Page 11 of A Lady’s Guide to Scoundrels and Gentlemen (The Harp & Thistle #1)

A n hour into the fight, Dantes was on the edge of his seat. But it wasn’t because of the match—in fact, he was hardly paying attention to it despite the thunderous noise of the packed crowd. No, it was because Vivian had agreed to come watch it with him, and she was right beside him on a bench, not far from where he had kissed her hand for good luck all those weeks ago. He couldn’t help but wonder if she was thinking about that moment too.

He wasn’t quite sure why he’d invited her in the first place. Even though she had been here with Bernard, it wasn’t a place for her. She was a polished, proper lady and this was worn and weary pub. But after spending more time with her at the art exhibition, he’d found he hadn’t been ready for them to part when it was over. He’d enjoyed their time together too much.

They couldn’t be anything more than friends, of course—not that either of them wanted that. But friendship? That appealed to Dantes. And he could spend time with her tonight, as friends, without being in the role of matchmaker. He would be Dantes, she would be Vivian, and they would be watching the fight as friends.

Nothing wrong with that.

As the night wore on and Cegelski and Martinez pommeled each other, Dantes and Vivian exchanged stories about their childhoods. Vivian and Bernard had been so close growing up, he’d often played dolls and dress-up with her and she’d played cricket with him. And Dantes opened up a bit more about living in Whitechapel. How, luckily, nothing too horrific had happened, but they’d often had to shield Ollie from violence between adults.

Dantes felt at ease with Vivian, and she seemed to be at ease with him as well, as if they had been good friends for much longer than they had been. This ease he felt was a surprising turn of events for Dantes, as he was always guarded around people, even those he considered friends.

As he thought about this, he looked over to Vivian, watched her engrossed in the fight, studied the little tuft of dark hair that hung loose in front of her ear. There was a sudden desire to loop it back around her ear, and as his gaze lingered, a brief scent of roses passed his nose, causing his heart to quicken.

As if she knew his thoughts, she suddenly turned to meet his eye. Their faces were close, but she didn’t move away.

“What are you doing?” Vivian’s cheeks were pinking, perhaps upon the realization he was watching her and not the fight.

He gave her a wry smile. “Nothing.”

“Yes, you are. You’re staring at me.”

His stomach flipped at being discovered, a feeling somehow both pleasant and unpleasant. “What if I told you I was admiring you?”

Her eyes flashed with surprise, and she turned her gaze back out to the fight without responding.

Now, he felt a bit foolish.

But he should have known better than to say what he had. And he wasn’t even sure why he had said it. It had come out, like all the other foolish words he’d said to her.

Fool’s words. Because he was a fool.

Dantes tried to turn his attention back to the fight, but his mind trailed away from it. Maybe he had been admiring her a bit—she was beautiful—but a friend could think that about another friend. It didn’t mean anything more than that, and upon reassuring himself of this, he felt marginally better.

As the crowd cheered over something he’d missed, he forced himself to remember she was in search of a particular person, someone who would be far different than Dantes. What kind of wife would Vivian make when she found the gentleman who ticked all her requirements? She was a gentle but wry soul, with an independent streak itching to shine through. Dantes tried to imagine an aristocrat being married to a woman like that.

Night after night, Dantes heard those nobs talk about their wives and mistresses, and they all wanted to marry the same generic type of woman: someone attractive enough to stroke their egos and who could throw parties for elbow-rubbing purposes. But, most importantly, would never question their husbands about anything. A woman who had absolutely no life outside of being a wife and mother and knew not to lament that, either. No boxing matches in rundown pubs, no independent visits to museums, no walking around town wherever she wished, or choosing the books she preferred.

But it also wasn’t any of his business. His job was to find someone tolerable enough for Vivian. He could warn her about the man’s habits, but that was all he could do.

He glanced around the room. The Harp & Thistle attracted many men of her ilk, as well as men and even women from the working class, and it was possible her future husband sat in the crowd behind them. He secretly relished in the thought that, at least at this brief point in time, she sat beside him. And he hoped the cad saw.

The crowd gasped as one of the fighters was hit and began bleeding profusely from his eyebrow.

“Oh, my goodness.” Vivian suddenly turned her face into his shoulder, unable to watch. “This is far gorier than I expected!”

Dantes laughed. “That’s nothing. You’re lucky they’re not spitting out teeth.”

She lifted her face up to see him. She was sitting so close. “Does that really happen?”

As she seemed genuinely bothered by this, he decided to ease her worry. “Not really.”

“When will you fight next? I want to watch you be challenged next time. As long as you don’t have to spit out teeth after, of course.” She grinned.

He chuckled in response. “A few weeks. I’ll let you know when it’s scheduled. It’s going to be my last fight, though.”

“ What ?” Vivian pulled back, all humor gone from her face. “Why?”

“I have to retire at some point. I’d rather retire now while I’m still good. I’m getting too old, too creaky.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “That’s utter nonsense.” A pause. “How did you get into fighting, anyway?”

Dantes watched Martinez’s fist connect with Cegelski’s jaw. The crowd ooh ed as the men began circling each other again. It wasn’t lost on Dantes that, while Vivian was no longer burying her face in his shoulder, she remained close to him. He glanced down at her hand resting on the edge of her seat and had the urge to take it in his.

He mentally cursed himself for such a terrible idea. Friends didn’t hold hands. What was it about the atmosphere of this place that kept putting these idiotic ideas into his head?

He forced himself back to Vivian’s question. “Fighting is all I was ever good at. My grandparents sent me to university, my marks were terrible, and I got kicked out for fighting. Then my brothers and I got our share of the railway sale. Nearly everything we had went into buying and starting the pub—it was a huge risk we took. I began fighting around then because it made good money as I shot to the top. But I learned to fight as a child when we were in Whitechapel. Both Victor and I did, for survival, but I was better at it than him. Quicker on my feet. I started training for real when I was eighteen. And now I’m an old goat.”

Vivian laughed and for a bit longer, they watched the match, but eventually, she leaned over. “How much longer will this be?”

“It could be a minute—it could be two hours.”

“Do we have to stay the entire time?”

His heart sank. “Why? You want to leave?”

Vivian shook her head before giving him a sheepish face. “I have the most atrocious headache.”

*

Above the pub, Dantes watched Vivian meander around his living room with curiosity. He took great care of his home, though it clearly belonged to a single man—all trim and furniture was dark wood, the walls painted a deep, dark green. And his small art collection wasn’t of flowers or still-life fruit, it was subjects like war, hunting, and handsome landscapes. Others were a bit more colorful, and he made sure to lead her away from those, not sure what she would think of them and not eager to find out, either. He was quite reserved when it came to his art collection.

“I feel positively scandalous being up here with you.” Vivian shot him a sheepish smile before quickly looking away again. “You’re sure no one would have seen?”

“The pub doesn’t have a view of the stairs. There’s no way anyone would have seen.” Unwritten rules forbade Vivian from being alone in his home. Personally, he could care less as she had made the suggestion to come up here to escape the noise.

Vivian stopped as she spotted a tintype photograph on a small table beside a leather chair. She picked it up gently, observing it for a moment. “These are your parents,” she said while searching his face. “You look just like your father. And you have his eyes, too, don’t you? Well, he either had blue or green because they’re so pale here. I’m assuming they were green like yours.”

Dantes’s face burned hot. “You’re right. They had that taken right before he was killed. Ollie is in there somewhere, in fact.” He chuckled a bit.

Vivian gazed upon the photo for a bit longer before setting it back down. “Why did he become estranged from your grandparents?”

Dantes recalled the many stories he had heard about his father. Death-defying horse races down Rotten Row. Partaking in illegal duels—though he never had gotten an answer on whether or not his father had killed anyone. Disappearing for a year in Paris with no contact. Running away to invest in the railway. Dantes told her these stories, and more. “My grandparents, though their patience wore thin, didn’t fully cut him out of their life until he married my mother. That was the final straw.”

“The queen mentioned them to me. She said he stole from your grandparents and that’s why they became estranged.”

“That’s not true. Well, he may have stolen from them, but they told that story because they didn’t want anyone to find out he married my mother.”

“Why?”

“Because she was poor and Irish. Of course, once Victor and I came about, the truth was eventually discovered. One can’t hide for too long whom a future duke married.” Bile rose in his throat. “Of course, he didn’t live long enough to ever see the title.”

Vivian came up to him, hesitating before gently placing a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry he died so young,” she said in a softened voice. “He sounds quite fascinating.”

Far too aware of her touch, he pulled away. “It was a long time ago.” He flattened his voice. “I wish it hadn’t happened, but it did and there’s no bringing him back.”

Unexpectedly, and for some unknown reason, he was feeling nervous. So he decided to keep talking. “I haven’t told you the reason why I received Dantes as my nickname yet, have I?”

Vivian grinned wide. “No, you haven’t, and I’ve been dying to know.”

And so, he told her the story. How a few years into living on the streets of Whitechapel, they’d been swept up by their grandparents.

“Truth be told, I hated when it happened.” Dantes laughed, remembering the fight he’d put up when being dragged to their gleaming carriage. “It’d been scary, yes, but there’d also been no restraints for us in Whitechapel. No adult to answer to. When our grandparents began forcing baths, bedtime—anything with a schedule—we began to act out.”

Six months into arriving at his grandparents’ house, Dantes—then only Edmond—had been tired of being told what to do. Their grandparents had held a large dinner party one evening and the three McNab boys had been sent to bed extra early against their wishes. Irritated by this, he’d begun plotting his revenge. Led by Edmond, the brothers had crashed the party by sliding down the banisters with loud calls and shouts—though not Ollie, as he’d been too young and run amok as small children did—and run circles around the party while swinging toy wooden swords about. By that point, the guests had been quite drunk and found the entire saga hilarious. Someone had yelled out, “Watch out for Edmond Dantès!” and the name had stuck.

“My grandparents and their friends only referred to me as ‘Dantes’ from then on out, and the habit was quickly adopted by Victor and Ollie.”

Vivian laughed heartily at this story, and the loud sound made his heart skip a beat. But when her laughter died down, there was a funny look in her eye. She was still humored, but warmth glowed at him.

They were just friends, though, he had to remind himself, as that look in her eye spelled trouble. Just friends.

*

When Vivian had told Dantes she’d had a headache, it hadn’t exactly been a lie. It had been a long day and she did have a headache because of it. But mostly, she had grown tired of the noise of the crowd and the sounds were beginning to pound inside her head. She’d needed a quiet break but had known there wasn’t a fitting space anywhere in the pub.

Dantes would know her being in his private flat would be quite the scandal. And Vivian did feel a bit daring being there. But at the same time, she was nearly thirty. He was already past that. It wasn’t like they were eighteen years. They were solidly into adulthood, and no one would find out.

Plus, she’d been enjoying their time together at the fight. But she’d also been quite curious to see the more personal side of the burly man, and she now had one opportunity to do so. Dantes often seemed standoffish, but for whatever reason, he was opening up a bit.

After sharing stories about their lives, their families, and learning more about the way Dantes had grown up with one eye always open, she began to see a more emotional side to him. When she’d first met him, she never would have suspected he had a tintype of his deceased parents in the most prominent place of his private living quarters. And the way he joked, lovingly, about his brother being in the tintype—their mother must have been newly pregnant, as she didn’t appear to be with child—had shown Vivian a side of the cryptic man she’d never expected to see.

She enjoyed, too, that he had shared the story behind his nickname, that he considered her a good enough friend to share it with her. How curious it was to go from Whitechapel to living amongst the aristocracy, even though it sounded like his duke and duchess grandparents ran with a wilder circle than her duke father did.

Vivian looked around the tidy, handsome room, aware Dantes watched her every move. Without realizing it, she began to rub her arms, feeling chilled.

“Are you cold?” Dantes asked, worry sitting between his brows.

“A little bit, yes, but don’t put yourself out to accommodate me.”

“It’s not a problem.” He went over to the fireplace, where he began to place logs inside. When the fire roared to life, warmth quickly filled the room.

Noticing books sitting atop the mantle, Vivian relished the opportunity for another peek into the standoffish man and studied the spines of the books.

Not surprisingly, there were several Alexandre Dumas books. But also Les Misérables by Victor Hugo. Vivian wondered if he felt a kinship with the characters. That, however, would be far too intrusive a question to ask.

As she studied the titles, it occurred to her how being here could destroy not only her reputation, but her family’s as well. And that wouldn’t bode well for Bernard and Anne, whom she was trying so very hard to help.

She tried reassuring herself once again there was no possibility anyone would find out.

“You have an interesting collection of literature, Dantes.” Vivian turned to him. She was surprised to find him standing so close to her, and for a moment, the only sound that filled the air was the crackle of the fireplace.

There was a strange look on Dantes’s face, but he seemed to snap out of it and put his attention on the books. “Yes. I enjoy stories in which a poor underdog rises up to get his revenge.”

This seemed like an oddly specific story to enjoy, but before she could comment on that, a bright flash illuminated the living room at the same moment of a rather loud explosion. Vivian yelped and jumped.

“Sometimes people set off fireworks after a match,” Dantes murmured, looking over to the windows. “Are you all right?”

Vivian let out a nervous laugh while placing a hand over her heart. “Yes. It was just…quite unexpected.” Her heart galloped hard, and she let out a breath of air in an attempt to calm it.

As if he could hear her pounding heart, Dantes focused sharply on her, then shocked her by reaching out to touch her. It was an unexpected and intimate gesture, and she looked up at him with wide eyes as his rough hand cradled her cheek.

Something was bothering him. Though his face held no expression, there was an inner turmoil showing in his green eyes. The pain was clear, but there was something else behind that pain, though she couldn’t identify it. Either way, it was probably from an evening thinking about his parents or talking about the past.

What was she supposed to do, though? How was Dantes expecting her to react? How did she want to react? And why was he touching her cheek in the first place?

She should have been outraged. She should have been slapping his hand away! If a man had ever dared to touch her face before tonight, she would have been terrified, to say the least. Yet Dantes was doing just that with his rough, ungloved hands and she wasn’t upset by it. Confused, yes, but not upset.

Why?

Vivian swallowed as she held his gaze and his thumb gently swept across her skin, sending a tingle down her neck and spine.

She needed to put an end to this. Dantes was a scoundrel, and she was clearly too na?ve to understand what kind of game he was playing. Irritation rose. She’d thought they were friends, but it seemed he saw her as something to play with. Vivian opened her mouth to say something, but another firework went off, filling the room with a flash of light.

She gasped at the shock of noise filling the silent room. Not to mention it seemed utterly foolish to light fireworks in a city.

“I’m sorry.” Dantes dropped his hand and looked away. “I shouldn’t be doing that.”

Surprised he would openly admit that, all she managed to get out was, “It’s fine.”

Dantes took several steps back, apparently wanting to get away from her now. The man was confounding. “No. It’s not fine.” His voice ground with frustration. “You are not mine to touch. You belong to someone else, and above all else, you should not want anything to do with me.” He turned and began to walk away, leaving a strange feeling of emptiness within her. Vivian unwittingly took a few steps toward him but forced herself to stop.

He was right.

A tightness took hold of her throat and she tried to clear it away. “Where can I get a glass of water?”

Dantes gave her vague directions to another room. Vivian closed herself off in the kitchen and leaned against the door to settle herself. But before she had a chance to consider what had just happened, much less locate a glass, a loud explosion shook the building, nearly knocking her to the floor.