You certainly had us worried.”

  “Apparently in addition to all my other injuries, I struck my head when I fell. I remember little other than you being there.” He reached for her hand, pleased when she allowed him to hold it. “I owe you my thanks.”

  “My mother and I were at the races. It was my day off.”

  “I’m sorry I ruined it for you. How did you happen to find me?”

  His gratitude only increased as she shared the details.

  “Thank goodness you were able to tell me where to find your carriage,” she added, “or it might’ve taken much longer to get help. Nearly everyone had left since the races were over.”

  He drew her closer, rubbing his thumb over the soft skin of her hand. “I have no doubt you would’ve managed it.”

  She gave a little shudder as if the thought bothered her. “I’m so pleased you weren’t hurt worse.” Her attention shifted to his bandages and lingered over his bare chest before she quickly looked away.

  “I have you to thank for that. I’m more relieved than I can say that those men didn’t hurt you.” He patted the side of the bed, his relief turning into something more when she sat beside him.

  “I’m certain I could identify them if I saw them again. I mentioned that to the man at the racecourse who said he was going to file a report about the attack.”

  A whisper of unease filled Christopher. “Who was it?”

  “Some official, I suppose. I didn’t stop to ask his name.”

  Why the thought worried him, he didn’t know. He’d be able to identify his attackers as well. But if Amelia could recognize the men, they could recognize her. Did that put her at risk?

  “You’re certain you aren’t hurt?” he asked.

  “Not even a scratch. I’m just sorry I wasn’t able to stop them sooner.” Her gaze swept over his face, her expression full of concern. “Can I get you anything? Did you already take the medicine?” She nodded toward the bottle on the bedside table.

  “I’d rather have a shot of brandy than take that.” He eyed the brown bottle with distaste then watched with gratitude as she rose and moved to the sideboard where Dauber had set a glass and decanter and poured him a drink.

  “Try this.” She handed him the brandy.

  He carefully eased up against his pillows to down it in one swallow before handing it back to her.

  “Another?” she asked, one brow raised.

  “Please. I shall tell Dauber he’s been replaced. You’re far more understanding than he is.”

  She chuckled as she returned with the glass refilled and sat beside him again. “After what you’ve been through, I think you deserve a drink or two. Especially if it helps numb the pain.”

  “You have my eternal gratitude. Where is your mother?”

  “She’s having tea with your aunt and Miss Singh, so I stepped away for a few minutes to speak with your father and check on you.”


  “How did he seem?” He didn’t always react well to bad news.

  “Your aunt had already told him you’d been hurt. He’s acting out of sorts, muttering to himself, and not answering questions. I offered for him to join my visit with you but didn’t receive a response.”

  “That sounds normal. He doesn’t like to hear anything unpleasant. Especially since Margaret’s death.”

  “I’ll check on him again before long and see if he’s willing to speak about it. Shall I tell the children?”

  Christopher handed her the empty glass and shifted into a more comfortable position. “I suppose we must, but please don’t tell them any specifics. I don’t think they’ll take it well either.”

  “Perhaps if you’re feeling up to it, we could visit you tomorrow. That would reassure them.”

  “I intend to be up and about by then.”

  She gave him a stern look. “You will not. You have knife wounds, bumps, bruises, and broken ribs.”

  “The doctor used the term ‘cracked.’”

  “That means nearly the same thing. I’m certain the doctor suggested bed rest.” Her raised brow dared him to disagree.

  “Is that the tone you use with Ronald when he’s misbehaving?” He had the oddest inclination to follow her order. As if he’d be letting both her and himself down if he didn’t do as she said. “It’s quite effective.”

  “Christopher,” she whispered, her eyes suddenly filling with tears as she took his hand in both of hers. “We could’ve lost you. If those men hadn’t stopped when they did—”

  “If you hadn’t interrupted when you did,” he corrected her. He drew her toward him until her face was close enough to touch with his free hand. He brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear then cupped her cheek. “You saved me.”

  She blinked rapidly at his words, and a tear ran down her cheek.

  “I can’t thank you enough,” he whispered as he gently wiped away the tear with his thumb. The deep blue of her eyes with their hint of vulnerability and caution had him pulling her even closer until his lips met hers.

  Soft and sweet and so appealing. He had no idea how he’d managed to wait this long before kissing her. Desire sparked a need deep within him that he’d tried to ignore since the day he’d met her, standing in the sunshine in that ridiculous pose.