Trimmed in Blue

by Sandra Sookoo

  “Buggar it.” With a roar, Alcott landed him a punch to the side, catching Cecil in a kidney.

  Pain radiated through his back as the crowd cheered, but he kept his feet, gritting his teeth as Alcott bore down on him. One direct punch into the bigger man’s stomach slowed the impending attack. While Alcott struggled for breath, Cecil delivered a quick, powerful blow to his temple where the jaw bones connected.

  Alcott reeled backward, his feet staggering, his arms windmilling.

  An eerie hush went through the assembled crowd.

  Cecil paused. His chest heaved. Aches plagued his body. He focused the whole of his concentration on his opponent.

  Alcott shook his head. He took a few steps backward. Then he swayed.

  “Ha!” Cecil’s lips stretched into a grin that loosed another dribble of blood from his bottom lip. He came forward to deliver the final blow, but Alcott toppled to the grass at his feet like a felled tree.

  And didn’t move, for he was out cold.

  Wild cheering came from the crowd.

  The judge sauntered toward him with a wide grin on his face. When he reached Cecil’s location, he grabbed one of his arms and lifted it skyward. “Winner of this fight is Cecil Carrington!”

  The roar of approval rolled over him. He nodded his thanks as he scanned the animated crowd. God, how he adored this moment. Mouthing, “Thank you,” he flashed a smile.

  “Good show, Carrington.” The judge handed him a small leather pouch full of his cut of the winnings. “You never disappoint.”

  “Thank you. I try not to.” He tucked the purse into the waistband of his breeches and sighed. There wasn’t any other feeling in the world equal to the rush of euphoria following a victory in the boxing ring. Not even having a woman warm his bed could rival it.

  “Huzzah for Mr. Carrington!” William’s shouting rivaled the noise from the surging crowd. The young man bolted across the ring and tackled Cecil in a hug. “Deuced fun to watch you, sir.”

  “Thank you, William.” Cecil disentangled himself from the youth and walked to where Samuel stood, his white teeth flashing in a ridiculously wide smile.

  “Do you think you can train me in pugilistics?” William continued, a decided skip in his step.

  “Once you master your apprenticeship and work on your reading skills, then we’ll talk about it.” He patted the younger man’s shoulder. It was flattering indeed to have someone wish to imitate him, but reading would help him more in life.

  “All right.” William’s tone wasn’t as enthusiastic.

  “Fighting might look impressive, lad, but you need a skill that you can fall back on when times are lean, or the fighting doesn’t produce results. I didn’t rescue you from the streets to see you falter.” He had a solemn responsibility toward the boy now, and one he didn’t take lightly. Since he had no children of his own, and his age kept advancing without any signs of matrimony—thank the Lord—he wanted to do right by the kid.

  People from the crowd pressed against the ropes. They called his name, sent well wishes, encouraged him to keep entering other matches.

  Cecil waved to his supporters. “Thank you all for coming.” Weary, but warm with the flush of victory, he grinned and then gave himself over to Samuel’s care. “Life is good, my friend.”

  “I won’t argue with that.” Samuel thrust a towel into his hand then inspected the worst of the wounds on his face. “You’ll live. Nothing serious that a hot bath and a good rest won’t cure.”

  “Thank you.” When William handed him the water bucket, Cecil dumped the cool contents over his head and luxuriated in the icy blast. What he needed the most now was to knock back a pint or two with Samuel and then have a bath ordered once he returned to his rooms. He mopped at his face and brow, and scrubbed at his chest, drying off as best he could. “I’m fancying a nice steak, boys. Want to join me?”

  “I won’t say no if you’re buying,” Samuel said with a wink, while William nodded.

  “For a gentleman about town, you’re certainly tight with the purse strings,” Cecil griped, but he grinned as he began the task of redressing.

  “That’s how a man builds his coffers.”

  Yes, the life he’d made for himself was splendid indeed. What more could a man possibly want?

  Chapter Three

  October 25, 1818

  London, England

  What the devil is that?

  Louisa came awake in the pre-dawn hours to the sound of heavy breathing. As consciousness cleared, the weight of something foreign, something human and unwanted, pressed onto her breasts. That intruder pawed and squeezed at them.

  It was both vile and very much unpleasant.

  With a gasp, Louisa opened her eyes and focused her sleep-blurred gaze on her stepfather. No longer did the bedclothes cover her person, and her night rail had been pushed up her legs, from sleep or his interference, she couldn’t say.

  Oh, dear God!

  The thought that his hands had been exploring her body while she slept sent shivers of horror crowding over her skin. He loomed over her, his mouth open, his eyes glittering in the gloom, fumes of brandy heavy on his breath, his evening clothes disheveled. No doubt he’d arrived home from his club and decided to try his luck.

  Apparently, he’d discovered how to open her locked door. Buggar it. The louse probably had a master key. Her pulse accelerated into a rapid rhythm that propelled movement. “Get out!” Her hiss of disgust echoed in the room’s chilly air. She wrenched away and scuttled across the bed, then rolled off it, being sure to keep that piece of furniture between them. “How dare you. I said, get out!”

  “This is my house, Louisa. I can go wherever I please.” The baron prowled around the foot of the bed. “I can do whatever I please.”

  “Not to me, you can’t.” Her heart pounded so hard she wondered if the household would hear it. The metallic taste of blood flooded her mouth from where she’d bitten the inside of her cheek from clenching her jaw so hard. “I’ll scream.” She darted a glance between the bed and the closed door. Could she make it before he caught her?

  He waved a hand. “Go ahead. Who will believe you?”

  “My mother will, surely.” Though Louisa rather doubted it. Believing her story meant the baroness was wrong and she’d need to face facts she’d married a lecher, chose that bastard over the safety of her children, grown or nearly that though they might be.

  Mottled red color crept over his face. “If you speak to my wife of this, or anything else pertaining to me, I’ll make certain vile things happen to Jonas.” The baron stepped closer, a smug grin on his dastardly face, and she shrank against the wall, wishing she were small enough to escape his notice.

  Her poor brother. He returned to Eton last night. She forced down a swallow. “Someone will believe me.” But the sad fact remained, the plight of a female in this world—no matter the class—was largely overlooked as if they didn’t matter.

  “Will they? You, a desperate widow, missing the touch of a man, but keeping herself aloof.” The oily slickness of his voice made her wish for a bath. With every word, he crept a little closer while she tried to maintain distance between them. “Men don’t like women who think themselves better. Or will the ton believe me, an upstanding member of society with nary a whisper of scandal to his name?”

  “Because you threaten anyone with dirty little secrets you find out about them?” The man disgusted her. “That’s the only way you can have any sort of power, by coercion and intimidation.”

  “Power is power, my dear.” The baron roved his gaze over her body, pausing at her bosom. Damn the chill and the fear that had hardened her nipples. “I despise mouthy women, unless they’re working my prick.”

  “Then go find a whore and leave me the bloody hell alone.” If she ran one way, she could potentially lock herself on the shallow balcony off her room, but what if he came after her? Could she risk jumping to the ground below without harm? If she ran the other way, she might be able to
escape the room before him, especially if his senses were dulled by drink.

  “I’d rather tie you to the bed and force my cock into your mouth. Maybe that will finally shut you up.”

  “That will never happen.” Her whispered protest didn’t have the strength she wanted. Fear skittered through Louisa’s nerve endings as she stared at him while inching slowly along the wall. Would this be the night he raped her?

  I refuse to let it come to that.

  “You protest too much.” His bark of laughter turned her stomach as he grinned. “Why bed a disease-riddled prostitute when I can have you?”

  “Not unless I’m dead, you disgusting pig.” She moved the same time he did.

  The baron lunged, latching onto her arm with a hard grip. He flung her backward. Louisa stumbled. She tripped over one of his feet and fell backward, half on and half off the bed. “I knew when you were fifteen that I’d eventually make you my pet, but you went and married that idiot soldier years later.” He licked his lips. “When you came back home, I had my second chance.”

  The knowledge he’d lusted after her for so long, had no doubt fantasized about her, caused her to gag. “Why are men like you allowed to live?” The more she attempted to pull from his grip, the more he tightened it, twisting her arm so that she was pinned against the bed, the edge of the mattress cutting into her hips.

  “Men are superior in every way.” Once more, he loomed over her. “Poor, addlepated Louisa. Weak and helpless without a defender, or the protection of a man.” He tangled his free hand in the bodice of her night rail. “My type of female.”

  Oh, God. Louisa dry heaved as she slammed her hand down on this forearm. When his grip lessened, she scrambled onto the bed, hampered by the skirting of her night clothes, but she didn’t care. She crawled across the bed and away from him, but the baron pounced, moved too quickly for her to react. He planted a knee between her thighs. “You might as well kill me then.” Every time any part of his body touched any part of hers, she shrank inside. No amount of bathing would be able to see her clean.

  “Not yet, I won’t.” He caught her wrists and pressed them to the mattress.

  Did that mean he would at some point? Terror crashed into her, propelling her need to flee. With all her strength, Louisa jammed her knee into the soft flesh of his manhood. “Not tonight.” When he groaned and released her, she slithered out from beneath him, kicking at his abdomen and legs so he was further injured. “I swear you will be sorry you ever tangled with me.” Though how she’d make that threat more than empty, she didn’t know.

  “When you marry the viscount, you’ll have your just desserts.” He slipped off the bed while cradling his privates. “He’s already agreed to share.”

  She retched a little into her mouth but was forced to swallow the bitter mass as she ran across the floor. At the door, she wrenched it open and then bolted along the dark corridor beyond. The echoes of his vile laughter rang in her ears.

  Louisa didn’t stop in her flight until she was safely ensconced in a broom closet in the kitchen. Her whole body shook as she huddled on an overturned mop bucket. Tears fell to her cheeks while she wrapped her arms around her body and rocked.

  How the devil was she to survive? Why was this allowed to happen? Where was the justice? More tears welled and then ultimately fell despite her attempts to hold them back. Her fate had been thrown to the proverbial wolves each time her mother ignored the signs, each time that man was allowed free reign, every time her refusal was ignored. There wasn’t an ally to be had, unless she counted Jonas, but he had his own troubles, and was away at Eton besides.

  I need to take on this fight myself, for this life cannot continue.

  But how?

  For long moments, she quietly sobbed until the frantic terror subsided, but when the door to her hiding spot swung outward, she opened her mouth to scream.

  “Hush now, miss. It’s only me, Mrs. Smitherson.” The soft voice in the dark projected comfort and concern.

  Thank God for the housekeeper. Louisa more or less fell into the other woman’s arms. “I’m glad to see you.”

  “He’s an awful piece, that’s what,” the woman whispered while guiding her from the closet. Louisa didn’t need to ask who she spoke of. “Defiled my scullery maid two months ago. I had to turn her out even though she was hysterical. The baron claimed he never touched her and that she was crazy; I had no choice.” She tsked her tongue. “It’s not right.”

  “I’m not surprised.” Louisa scrubbed at the tears lingering on her cheeks. The man destroyed lives as if they were no more than matches to be used up.

  “You sleep in my room tonight, and whenever you need to, miss.” The housekeeper gently patted her back. “We’ll keep you safe. All of us.”

  Another round of tears spilled from Louisa’s eyes at the compassion. “I shouldn’t need to.”

  “No, but we’re here all the same.” Mrs. Smitherson led her along the halls to a small apartment and then ushered her inside. “No lady of breeding need suffer him and his depravities.”

  “No woman, period.” She mopped at her tears. A hollow feeling had taken up residence inside her chest. “I’ll find a way to fight him.” Louisa met the other woman’s eyes. “I promise.”

  Or I’ll die trying.

  That afternoon saw Louisa at a friend’s home. She’d lied and told her mother she intended to visit the British Museum and then stop over at a book shop on Brooks Street. No way did she want the baron investigating or making trouble for her acquaintances, for Olivia had recently married a rather reclusive duke and she was now the Duchess of Skeffington. She didn’t need the baron’s sort of treachery in her life.

  The townhouse in Mayfair was tastefully decorated and not at all vulgar or lavish. The muted colors conveyed a sense of elegance and peace Louisa craved, much like what one could find in a watercolor painting.

  If only I could hide away here and pretend all my troubles have vanished. Except, what good would that do? They would roar back against her twofold.

  “You seem distracted this afternoon,” her friend Olivia said. There was a new, secret light in her eyes that hadn’t been there before as well as a bloom in her cheeks that bespoke health and happiness. “Are you well?”

  “No. Not really.” Louisa’s hand that held her teacup shook. She blinked rapidly to stave off the tears that wanted to form.

  Olivia was immediately on alert. She straightened her spine. “Tell me. I’ve missed you while you were in Surrey. We need a long gab session.”

  And risk putting her or new husband into the baron’s sticky clutches or one of his intimidation schemes? Oh, no. “I don’t want to burden you with my difficulties. You’re newly married and don’t need that.” She strove to smile, but it was a tremulous affair. How could she bare her soul without being pitied or outright disbelieved? Not that she thought Olivia would think her lying, but still. One learned to keep one’s dirty little secrets to themselves lest people say she brought the baron’s attentions on deliberately... like her mother stated.

  “Such gammon. If I can help, I will.” Olivia looked at her with expectation in her eyes.

  Louisa didn’t want to talk of the baron, when all she wanted to do was forget what happened last night. “Where is the duke?”

  Would that she could ask such a personal favor of him to put the baron in his place, but that was an overreach she didn’t have the right to take.

  Olivia frowned but let the change in topic go. “He’s calling on the Earl of Braxton.”

  “Why are you not on a wedding trip? When I read about your whirlwind marriage in the paper, I knew you had to be deeply in love to do something so quickly.” What did such a romance feel like?

  A blush filled Olivia’s face. “In a few weeks, we’ll go to his country estate. Since he has no responsibilities in London—for he has no use for the ton even now that his good name has been restored—we’ll use the trip as an excuse for a honeymoon. Though I’m finding he’s rath
er attentive now.” She giggled and her blush deepened. “Pardon me. Married life is all so new and... delicious.”

  “I can imagine.” Louisa set her teacup down. Her friend was properly besotted. As any bride should be. A twinge of jealousy lanced through her chest. “I had love once, to a degree and not like yours, before he went to war.”

  Olivia’s bright eyes sparkled. “You could have it again if you’d let yourself.” She grinned. “I could play matchmaker for you. Skeffington says I have a knack for managing people. I’m happy to employ it in your case.”

  Louisa sighed. “The reasons I keep myself away from all of that are complicated.”

  “Why? What are you not telling me?”

  “I don’t... trust men.” A shiver racked her shoulders as she remembered the cold terror of finding the baron in her room, of his hands on her person. “Most of them are vile and think to take what they want... because they can.”

  “There are good men out there too.”

  “Not in the ton, I’ll wager.”

  But Olivia had never been one to let things lie at face value. “Is that important to you, landing a man of status?”

  “I’m not angling for a man with a title. Often, that makes things worse, for those men feel entitled to take what was never given.” Her tone implied an end to the subject. Better that than to turn into a watering pot on her friend’s settee.

  “Oh, Louisa. I’m so sorry.” The flash of understanding in her friend’s eyes nearly broke down her reserve.

  “No, I most definitely don’t want a title or a cold marriage merely to prevent being alone.” Louisa thought about her mother, so desperate for a man that she’d married the baron. Had she truly not heard the rumors surrounding him? Could she not see with her own eyes what a louse he was? How could any woman ignore such a thing?

  “What do you want then?” The question was softly spoken as if Olivia doubted it would happen.

  Perhaps it wouldn’t—couldn’t. I’m too broken. But she retained a tiny kernel of hope that there was good waiting for her. “I want... respect. I want kindness. I want to be seen as a woman, not an object.” Her chin trembled, and for a few seconds, she wrestled with keeping her emotions in check. “I want a love that doesn’t come with conditions.”