The Bareknuckle Groom: The Thompsons of Locust Street

by Bush, Holly

  He spread her thighs with his knees, their eyes locked on each other. He moved himself to her entrance, teasing her with light strokes and moving his tongue in her mouth in rhythm as she sucked on it. She pulled her knees up his legs, feeling the coarse, dark hair there, and tilted her hips in invitation. They were both breathing heavily, his chest chafing at her breasts when he finally pushed himself inside, completely inside, and began to slowly thrust into her. She groaned and clawed at his back, grinding her hips to his. She was bucking wildly then, without any of her usual reticence. She was lost in the sensuality and the sexuality and the oneness. They were intimately connected, and it was the most wondrous, exciting thing she’d ever experienced.

  “Harder, James, oh God, harder,” she cried.

  “I’ve wanted to do this since I danced with you that first night,” he panted in her ear, his breath warm and moist. “God. I wanted to fuck you so bad. Oh. God.”

  That word, that dirty word, sent her over the edge, tumbling into nothingness, and she relaxed and opened, her legs and arms splayed against the mattress, the bed rocked and groaned with his weight and movement until he tensed and arched, and she felt a flood of warmth inside her. He dropped onto her, his weight hot and sensuous.

  He looked at her and opened his mouth to speak. She covered his lips with her finger. “Don’t say anything, James. Don’t say anything at all.”

  She closed her eyes, suddenly exhausted and overwhelmed. When she awoke, he was gone.

  * * *

  “Ninety-nine. One hundred,” MacAvoy shouted.

  James flopped down onto his belly, his arms shaking, waiting for MacAvoy to lift the sand-filled bag from his back. He pulled in deep breaths, listening to the beat of his heart and feeling it slow down its pounding rhythm.

  “That’s it for today,” MacAvoy said. “This is the last of the long workouts. I’m at the mill tomorrow, but you should only spend a few hours in the gym. Nothing in the ring, just work the hanging bags. And Friday will be stretching out those muscles and some sprints. You’re ready for Saturday, James.”

  James stood and looked at MacAvoy. “I didn’t realize I’d let myself get out of shape. I’m not breathless any longer after your trainings. I am ready for Saturday. Any word about Jackson?”

  “Just that he’d gone back to New York to train. I would think he’d be coming back here soon. Maybe today.”

  James dried his face with the towel MacAvoy handed him and looked up at his friend. “When are you going to tell me about the honeymoon?”

  MacAvoy’s cheeks reddened as he smiled. “It was wonderful. Like something out of a dream. The hotel was fancy, and they treated us like we were really somebody. We took walks around the town—Eleanor likes to shop—and went to a musicale and had all of our meals prepared for us. I’ll never forget it. Not a minute of it.”

  “Any minutes particularly memorable?”

  MacAvoy shrugged and looked away, his ears reddening to match his cheeks. “It wasn’t just, you know, fucking, if that’s what you’re asking about. It was more than that. Something special.” He looked at James and cleared his throat. “I’m hoping I started a child in her, James. You and I were mostly concerned with stopping that from happening when we were young and bedding every female who’d let us. I don’t feel that with Eleanor. I didn’t once, you know, pull out, or wear a skin or anything.”

  “Is there any chance you succeeded?”

  “Well, I gave it my best on plenty of occasions.”

  James laughed at his smiling friend, who was clearly pleased with himself and his new bride, watching him leave the gym with a swagger he’d not seen before in MacAvoy. That was what it was like to bed a woman, one you desired, desperately, as often as the both of you wanted. But not just any woman. She would have to be special, like Eleanor was to MacAvoy. Lucinda’s face in the throes of her passion for him came to mind and even though there’d only been the one time, he wanted to make love to her often and forever.

  He was not sure he would ever be interested in another woman in that way. How could he be? Whoever she was would not be Lucinda, his woman, who, for all her formality, had abandoned all her reserve in bed. But how could a woman so far superior to him ever be his?

  He was still thinking about her when he walked from the alley into the kitchen of the Locust Street house. Mrs. McClintok was stirring something in a pot that smelled delicious, and he could hear chatter in the front of the house.

  “Hands off the cake, Mr. Thompson. It’s for tonight’s dinner.”

  “Are you mad at me too?”

  “Hmmph.”

  James wandered through to the parlor, where his aunt, brother, brother-in-law, and all of his sisters were gathered. “Are we having a family meeting no one has told me about?” he asked, smiling at each of them.

  “Are you ready for Saturday, James?” Payden asked.

  “I am,” he said and sat on the arm of Kirsty’s chair. “I am in the best shape of my life.”

  “I’m sure your opponent is in fine shape as well,” Muireall said, pulling a needle through her embroidery.

  He looked at Alexander. “Will you be there? Your father and uncle too?”

  “We will. I’ll be in your corner with MacAvoy.”

  “What?” Kirsty screeched. “How could you, Alexander? Elspeth! Can’t you stop your husband?”

  “Asking Alexander to stay away would not stop this fight,” Elspeth said. “The only person who can stop this fight is James. And I personally feel better knowing there are two men with our brother to talk some sense into him if necessary.”

  James chuckled darkly. “It is comforting to know my family has so much faith in me.”

  Kirsty, Elspeth, and Aunt Murdoch all protested loudly that they had faith in him, but they thought he was a numskull, at least according to Kirsty, all the same.

  “What does Miss Vermeal have to say about your match, James?” Muireall asked.

  He shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve not discussed it with her.”

  “That’s because she won’t speak to you,” Kirsty said. “Not because she doesn’t have an opinion.”

  “I am below Miss Vermeal’s notice. Undoubtedly, she has much to keep her occupied other than a ragtag boxer,” he said, feeling some bitterness creep into his voice.

  “I think you’re wrong, James,” Elspeth said. “I think Miss Vermeal is very worried. I think she cares deeply about you.”

  He shook his head, and Muireall picked up the argument. “You did not see her when you were injured before. For all her outward calm, she was terrified.”

  He wondered if that was what had prompted her to lead him to her bed. She’d gone from shaking an angry finger in his face to making love to him as if it were the last time she’d ever see him. He thought it was likely he’d fallen in love with her. He was certain of it, in fact. And what could he possibly do about that? How could his future include her? Because he really did not think that he wanted to live without her, and he was certain she did not want to live with a man in constant danger of having his brains scrambled.

  Chapter 16

  James’s fight was the following day and Lucinda intended to spend much of today with Aunt Louisa to keep her mind off him having his brains scrambled, as his aunt would say. But as she was dressing with Giselle’s help, she heard a commotion in the entryway and sent her maid to see what was going on, hoping it wasn’t Carlton Young asking her to join him on some outing, which he’d done three times the previous day. Thank God James was not nearby. She’d heard the derision in his voice when he called Carlton her suitor.

  But perhaps it was worse. It was her father.

  “Do not harass my servants, Papa,” she said as went into the parlor.

  “The only person I am here to harass is you,” he said. “It has come to my ears that you snuck out of our home and went to see that ruffian, that James Thompson, fight. Let alone that an arena such as that is no place for a lady, especially my daughter, but th
at you would risk your reputation over a man such as he.”

  There was no use denying the fact, and it was imperative that she stood her ground. “I did go see the fight. It was horrific by any measure.”

  “And barbaric! I’ve been told they fight without all of their clothing! For a young, unmarried woman to see such a display. I’m ashamed of you, Daughter.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Papa.”

  “I want you to give up this . . . this,” he said and swung his arm around the room, “this ridiculous notion of living away from your family home and my influence. Clearly, you still need my guidance.”

  “I will not. I have the money from Mother’s side of the family coming to me soon and have seen a reputable attorney to safeguard it from you and your machinations.”

  “Machinations? That is what you call fatherly concern? Love for a daughter?”

  “I do believe you love me, for all of your bluster, and I love you dearly, but I am not a child. I intend to live my life as I see fit and to have the friends I wish to have.”

  He plopped down onto a chair and stared up at her. He looked old, suddenly, and tired.

  “I have considered writing you out of my will,” he said finally. “But I’m not sure it will change your course of action.”

  “It will not, Papa.”

  “What is it? What have I done to deserve this behavior?”

  She dropped to her knees and took his hands in hers. “You have done nothing except provide me the finest of everything: a good education, a secure home, and most of all, your love. But I’m no longer a child. You left everything behind, against your parents’ wishes, according to Aunt Louisa, and came to America. You chose to live your life in the best manner you could.”

  He looked at her and shook his head. “Louisa should have never told you about my disagreements with my father. And in any case, we settled the matter quickly once he began to see the advantages of having his son in the New World. But I am a man, Lucinda.”

  “Times are changing. There are women in all sorts of fields now. In academics, in medicine, in art. By the time I am forced to take over the reins of the Vermeal interests, women will be more commonplace in industry, especially once the right to vote comes for women. I will have an exceptional advantage with the foundation you and your father laid, established contacts in business and politics, and a family name that people trust. I believe we will be successful beyond our wildest dreams and have been hoping you will soon begin to tutor me in some of our business ventures. But you will never do that if you only see me as a child.”

  “I thought you wanted nothing to do with Vermeal businesses. You’ve resisted my choice for a husband, and you are reluctant to listen to me, Lucinda.”

  She nodded. “Yes. In the matters of the heart, Papa. But that is not all I am. I am not only a woman looking for a man. Of course I will follow your counsel in business matters. But I am a Vermeal in my own right.”

  His eyes widened and he looked away, turning her hands over in his and squeezing them gently. “I’m not sure I am ready for this.”

  “I’m certain you are. You have always been on the leading edge of finance and industry. A daughter at your side will not impede you in the least once you have had some time to settle it in your head.”

  “When you say things like that, you remind me very much of your mother.” He kissed her forehead. “She would be terribly proud of you, you know.”

  “Would she? Would she be proud?”

  “Absolutely,” he said. “I miss her very much.”

  “Of course you do, and even more so with me here and Aunt Louisa ready to marry Mr. Delgado. Mama would want you to be happy. Aunt Louisa said she loved you very much. She would not want you to be lonely.”

  He stood and helped her to her feet. “I will take myself away from here now, as I have no interest in any matchmaking at my advanced age.” She walked him to the door and kissed his cheek. “I do intend, though, to have a number of hefty male servants assigned here. You cannot expect poor Brandleford to throw out inappropriate suitors on his own, can you?”

  “No, Papa. I cannot,” she said and smiled at him.

  * * *

  James took a walk Saturday morning just as the sun was peaking over the horizon. He needed to clear his head, and he’d come to some decisions. Yesterday, he’d had a long discussion with his brother-in-law and had given Alexander the account numbers to access all the money he had saved and the location where the rest of the gold coins from Scotland had been hidden in the house. He’d gotten his affairs in order, as the saying went, but there was one final piece he needed to conclude, and he soon found himself staring at Lucinda Vermeal’s home.

  He rapped with the knocker after a few moments of indecision. Her butler finally opened the door, looking as though he’d pulled on his jacket in a hurry. He imagined he’d interrupted the servants at their breakfast.

  “Would you make sure Miss Vermeal receives this?” he said.

  Brandleford looked down at James’s hand holding the letter he’d finalized the previous evening after several drafts.

  “I put you in an awkward position with your mistress the other day. I’m sorry about that,” James continued.

  “Yes, sir,” he said finally. “I’ll see that Miss Vermeal receives it.”

  “Thank you.”

  James blew a breath as he walked down the stone walk. He’d written some things in that letter that, for as glib as he could be, he could not say. It was done now. He could hardly go back and tear the letter from the butler’s hand and rip it to shreds. And anyway, he had to get ready for tonight. He had to be at his best. For himself, his family, and for his future.

  Lucinda lay in bed that Saturday morning thinking about the evening, when James would step into the ring. She was terrified for him, but she knew there was no telling him what to do or how to live. She detested that part of his character as much as it made her admire him. He was his own man.

  “Miss Vermeal?” Giselle said as she came through the door from Lucinda’s dressing room. “Mrs. Howell is wondering if you would like any of the breakfast that has been laid out.”

  “Please tell her that just tea and some toast here in my room would be sufficient. And tell the kitchen I don’t think I’ll be wanting any luncheon either. Perhaps just some soup or whatever Cook has made for the staff.”

  Giselle returned with her tea and a message that there’d been a letter for her hand-delivered to Brandleford. “He said he told the gentleman that he would put the letter into your hands himself and will not allow me to carry it to you,” Giselle said in a huff.

  Lucinda smiled. “Then you’d best get me dressed so I may retrieve it.”

  She was not smiling when she sat down in her office, holding the letter, staring at it as Brandleford told her that Mr. Thompson had delivered it early that morning, not long after seven.

  “Thank you, Brandleford,” she said softly. “I’d prefer not to be disturbed.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  She stared at the envelope for some time, running her finger over her name. She broke the seal and pulled the letter out.

  Lucinda,

  My sisters tell me that the reason you are angry with me is because of tonight’s fight. They are angry with me as well and frightened too. I wanted you to know that I don’t dismiss your fears and am glad you’re concerned about me. I’ve done everything in my power to prepare for tonight, both physically and mentally, this letter being the final piece of that preparation.

  I’ll be making some changes in my life after tonight, which I’m hoping to announce if I am the winner, but regardless of the victor, I’ll still be making those changes, perhaps just not as successfully. My future must coincide with my age, abilities, and opportunities. But tonight, even as you may detest the violence, I’ll be fighting for you, landing every punch, for you alone.

  You’ve captured me, Lucinda, and gifted me yourself. I love you. I’m not good at saying those ty
pes of things out loud, but it does not change the facts. I love you. Whatever happens tonight, know that you are my North Star, the shining light that guides me and makes me a better man.

  Your servant,

  James Thompson

  “You foolish man,” she whispered. “You foolish, foolish man.”

  She pulled a clean sheet of stationery from her desk and wrote a quick note. She handed it to Brandleford after leaving her office.

  “Please get this to Mr. Laurent, the butler at my father’s home, and ask that he reply as soon as he can.”

  “Right away, miss.”

  * * *

  James lay on the floor of the dressing room in the warehouse where the fight would take place. Chambliss had changed the venue, smelling the chance to sell twice as many tickets as he usually did. It was a large empty space where a ring had been built and seating had just been completed, if his ears did not deceive him that the workmen were packing their tools. He closed his eyes, letting the sounds around him drift away, allowing his shoulders and legs to relax against the cool stones. He concentrated on clearing his mind, focusing on the visions behind his eyes. Of Lucinda as she looked up at him as he made love to her. He breathed deeply and slowly, calming his mind, freeing his thoughts from everything but his performance in the ring and who it was ultimately for. He loved her and he’d told her. If he died, if he was not right in the head after the fight, at least she would know.

  But he also let his mind picture the grueling exercises, the pain, how he’d pushed his body past his own endurance. He was ready. Jackson was a formidable opponent, but he was prepared to stay on his feet and go the distance. It was all for her in any case.