Page 18 of A Deal with a Rake (Wicked Widows’ League #35)
F lorentia walked out of the modiste’s shop with a smile on her face. The sun was unusually bright as she and Charity stepped into the waiting carriage. Jake, the coachman, was facing away from her, as Thomas held the door open for them, refusing to look at Florentia.
She didn’t care. Nothing or no one was going to take away her happiness.
Florentia didn’t understand how she could be so happy, and satisfied. In her entire life, she’d never thought anything like the way she felt for Tavish O’Brien existed.
This feeling was for people like Lady Heartford or Pippa Price, not Florentia Vaughn, of all people.
She bit her lip as she settled in the carriage on the other side of Charity.
“That is your tenth smile since you arrived at Woodmere,” Charity said, peering at her strangely.
“Why are you counting my smiles?” Florentia challenged.
“Because they are so rare, and now you have blessed me with ten in three hours.” Charity held up three fingers. “You also said please and thank you to the modiste and her assistant.”
“Can I not be kind?” Florentia pressed her gloved hand against her chest.
“No, you’re never kind. You’re you, and I love you as you are, but in three years, I have never heard you say please or thank you to anyone. Ever.” Charity leaned forward. “Something has happened. Tell me now, Florentia Vaughn.”
She laughed at her friend, really laughed at Charity and her antics. It was impossible to hide the fact that she was happy. She, Florentia Evelyn Vaughn, was happy.
“You shagged the new duke!” Charity leaned over and hit Florentia on the leg.
Unable to hold it in any longer, she said, “What if I did?” She shrugged her shoulder, feeling her age for the first time in her life.
“You bedded him, and you like him.” Charity rose and quickly deposited herself next to Florentia.
“Yes, I like him.,” she whispered. “My God, I like him so much, Charity, it scares me. Things like this madness don’t happen to me.”
Her friend took her by the hand and squeezed. “Florentia, it’s happening. You must let it sweep you away. Anyone that has you smiling like this is worth it in my opinion.”
“He’s ill mannered,” Florentia said, listing his faults.
“I like ill mannered.”
“He curses like the devil, and his tongue is wicked…” She trailed off, remembering just what that tongue had done to her that morning.
They were lounging in bed, eating meat and cheese, when he trailed that wicked tongue down her body, creating a path of fire down to her sex, where he devoured her until she could barely speak.
“I see,” Charity said, rearing back, her hazel eyes wide. “Are you in love with him?”
Love?
Dear God, Charity had finally gone mad.
Love?
She couldn’t be in love with him. She’d just met him. You couldn’t fall in love with someone you just met, could you?
Before she could answer, the carriage jerked to the side, tilting them into each other. “What is going on?” she asked, looking out the window.
They were going away from Mayfair, not toward.
“What’s wrong?” Charity asked, peeping out her own window. “Where are we going?”
“I don’t know.” Florentia knocked on the ceiling of the carriage, trying to get the coachman’s attention.
They increased their speed, the scenery changing rapidly to the London docks.
Why the hell would they be at the docks?
When the carriage came to a stop, she pushed the door open. “I insist you take us back to Summerset House now!” she shouted as Thomas, a man that was clearly not Jake, stepped down and peered down at her. “Thomas, what is going on?”
“Why in bloody hell are we here?” Charity asked, stepping out of the carriage.
Around them were warehouses, all sitting in front of the River Thames.
“You’re here because I’ve been paid to hand you over. Good riddance,” Thomas said, as a large man with a crooked nose and missing teeth walked up to them.
“Two for one, aye,” he said, looking from her to Charity.
“Florentia,” Charity whispered, “tell me you know what is going on.”
Fear speared through Florentia, raw and familiar. She hadn’t been afraid since she’d poisoned her late husband. Now fear attacked her anew, making her feel helpless all over again.
She hated feeling helpless.
“I don’t know,” she said to her friend, before looking at the looming man. “Who are you? What do you want?”
He chuckled, dark and menacing. “I’m The Butcher, and I want that bloody fucking coward Tavish O’Brien to pay.”
“Oh dear,” Charity said, squeezing herself to Florentia’s side. “The earl is not going to be pleased if I miss dinner.”
She patted her friend’s hand and held her head up high.
Florentia could tell by the evil gleam in The Butcher’s eyes that he was a cruel person, and any sign of weakness would be their doom. No, she had to stay alive until Tavish came for her.
Because there was no doubt in her mind that he would come.
Tavish eyes flicked over to the grandfather clock sitting proudly in the corner of the duke’s dressing chambers.
Something didn’t feel right, Florentia had not returned in hours from her shopping excursion with her friend.
The more time passed without her mischievous eyes dancing at him, the more Tavish wanted to punch something or someone.
“Your Grace,” Anderson said, entering the dressing chambers. “Her Grace and Lady Woodmere are not at Woodmere, her butler writes that they left together around one o’clock and have not returned which is strange as Her Ladyship likes to return to put the little one to bed.”
“Fecking hell,” Tavish spit out, stepping away from Jessee. “I’m going to the damn the modiste.” He was already dressed in a black waistcoat, and boots, he didn’t care that he wasn’t wearing a coat, he needed to find Florentia and this Lady Woodmere.
“This also came for you, Your Grace.” Anderson held out a small missive.
Tavish snatched the missive, dread in his gut as he stalked out of the dressing room.
He stopped at the messy handwriting on the parchment.
If you want to see the duchess and her friend again, meet me tonight.
You’re a dead man.
Bloody fecking hell.
Tavish ran through the mansion, racing out of the door, to the waiting carriage. He was meant to arrive at the Duke of Karrington’s in two hours, but he didn’t give a damn about a ball when Florentia was in danger.
Fierce, beautiful, passionate Florentia. The woman who had unmanned him in the course of three days, rendering him a lovesick fool.
“O’Brien’s, now! And don’t fecking stop for anything.” he demanded of the wide-eyed coachman.
“Right away Your Grace!”
Tavish had been avoiding his da’s gentleman’s club, not wanting to feel his absence. Flynn O’Brien had put every ounce of himself into building O’Brien’s so that his family would have a legacy when he was gone.
His da hadn’t realized that he was all the legacy they needed.
The carriage sped through Mayfair, and Tavish made a note to make sure he rewarded the coachman, whose name he didn’t remember.
They came to a breaking stop, and he jumped out of the carriage, calling behind him as he ran. “Be ready to go the docks in moments!”
“I’ll be ready, Your Grace!”
He ran into the club, noting everything that had changed since he’d last been inside five years ago. It was the last time he and his da had spoken, harsh words about Tavish’s future.
“What the feck are you doing here, don’t you have a ball to attend?” his brother Fionn said, dressed in a white jacket and carrying a tray of drinks..
“Where’s Declan, I need him, now!” he said to his younger brother, not wanting to waste another second.
He’d already wasted time, rushing to get to his brother, but if he was going to fight, he needed someone with him.
“What’s the matter, you look like you’ve seen the devil?” Dutch said, striding to him, Declan behind him.
He released the breath he didn’t know he was holding. “The Butcher took Florentia and her friend. We need to go now!” he shouted, worry, thick and foreboding, surrounded him.
“Let’s go,” Declan said, taking Tavish by the arm.
His brother was a lot of things, but he was always reliable. If Tavish needed him, his little brother was always there.
“I’m coming, too!” Fionn said, running behind the three of them.
Tavish ignored the gentlemen who were entering the club all gawking at the three O’Brien’s and the large older Black man with them.
“To the O’Brien’s warehouse at the docks,” he shouted up to the carriage driver, before he leapt into the carriage.
The others piled in behind him, Declan next to him, Dutch and Fionn across from them.
“What did The Butcher say?” Delan asked, as the carriage took off at deadly speed.
Calm overtook him at knowing he wasn’t going to face The Butcher alone. That was the one thing he’d missed being away from his family, knowing that no matter what he’d always have support.
Taking out the crumbled parchment, he passed it to Declan. “I’m going to kill that fecking bastard for even touching her,” he gritted out punching his fist into his palm.
“Dec, here said you fecked the duchess. But the way you’re looking, I wager it’s more than that,” Fionn said, knowingly.
Out of all his brothers, Fionn was the one who knew him better than he knew himself. He’d traveled with Tavish for a year, even taking on some smaller matches. He was good, he just didn’t possess the stomach it took to beat a man for sport.
“Aye,” he confirmed, the feeling of his heart being ripped out of his chest shot through him.
How could a woman get under his skin in such a short amount of time? It didn’t make any logical sense to him, but dear God had she.
“Then we better hurry up and save my fecking sister.” Fionn, punched the ceiling of the carriage, urging the coachman to push faster.
“Aye,” Declan agreed, before shaking his head. “I still can’t believe you fecked old Summerset’s widow in one fecking day.” His brother laughed, finally dropping the mask that Tavish suspected he’d been wearing since their da died.
“A day?” Fionn mocked him. “What took you so long?”
They all laughed again.