Owen

by Sasha Cottman

Amy sucked in a deep breath, then picked up her reticule and made ready to leave the carriage. “Yes. I can. I am a Perry and that means I am strong.”

  Rising from his seat, Colin took a hold of the door handle. He paused and turned to her just before he pushed the door of the carriage open. “I promise, Amy, once this is all over and things have settled down, I will bring you back to town and take you to as many concerts, plays and parties as you wish. By the time I am finished, you will have forever forgotten the name Owen Morrison, and knowing the wonderful girl you are, you will have found a decent chap to marry,” said Colin.

  Yes, a decent chap would do. A decent chap wouldn’t break my heart.

  She climbed down from the carriage, accepting Colin’s hand. As she stood on the pavement and rearranged her shawl about her shoulders, Amy pondered the appeal of a good man.

  You know you want the rogue. You want the bad boy with the tattoos and wicked fingers. The only man who has ever made your pulse race and your soul soar. Tell yourself all the lies you want, but your heart will always belong to Owen. You love him.

  She straightened her back and marched up the front steps. Much as her heart protested, she knew she had to go through with this evening; it would save a lifetime of heartache.

  Lady Amelia Perry’s sensible self was in charge. And she knew exactly who was going to help her deliver the news to Owen that their great love affair was at an end.

  From the crowd of people in both the main reception hall and the enormous ballroom, Owen was certain that everyone who was anyone was in attendance at the birthday gala. The air was hot and full of the spicy scent of cigars.

  He should have been in his element, but instead, he just wanted to get tonight’s performance over and done with and go home to bed. The only thing he wanted more was to hear from Diana. He was desperate to talk to her. Things were not progressing with her in the way he would have liked. She loved him, but she also regretted that love, and it filled Owen with dread.

  He had hoped to hold off telling her about Lady Amelia Perry, but the afternoon spent with Diana in the coach had changed things. She was slipping away from him. He feared losing her love if he didn’t reveal the truth. And while he was anxious about her reaction to the news that he had a fiancée, the worry of losing Diana now overcame that concern.

  Love was a tricky business; little wonder everyone left it to the poets to try and make sense of it. Even the bard himself, Shakespeare, had failed to put the complicated emotion into meaningful words. What was the line about loving too well?

  There was a good hour before the Noble Lords were due to play. Time in which Owen planned to mingle and get himself in a better frame of mind to tackle the music. He had never felt so out of sorts in his life.

  With any luck, sometime during that hour Callum would make an appearance. He had better be here tonight, and not just for his own sake. With Reid not singing, it would be a stretch if the group was down to only two members.

  Callum and his demons. We have to do something.

  “My father is here somewhere, so I had better go and say hello. I will catch up with the two of you shortly,” said Kendal.

  Owen looked down at his violin case. He wasn’t keen to be carrying it around for the next hour. He nodded at Reid. “I will go and find the head butler and get him to take this into safekeeping. I can retrieve it just before we are due to perform. I will come and find you as soon as I have handed this over.”

  He found the head butler and, after giving him the precious violin with strict instructions not to let it out of his sight, Owen made his way back into the ballroom. He spied a footman with a drinks tray, his favorite kind of footman, and quickly headed over. A large brandy would go down nicely right now.

  He reached over and selected a glass and was about to lift it off the tray when he heard a familiar Italian accent that had him gritting his teeth.

  “Why, Mrs. Smith, you do love to tease.”

  Owen’s hand stilled.

  He slowly turned. All the brandy in the world could not have dulled the pain that shot through Owen’s chest and went straight to his heart.

  Antonio Calvino was standing with one arm around Diana. And, if that wasn’t bad enough, her hand was resting on top of his just below her bust. An inch or so higher on her dark green and black striped gown and Antonio would have his fingers touching her breast.

  “Well, you are a naughty boy, Antonio, so you deserve to be teased,” she purred.

  For a moment, Owen thought that he was possibly having some form of fit. It was the only rational explanation. None of this could be real.

  Antonio’s gaze landed on Owen and he gave him a friendly wave. He bent and whispered something to Diana, after which she cast a disinterested look in Owen’s direction before going back to stare lovingly at the Italian.

  This. Is. Not. Happening.

  A roar which sounded like giant waves crashing on rocks started up in Owen’s brain. He took a step toward Antonio and Diana, then stopped. His mind could not accept what his eyes were seeing.

  It took all his strength to turn on his heel and walk away.

  The roar continued to grow. By the time he finally managed to locate Reid, who was standing talking to Marco, Owen was almost deaf.

  He hung back for a time, unsure if he had the capacity to form a coherent sentence. The cheery ‘hellos’ and ‘good evenings’ he received from other guests were greeted with a grunt.

  For fuck’s sake, man, pull yourself together. You are falling apart in the middle of a party.

  His angry words of self-rebuke stirred him from his stupor. The roar subsided but continued in the back of his mind. Taking a large deep breath, he headed over to where Reid and Marco were having what appeared to be a verbal altercation.

  Marco reached out and patted Reid on the shoulder. The look of deadly anger which appeared on his friend’s face informed Owen that the move was not at all welcome. Reid then said something, which Owen didn’t quite catch, but he guessed it wasn’t amiable considering the speed with which Marco withdrew his hand.

  “Calvino.” Owen nodded to Marco as he reached his side. Owen wasn’t in the mood for any sort of pleasantries. He met Reid’s gaze. “A word, if you wouldn’t mind.”

  Reid gave Marco the barest of nods before turning to leave. Without any real plan or intent, Owen headed for the foyer. He needed fresh air.

  “What is the problem?” asked Reid.

  “Two problems. One, I could see from the look on your face that you were about to murder our Italian friend, and not before time. And two, I might well be joining you on the hangman’s scaffold if you do.”

  He pointed toward where Diana and Antonio stood cozily together. Diana did not appear to be making any effort to move away from her Italian admirer; in fact, if anything, she seemed to be rubbing herself up against him. Antonio leaned in and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

  Owen clenched his hands into tight fists. He tried to calm his breathing as a berserker’s rage roared through his mind. Any moment now he was going to lose control; he genuinely feared what he might do.

  Reid frowned. “Isn’t that the beauty with the bounty of breasts that you have been cultivating? The one whose husband is conveniently working in Sweden?”

  “Yes. And I thought she and I had an understanding. It would appear I was mistaken,” he replied. Owen swallowed deep, struggling to keep his violent emotions in check.

  What Diana was playing at he had no idea. He had gone down on bended knee and professed his love, yet here she was all but dry humping Antonio in the middle of a party.

  Reid huffed. To Owen’s surprise, he sounded almost as angry as Owen felt. “I don’t know what the Italians are up to tonight. Marco has just told me that he knows my singing teacher, Lavinia. He suggested that he may have known her intimately.”

  Owen nodded, but kept his gaze fixed on Antonio and Diana. He wanted badly to punch something, or someone.

  “But she is just your singing tea
cher, is she not?” replied Owen.

  He flinched when Reid placed a hand on his shoulder. The red haze of rage slipped momentarily from his vision as he turned and met Reid’s gaze. He knew the expression on his friend’s face only too well. It was the same lovelorn look which he knew sat regularly on his own countenance.

  “You love Lavinia, don’t you?”

  Reid shrugged. Cupid had certainly been busy when it came to the Noble Lords, but none of them looked likely to get their happily ever after.

  “You will have to go and find Kendal shortly in order to get things set up for the show. Hopefully Callum makes it here soon. I’m sorry, but I need to leave right at this instant. I must speak to Lavinia. Just make the introductions for the music and I will try and get back here before the evening is over,” said Reid.

  “Don’t do anything rash or foolish,” replied Owen.

  He watched as Reid made his way to the front door. His fellow Noble Lord was going to go and fight for the woman he loved. To claim what was his and damn the consequences.

  “Fuck it,” he grumbled.

  It was now or never. He would never forgive himself if he stood by and did nothing while Diana played whatever foolish game she was playing with Antonio.

  You are mine.

  He turned and headed back into the ballroom. The roar in his head was back with a vengeance. With hands tightly curled, he marched toward Antonio, fully intending to do everything rash and foolish that his fists would allow.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “Fottere.”

  Amy didn’t need to speak Italian to know the meaning behind the word Antonio had just muttered.

  Fortunately for Amy, he had released his hold on her as Owen appeared through a gap in the crowd. There could be no mistaking his intent as he marched toward them, his face set with hard fury.

  Owen’s punch landed with a sickening thud in the middle of Antonio’s face. Blood spurted out from Antonio’s nose. From the horrid angle at which it now sat; it was clearly broken.

  “Owen, no!” she cried.

  He ignored her and threw a second punch at Antonio’s head. The Italian dropped to his knees, clutching at his face.

  Other guests around them began to move away. Some voiced their disapproval of Lord Morrison’s unprovoked attack on the gentleman.

  There was a scuffle as one brave guest tried to pull Owen off his victim. Owen gave him a sharp elbow to the ribs for his trouble, then went back to have another go at Antonio. Blows rained down on the hapless man.

  Amy stood dumbstruck at the violence unfolding before her. She could never have imagined Owen being capable of such unbridled savagery. When Colin placed his hands on her shoulders and drew her away from the fight, she went with him.

  “What have I done?” she said.

  “Come on. We need to leave,” replied Colin.

  He steered her away from the fight and toward the door, but after taking several hesitant steps she stopped and looked back. She gasped as Owen pulled his arm back and landed another sickening blow.

  “Colin, please make him stop,” she pleaded, fearing for Antonio’s life.

  A group of burly footmen arrived, and they finally hauled Owen off Antonio. She put a hand to her mouth when she saw the bloody mess that was the Italian’s face.

  Marco appeared on the scene and helped his cousin to his feet. With his arm wrapped around his shoulder, Marco led Antonio away.

  The evening’s guest of honor now appeared in their midst. From what Colin had told her, the man was a senior member of the British cabinet, powerful and well connected.

  “Lord Morrison, what the devil have you done?” he demanded.

  A defiant Owen glared at him. “Something I should have done a long time ago.”

  Several other guests now stepped up and a hasty discussion took place, at the end of which the guest of honor turned back to Owen and announced. “Lord Morrison, you are under arrest.”

  “We have to get out of here,” said Colin.

  The last time she caught sight of Owen, brought Amy to tears. His arms were pinned behind his back, his face flushed with rage.

  Owen put up one hell of a fight. It took four men to haul him out of the party. As far as he was concerned, he was far from done with giving Antonio the thrashing he so richly deserved. The second anyone loosened their hold on him he was going back inside and landing another punch to Antonio’s smarmy face.

  He was thrown onto the back of a cart, after which several large muscular men sat on him and held him down. It was only after someone offered to put him in irons that he calmed and agreed to go quietly.

  The cart bumped along the stone road. Every time it hit a large pothole his head was whacked against the wooden tray. While he soon had quite the headache, he took comfort in knowing that Antonio would be in far more pain.

  A near overwhelming stench assailed his senses.

  “Fuck. What is that?” he exclaimed.

  The man who was sitting on his chest leaned down. “That, Lord Morrison, is the charming scent of Newgate Prison. Where you are headed.”

  “Oh god,” replied Owen.

  The man nodded. “Yes, not the place where I would want to be spending my night. But if you wish to start a brawl in front of half the Prime Minister’s cabinet that is where you get sent.”

  The cart pulled up out the front of the gates of Newgate Prison. As soon as the weight of bodies lifted from him, Owen was able to finally breathe properly again. He took a deep breath and immediately regretted it.

  Tears came to his eyes. He could almost taste the foul smell. He hadn’t smelt anything like it since the aftermath of Waterloo. The unwelcome, but familiar odor of human waste, horse excrement and something else.

  Ah, yes. Rotting food.

  A hack drew up next to the cart, and he sighed with relief when Kendal and Callum both stepped down and hurried over.

  “I am Lord Kendal Grant. My father is the Duke of Banfield. Unhand Lord Morrison this instant,” demanded Kendal.

  Owen was grateful for his friend’s intervention. Hopefully someone would quickly realize that it had all been a terrible misunderstanding and they would release him.

  “I am sorry, my lord, but I am under instructions from a higher authority to have Lord Morrison remanded in custody,” said one of Owen’s handlers.

  Owen’s arms were held fast by two men who turned him and promptly began to march with haste toward the prison gate. Kendal and Callum followed after them, both protesting loudly.

  They were met at the gate by the jail governor, who did not look at all impressed to be receiving a prisoner at this ungodly hour.

  “Bring him inside,” he instructed.

  When Kendal and Callum made to follow, he held his hand up and stopped them. “I am sorry, but only those on official prison business can come past this point. Once Lord Morrison has been charged you may see about arranging his release.”

  “What has he been charged with?” asked Callum. His friend appeared to be stone-cold sober.

  Thank heavens for that.

  The governor looked to the other two remaining men who had accompanied Owen to Newgate. They solemnly nodded.

  “Assault and affray,” they both replied.

  The governor shook his head. “This is a serious business and those are not trifling charges. You will need a peer of the realm to deal with this matter. When you have found one of those, then you may come to the governor’s office.”

  He turned on his heel and headed back through the gate, closing it behind him. The clang of the key being turned in the lock echoed in the still night air. Owen was dragged to a cell and thrown inside.

  Kendal and Callum exchanged a frantic look. Neither of them was titled men. Callum was merely a knight, having been given the title after his efforts during the Battle of Waterloo; while Kendal’s title was merely a courtesy one due to his father being a duke.

  The only member of the Noble Lords who was in possession of a title
outright was Reid. And no one knew where he was.

  “What the hell happened at the party?” asked Callum.

  Kendal screwed up his face. He had utilized his network of spies to follow both Reid and Owen and uncover their secret loves. He had spoken to Reid about Lavinia Jones but was yet to confide in Owen about Diana Smith.

  “Owen’s little piece on the side is a young matron, named Diana. Her husband has abandoned her and gone overseas. At the party, she was apparently flirting with Antonio, and when Owen saw the two of them together, he completely lost his mind. You arrived just as he was about to murder the Italian.”

  “Shit,” muttered Callum.

  Kendal sniffed the air. “Yes, among other things.”

  “What are we to do?” replied Callum.

  “Since we don’t know where Reid is, we will need to rouse Lord Lowe from his bed and get Owen sprung from prison. Owen made mention earlier today that his father was back in town,” said Kendal.

  No one wanted the unpleasant task of going to Lowe House and informing the Marquess of Lowe that his son and heir had been arrested.

  “Shall we draw lots?” asked Kendal.

  Callum shook his head. “No. I will go. Lord Lowe was one of the people who petitioned for me to be knighted. He thinks I am some sort of war hero. In the meantime, do what you can to get inside and see Owen.”

  Callum got back into the hack, leaving Kendal standing outside the prison. As the hack pulled away, Kendal pulled the collar up on his coat, then stuffed his hands into his pockets. “And here was me hoping for a standing ovation and an early bed.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Owen slumped onto the hard wooden bench that was the only piece of furniture in his prison cell. In the corner was a pile of straw, which looked like it had seen cleaner days. He wasn’t in the mood for attempting to get any sleep, so he didn’t care.

  He sat, head bowed, staring at the dirty stone floor. His day had started out badly and not improved. His hopes for getting things back on track with Diana had come to nothing, and now he was sitting in a prison cell.