His Wicked Seduction novel Chapter 42

Seeing Ashton wounded had shaken the very foundations of Charles's existence. He needed to restore some sense of order to his world, to reassert his strength and defense. He stood in the ring of Jackson's Salon practicing his boxing technique. Sweat gleamed on his forehead and dampened his hair.

He fought like a man possessed. Punch after punch, opponent after opponent, and still he battled on, ignoring his aching muscles. As he punched and ducked, all he saw was Ashton. Pale from blood loss, resting in Essex House as he recovered from his injury. The doctor had assured everyone there was little to worry about and that Ashton would recover control of his arm in time.

Many of the men in the best circles enjoyed to play at boxing, but not Charles. He took the art seriously. A pugilistic match was his way of fighting back against his fears and insecurities.

Conquer the ring and you conquer your demons.

Today, he sported a blackened eye, one he'd deserved but not gotten in the ring. Charles grinned as he withstood the ribbing by the other gentlemen at Jackson's. They'd all assumed he finally lost a fight and he was not about to tell them the real reason.

His current opponent was a man named Everard Ralph, a young pup compared to Charles, eager to test his mettle against Jackson's unofficial reigning champion. The two traded blows for a good twenty minutes before Ralph began to weaken.

"Had enough?" Charles asked. His usually light tone was on edge.

Ralph stumbled back a step as Charles pressed his advantage.

"Enough, Lonsdale, enough!" Ralph gasped as he dodged another jab from Charles. "Lord, you fought like the devil himself today."

He was a decent enough fellow with the sort of grin that made virginal maidens swoon and widows leave their calling cards in his coat pockets. He had nothing on Charles though. Charles had been a rakehell since the age of seventeen and the more blackened his reputation became, the more women seemed to "stray" across his path. However, the game was beginning to change.

It was one thing to abduct a girl like Emily Parr and revel in the delight of such a devilish scheme. But it was another thing altogether to get into his carriage after a night of carousing and find a lady waiting inside to be compromised by him. That was not how the game ought to be played. He was supposed to give chase and the lady to flee, but for the past couple of years he felt as though he was the one fleeing.

Matchmaking mothers schemed when he entered ballrooms and seemed to hear wedding bells when his name was announced at Almack's. Despite his notorious reputation, he was always able to obtain vouchers to the club's assembly rooms, probably because the risk of allowing him entrance was worth the opportunity for someone to catch him.

When Charles had relayed this unfortunate turn of events to Ashton, the man had said in his usual wise way, "Perhaps a bit of respectability and restraint would dim your allure to the unmarried ladies." At the time, Charles had scoffed. "Ash, you and I both know I am capable of many things, but respectability and restraint are not among them." To which Ashton had pointed out, "It has done wonders for Godric. Look at him and Emily."

Charles had huffed and stalked away.

"Thank you for the match, Lonsdale. It proved most instructive." Ralph offered a hand to Charles. Charles shook it before leaving the ring and retrieving his towel. He wiped his face and contemplated the poor state of his clothes. His valet had just left his service to marry a maid from a neighboring household. Charles liked to be immaculately dressed and would need a new valet quickly. It was just one more problem on a growing list.

He needed a drink. Now. With this in mind, he headed for his gentleman's club, Berkley's. None of his friends would be there tonight, which was a blessing. He was not fit for company. He was in a foul mood and would soon drink enough to reach a state of oblivion for the rest of the evening. He could also ask around to see if anyone knew of a valet looking for a new position.

In half an hour, he was sitting alone in a private room, glass in hand, listening to the fire crackle in the hearth. Voices outside in the halls sounded merry, so contrary to his own spirits. The door to the room opened as a servant entered. There were many young men and errand boys employed by Berkley's. Charles rarely interacted with them, unless he was determined to get deep into his cups and he needed them to keep the brandy coming.

"Afternoon, my lord. Care for another decanter?" the lad asked. He was small for his age, with light hair hidden by a cap, and blue eyes. His features were perhaps a little too delicate, his frame a bit odd in places, all the signs of awkward youth. He'd grow into his body like all men did. Funny, he'd never given much thought to the servants here before. Something about this boy however, grabbed his attention.

Charles dug into his pocket, retrieved a handful of shillings and held them out.

"I'm a member of this club. As such the rules bend when I need them to. I request that you see to my needs. One of those needs is that you sit and keep me company."

The boy heaved a sigh and took the offered shillings with a grateful smile. It seemed he was in bad need of coin. He knew a man's pride could keep him from taking charity.

"What's your name?"

The boy hesitated. "Linley, my lord. Tom Linley."

"Tell me, have you worked here long?"

Linley shook his head. "Only a few months. I used to work as a valet, but haven't been able to find new employment. My old Master would not give me a reference."

"Oh?" Charles sat up a little. "Why's that?"