Trimmed in Blue

by Sandra Sookoo

  For some unaccountable reason, his heart squeezed. “So am I. And I meant what I said about hiring your painting services.”

  “I’d like that.”

  The drawing room door swung open and a rather imposing man stood in the frame. His midnight-black hair was styled in the latest fashion but held in place with pomade, his collar points so high Cecil was surprised he didn’t poke out an eye. He was as slick as the rumors said, for dressed all in black with the exception of a gray waistcoat, there was no color in his bearing. Even his eyes were dark. Beyond that, from the looks of him and the silver threads in his hair, he was twelve or so years Louisa’s senior.

  “Ah, I’d wondered when you would arrive, Miss Harcourt.” His voice was as oily as his looks. “I don’t enjoy being kept waiting when something has been promised to me.”

  “I am not yours, Lord Wrycroft,” Louisa said in a soft voice. One of her hands curled into a fist.

  “Yet.” He raked his beady-eyed gaze blatantly up and down her figure. “Please, come in so that we may become better acquainted.” Then he shifted his regard to Cecil and Jonas. “Leave your entourage at the door.”

  “Where she goes, we go,” Cecil interrupted. With a nod and a straightening of his shoulders, he barged past the viscount and into the room. “Drink, Wrycroft?” He didn’t much care if the viscount needed spirits or not. It gave him something to do so he wouldn’t land the man a facer on principle.

  “I suppose I could.” The man advanced toward a grouping of sofas and chairs, but he watched Louisa the whole time. “Who are you?”

  “The Honorable Cecil Carrington. I’ve been invited to dinner.” He steadily poured out a measure of brandy into two tumblers from the liquor collection on the sideboard.

  “Ah, the boxer.”

  “Yes.” Cecil carried the glasses over and offered one to the viscount. If need be, he could take the man down. It might be a long fight, for men like Wrycroft inevitably had learned how to scrap as a matter of course in their lines of foul business ventures.

  “I saw your last bout. Very impressive.” The viscount accepted his drink and took a sip.

  “Thank you.”

  “Too bad I wagered against you for tomorrow’s fight.” The man slipped onto a chair near Louisa’s location.

  It didn’t escape Cecil’s notice that she shrank away and out of touching distance. “That’s unfortunate, for I don’t intend to lose.” On anything. “What brings you here this evening?”

  The viscount’s grin was chilling. “To meet my future bride and see if we suit.”

  “Ah, a wedding, eh?” He lifted his glass. “That must mean you love Miss Harcourt very much.” He flicked his gaze to her. Louisa watched him with slightly narrowed eyes. Damn, but he’d give up a prize purse to know what she was thinking right now.

  “What has love got to do with it? She has a rather large dowry on her head, and I’m in a hurry to set up my nursery, get an heir.” Again, he looked at Louisa, and no doubt if he’d been alone with her, he would have pounced. Cecil followed his gaze. Disgust lined her expression. “I’m particularly anticipating the events leading up to that.”

  Cecil downed his drink in one gulp. The liquor burned his throat. Annoyance speared through his chest. Imagining that man’s hands on her body, knowing he’d use and abuse her for his own gain left him shaking with rage. She should be dressed in fine clothes and gifted with jewels. Given the right to grow and flourish when affection was bestowed on her. None of that would happen were she to marry this bounder. “Everyone deserves love, Lord Wrycroft. It would behoove you to remember that Miss Harcourt isn’t one of your pieces of flesh to trade willy nilly. She merits respect and honor... if she chooses to marry you.”

  The other man snorted. “I don’t believe I asked for your opinion, Mr. Carrington. It’s none of your business what happens between her and I.” He tossed back the liquid in his own glass. “Besides, it’s all but a done deal. I’ll sign the papers with her stepfather tonight.”

  “In all due respect, she’s a woman grown and a widow, not a minor or a virgin. No man has dominion over her, or any female who knows her own mind.” He set his empty glass on a nearby table. “Perhaps you should ask Miss Harcourt what she wants.” A throat clearing at the door brought Cecil’s attention there. “Both of you.”

  Baron Althrop’s face was once more purpling with rage. “Do not dare to dictate to me how I should conduct my life, Mr. Carrington.” He crossed the room, yanked Jonas up by his arm, and then shoved the boy toward the door. “Go put on proper clothing for dinner. Obviously, you won’t need the school uniform anymore.”

  Louisa cried out. She rose from the sofa. “Leave him alone.”

  “When I want your advice on child rearing, I will ask for it.” The baron waited for the boy to leave the room before he spoke again. “Mr. Carrington, upon second thought, I’ll have to ask that you go. My wife issued a premature invitation. Tonight is a private family affair.”

  Once more tension built and stacked in the room. Louisa’s eyes were wide. Dread was stamped into her face, but Cecil couldn’t very well defy the blatant order. It was better to lose this fight than the whole war.

  Still, he prayed Louisa could hold her own against her two adversaries. “Very well.” He nodded at the viscount. “My lord.” Then he looked at Louisa, hoping she drew strength from his belief in her. “Miss Harcourt. I look forward to your next call to my shop so we might finalize the details of your commission.” By which he referred to their next boxing lesson. “But if you should have any urgent... questions that can’t wait, please send a missive.” God, he hoped she would be all right in the interim.

  Her nod was curt. “I shall.” Deep down in those green-brown depths, a silent plea was given. “Thank you.”

  Did she refer to this farce or the kiss?

  “Enjoy your dinner.” When he came abreast of the baron, he paused. “Mind yourself, Lord Althrop. I’d hate for some of your darker secrets to slip out.” Then he quit the room and followed the corridor to the stairs. Once he gained the bottom, a bell rang in the depths of the house, summoning the family to dinner.

  “Mr. Carrington.” The hissed whisper came from above. Then the sound of pounding, stocking-covered feet echoed on the staircase as Jonas hurtled down toward him at his uneven pace.

  “Yes?”

  “Please don’t abandon my sister,” he implored in a whisper. His shoes in hand, he stood awkwardly in front of Cecil. “She needs a protector and a friend.”

  The faith the lad already had in him tugged at his chest. Remembrance of the kiss he’d shared with Louisa came back to him, and he smiled faintly. “My boy, I have no intention of leaving her to the wolves, but I’m going to have to ask you to be brave, because I can’t be here.” He peered into Jonas’ eyes. “Screw your courage to the sticking point. Can you do that?”

  “Yes. I think so.” His face reddened. “I try to fight as best I can.”

  God, the boy reminded him so much of himself at that age, when he was constantly beset by bigger, stronger boys and teased by his own brothers. “Good.” Cecil fished out a calling card from the pocket of his greatcoat. “If something untoward happens, if she—or you—are in grave danger, send word to this address and I’ll come straightaway. Until then, be brave and know that you are greater than the bullies.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Carrington.” The boy tucked the card into one of his shoes.

  “You’re welcome. I’ll see you soon.” Then he strode to the front door even as misgivings fired in his chest. She hadn’t asked him to stay—couldn’t, of course, but the pleading in her eyes would haunt him long after he retired for the night.

  These people needed help, but the how was the puzzle of the moment.

  Chapter Ten

  November 2, 1818

  Cecil glanced about the roped off section of the field, this one in a wildflower meadow just over the border of Hertfordshire County. A nice-sized crowd had assembled to witness the
event, and though that meant a bigger purse in the offing, his concentration was fractured. All he could think about was that sweet kiss with Louisa. It had shaken him to his core, and the walls he’d long ago erected around his heart had trembled down to their foundations.

  No doubt it was a one-off experience, brought about by protective instincts, and one that won’t repeat.

  But his thoughts refused to be thrown off the subject so cavalierly. How could this be? He’d sworn off women, hadn’t he? He had no use for them, for they were all liars and fortune hunters. Hell, he hadn’t even bedded one for years, so great was his loathing for the fairer sex.

  Until Louisa had entered his life with tears in her eyes, a horrific story on her lips, noble intention in her heart, and steely determination to change her fate.

  Could fate, once set into motion, be changed? After visiting her home and seeing firsthand what she must fight against every day, he sincerely hoped so. How had she faired last night? Was there horrific fallout from everything? His chest tightened. Jonas hadn’t sent a message, but that didn’t mean things had gone well. Perhaps the lad hadn’t a chance, or perhaps he was even now curled into a ball and hurting.

  Why the devil do I care what happens to Louisa or her brother?

  He damn well knew why, but he’d be dead before he admitted he was beginning to care for the woman. It went against everything he’d believed about himself.

  “Woolgathering will see you trounced out there,” Samuel chided, and the sound of his lyrical voice brought Cecil back to the present. “You should be thinking about the fight.” A hint of censure rang in his tone. “James Riley won’t go down easily.”

  “Agreed.” Cecil shook his head to clear his thoughts. Louisa wasn’t his concern at the moment. She had no place in his mind when there were other more important things in his immediate future. He stripped to the waist and handed his clothes to his friend. Damn, the autumnal air was bracing, and he shivered. “My mind’s right here. No more flights of fancy.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Though Samuel looked at him with narrowed eyes. “You seem... different today. Everything all right?”

  “Of course,” he said a little too quickly. “Nothing different with me.” Except that bloody kiss had changed everything.

  His musings returned to Louisa and how nice her petal-soft lips had felt pressed against his. What would she feel like in his arms if he kissed her in earnest? If given a chance and he dared to caress her body, what would she sound like while experiencing pleasure? He stifled a groan as his cock stiffened. Yes, he wanted more and to explore it with her, but she was skittish and wary of men—rightfully so. No way would he press his advantage nor do anything to make her fear him. She’d had enough of that already.

  Suddenly, he wanted to be her champion, to show her that not all men were scoundrels and scum. And, dash it all, he wished to become her teacher in other things beyond the sparring field. If she’d let him.

  A shrill whistle blast pierced the air and scattered his wayward thoughts.

  Christ, he hadn’t been aware his opponent or the judge had entered the ring. I have to do better. A short, stout man stood in the middle of the boxing square and held up a hand.

  “We’re about to begin.” When the noise from the crowd died down somewhat, he continued, “Today’s match is between crowd favorite Mr. Cecil Carrington...” A roar erupted from the spectators. “...and the power of the coastal district, Mr. James Riley.” Another cheer rose from the crowd.

  Obviously, today’s bout was highly anticipated. He remembered Louisa’s touching concern about his well-being during today’s fight, and he tamped down the urge to grin. He’d defeat this man and let her see for herself he could handle the risk.

  “Put your head in the game, man,” Samuel urged as he shoved at Cecil’s shoulder.

  “I am.” He came forward from his corner while the crowd screamed their approval and support. The puzzle—and the challenge—of Louisa would have to wait.

  His opponent also lumbered toward the judge—a dark-skinned brute with shaggy eyebrows and a broad chest covered with dark curls. His mop of messy black hair was tousled in the slight, chilly breeze, but the man resembled a bull and would no doubt come with the same power of that animal.

  “This fight is mine,” James Riley growled. A silver tooth flashed when he grinned.

  “We’ll see about that.” Cecil flexed his hands then lifted his arms above his head and performed a few stretches. As he stared into the face of the man who’d love nothing more than to beat him into the sweet-smelling meadow grass, an answer to the puzzle clicked into place and he knew what he wanted the prize money for.

  No longer did he wish to expand his business—that would come in time, for he believed in his work. No, now he wanted to purchase a modest townhouse for Louisa, to give her a sanctuary she could have as her own, to see her away from her tormentor, so that she might be free to make other choices without having to weigh options against each other.

  Such a gift might be construed as payment for his protection, much like a man would do for a mistress, but that was not the case here. There were no strings attached; he merely wished to see her safe and happy. What she chose to do with her future beyond accepting the house was up to her.

  At least she would have one free of fear.

  Renewed energy flowed through Cecil’s veins, and he assumed his first position, fists at the ready, body taut and balanced. He looked at the squat judge and nodded. “May the best man win.”

  A whistle blast split the air. The judge shouted, “Go!”

  Cecil and his opponent circled each other, prowled through the meadow grass. How best to bring the brute down? It was a difficult order, but he’d find a way. Anticipation rode his spine, prompting him into movement. He threw the first punch. It connected solidly with Riley’s beefy cheek without much effect.

  Well, damn.

  “Is that the best you’ve got, Carrington?” The other man grinned as he struck out a powerful fist.

  Cecil danced away, much to the crowd’s roar of approval. “Hardly.” He swung a fist, but the bigger man easily dodged the punch.

  “Time to go down.” Riley struck with a fast uppercut to Cecil’s chin that jarred his teeth together.

  Frissons of pain radiated through his face, but he held his ground and returned the volley. Then they were into the meat of the first round as blows rained and fists pummeled, landing on solid flesh in rhythmic intervals. One of his punches had Riley staggering backward, but the man didn’t fall. Neither did Cecil when retaliation occurred.

  Minutes ticked by that seemed like hours. His muscles protested and his breath grew labored before the round was finally called.

  Grateful for the brief reprieve, Cecil trudged to his corner, as did Riley. “I might have underestimated Riley’s tenacity.”

  “Here, Mr. Carrington.” William gave him a ladle full of cool water from the oaken bucket. “Tough go.”

  “Indeed.” Cecil wiped sweat from his brow. After taking a deep sip from the ladle, he handed it back to his water boy.

  “It’s nothing you haven’t handled before.” Samuel rubbed down the muscles in Cecil’s shoulders. “Keep going and wear him down. Your footwork never fails.”

  “Absolutely. I trust the process.”

  Another whistle blast announced the start of round two, and Cecil returned to the middle of the ring to face off with his opponent once more.

  “I’ve had about enough of you, Carrington,” Riley growled out.

  “Then the feeling is mutual,” he tossed back. Movement and a flash of bright color at one side of the ring caught his eye. Daring to peek, Cecil gasped even as his pulse kicked up. Louisa, shrouded in her black cloak and male clothing, jockeyed through the crowd with her brother in tow.

  Why the devil had she come?

  A hard uppercut to his jaw had him staggering back several steps. The crowd roared and as one entity they surged forward. Pain exploded through his h
ead, but he kept his feet. This was why having a woman in his life was an exceedingly bad idea. Too much distraction. Putting her firmly from his mind, Cecil lunged toward his opponent with a grunt. He landed quick punches to Riley’s gut and cheek.

  The man reeled and retreated before gathering himself and plowing at Cecil to exchange blows. Again and again, he drilled his fists into the bigger man’s body, but the fighter wouldn’t fall. Riley got off a few good punches of his own, and the determination Cecil had always been known for kept him on his feet, though winded and hurting.

  After an interminable amount of time, the round was once again called without a clear victor.

  Cecil stumbled back to his corner, dropping heavily onto Samuel’s bent knee, panting.

  “What the devil ails you, Carrington?” Samuel hissed as William plied him with water. “You’re all over the place out there.”

  “I don’t know.” What a lie. He knew exactly what was wrong with him, and he didn’t much like it. Cecil stood, glancing toward the location where he’d last seen Louisa. When their gazes connected, she waved. Heated embarrassment from her notice went through him, followed by a blossom of hope that lifted his flagging spirits. No woman of his acquaintance would have come out and watched him fight, and especially not a woman who’d admired his glass work. For her, he’d try his darndest to bring his opponent down. Perhaps he’d gain her admiration for it.

  Except, doing that meant he’d likely have the stuffing beat out of him if he didn’t start paying attention to the fight.

  The judge blew his whistle again. The next round was imminent.

  “Get yourself together, man. It’s dangerous to have your concentration split.” Samuel slapped his shoulder. The sting of pain brought Cecil’s focus back sharply. “Go.” He shoved him, and it propelled Cecil back to the center of the ring for round three.