Page 14 of One Kiss in the Shadows (Singular Sensation #12)

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M ay 31, 1819

For the first time in a long while Nathaniel couldn’t wait to go home from his duties in parliament. Tonight, for all intents and purposes, should have closed the session for the summer, but since it seemed like it would drag long into July at this point, he’d left early. Besides, many men in the Lords didn’t want to hear progressive views on anything that might make them feel uncomfortable, and quite frankly, he’d grown tired of sitting opposite of Lord Stover, knowing that the man’s completely demented wife controlled how he voted.

Though the hour approached nine o’clock, he decided that he would walk through Mayfair in the hopes he’d be able to catch one of the flower vendors who sold pretty bouquets wrapped in tissue paper from their carts. He rather thought his wife might enjoy some summer blooms. After dinner, he planned to escort her into the drawing room where he had pulled a couple of compilations of fairy stories from all over the world. Since she adored such things, he would read one or two of the short stories to her, perhaps share a couple of tales from his time in the military, and then convince her to join him upstairs in his suite for a carnal romp.

Then he would tell her that they had received an invitation to a dinner party thrown by one of the newer rogues he didn’t know much about, a Viscount Beverington, who was engaged to a dainty little bit of a baron’s daughter. Apparently, she was this year’s Diamond of the First Water, and how he’d managed to land her, no one knew.

As well as speaking with her about the possibility of changing the terms of their marriage from name only into something else, but they would need to thoroughly discuss all aspects and connotations. Yet since they’d rubbed along well these past few days and he enjoyed himself more than he’d thought each time he took her to bed, he wanted to have her promise to remain with him in all the ways that mattered.

Good God, does that mean I’m falling for her?

How interesting. Going tip over tail for his wife. Never had he thought it would happen with any woman, and never when he’d married Mallory , but here he was, grinning like a damned loon on the Mayfair streets as he prowled along in search of flowers.

What I really need is a walk with some of the rogues to ask them for advice. Did they feel like he did before they fully knew they were in love with their now wives?

His new townhouse in Berkley Square was around two miles away from the House of Lords, so there was no need to hire a hack. Once he’d walked through St. James Park, he entered the Green Park, and that is where he came upon the flower vendor’s cart. It took more than a few moments to peruse the bouquets of varying sizes and nestled in different colors of tissue paper, but finally he selected a decently sized bouquet wrapped in pink paper. The spring and summer blooms caught his eye, and he was quite satisfied with the yellow and white tulips along with pink and purple asters, a handful of white daisies, and a spray of delicate lilies-of-the-valley. For good measure, he asked the vendor to tuck a few red roses into the collection, and once the flowers were secured with a white satin ribbon, he gladly dropped the requisite coins into the woman’s hand, wished her a good night, and continued on his way.

How would Mallory react when he handed her the flowers? Had she ever been given a floral offering before? Most likely not given her history, which meant he would always bring her home a bouquet once a week while parliament was in session.

A good tradition to start.

He was perhaps a half mile from his home and had nearly cleared the park when a large man, perhaps standing at a couple inches over six feet tall, came out of the shadows and approached him. “A bit late to be strolling through a park, ain’t it, Your Grace?”

With a frown, Nathaniel eyed the man through the darkness. “Move along, friend, lest you find yourself with a problem.”

“It’s you who gots the problem. Lady Stover sent me to dispatch you.”

Ah, so that’s how it was, then. “Why don’t you go back to your mistress and tell her that if she wishes to talk with me or put me down, she can come out here and do it herself.” He tightened his hand on the head of his cane. “I grow weary of her hiding behind thugs.”

The bigger man shrugged off a brown jacket that didn’t set him apart from any of the classes within London. Once it hit the ground, he drilled a large fist into his other hand. “Then the good news is that I’ll put you down right quick and you won’t need to worry about it.”

As much as Nathaniel wanted to give him a sharp retort, he knew the quip would be wasted on this beast with lower intelligence. “Last chance to step aside.” If needed, he could give the thug a beating with the silver head of his cane.

“Not until I leave you unconscious and teach you a lesson.”

“Oh?” One of his eyebrows went up in question. “What’s the lesson?”

“When someone fucks with anything attached to Lady Stover, they learn the hard way that they made a mistake.” He took a few steps toward Nathaniel. “And dunces like you won’t learn unless they been hit upside the head, have some blood spilled.” Gesturing to the bouquet, he spit in Nathaniel’s direction.

God, he was so tired of this, tired of bullies, tired of the people in society that let women like Lady Stover rise to power, tired of the ton not having the backbones to stand up to her.

“If there is blood spilled tonight, friend, it won’t be mine.” With care, he set the bouquet on the ground then tossed his top hat in the same direction.

“We’ll see.” Then the beast moved and threw out a punch that tagged Nathaniel on the jaw and sent him staggering backward.

Damn.

“I’m surprised you didn’t bring a pistol. Would have made this quicker.” He and his opponent circled each other, prowled through the park grass and then over the gravel of the walking path. How best to bring the brute down? Anticipation rode his spine, prompting him into movement. He threw his first punch. It connected solidly with the thug’s cheek without much effect, but it sure did make him feel like he’d landed back in the military.

“Is that the best you’ve got, Strathfield?” The other man grinned as he struck out a powerful fist.

Nathaniel skittered away. “I’m just getting started.” He swung a fist, but the bigger man easily dodged the punch. “And I refuse to let some damned upstart countess think she runs London.”

“She’s going to organize every criminal in the underground, and once that happens, nothing will stop her.” The big man struck with a fast uppercut to Nathaniel’s chin that jarred his teeth together and sent him staggering backward and dropped the cane.

Pain exploded through his face, but he held his ground and returned the volley. Then they were in the thick of it as blows rained and fists pummeled, landing on solid flesh in rhythmic intervals. The muscles in his left thigh screamed agony. One of his punches had the bigger man staggering backward, but he didn’t fall. Neither did Nathanel when the man came roaring back.

Minutes ticked by yet seemed like hours. His thigh protested, and his breath grew labored, but the thug didn’t seem all that winded.

“Why won’t you just go down, Strathfield? Make it easy on yourself,” his attacker said.

“I didn’t back down in the face of the French, and I certainly won’t do it when confronted with you or Lady Stover.”

“Not even your title can give you brains.”

“I pick my battles.” A hard uppercut to his jaw had him staggering back several steps. Pain exploded through his head, but he kept his feet. Nathaniel lunged toward his opponent with a grunt. He landed quick jabs to the other man’s gut and cheek.

The man reeled and retreated before gathering himself and charging at Nathaniel to exchange blows.

Again and again, he drilled his fists into the bigger man’s body, but he wouldn’t fall.

“That girl you married was to be mine,” the other man said. He got off a few good punches before retreating.

Shock went through his chest. “How do you figure?”

“The countess said once all of this was over, and if I killed the men she said, I could have her daughter to do with what I wanted.”

“Well, she’s mine now, and I’ll need to be dead a good four days before I’ll allow you anywhere near her.” He delivered a swift right hook to the other man’s cheek that sent the brute spinning about. Though he staggered, he didn’t fall. But then Nathaniel retrieved his cane, swung with the remainder of his strength, and the silver head found purchase against the side of the big man’s head with a dull thud.

“Fuck.” He finally fell to the ground with a groan.

Though he ached in various places on his person, Nathaniel stared down at his opponent. He drilled the tip of his cane into the other man’s neck. “Stay away from Mallory else death will come swiftly for you. And tell Lady Stover the same.”

The man on the ground laughed, but it sounded more like a rusty gate than mirth. “Such an idiot, Your Grace.” He spat blood out of his mouth. “We are going to bury you and your new bride. Put you in rubble and her in the dirt. Your days are numbered.”

He didn’t dignify that with a response, for the threats from thugs didn’t bother him. Then, as if it were completely natural to engage in fisticuffs in a Mayfair park, Nathaniel retrieved the bouquet and continued on his way. His limp might be more pronounced, and there might be blood on various portions of his face, but he was alive, and his next task was keeping Mallory safe.

By the time he arrived home, every muscle in his body ached. Jennings stared and sputtered at him when the door opened, but Nathaniel waved him off. “Where is my wife?”

“The drawing room, Your Grace,” the butler said as he closed the door. “Do you wish for a bath to be drawn? For me to order some healing salve from the housekeeper?”

“That would be lovely. Order it immediately. First, I need to speak with the duchess.” And he kept walking until he reached the stairs. Every damned tread sent pain screaming through his leg; each time he pushed himself upward he was reminded that he was no longer a young man and how could a lady like Mallory even want him when a standard attack in Mayfair left him feeling like yesterday’s horse shit?

Finally, he reached the damned drawing room, and when his gaze fell to his wife where she reposed on a sofa with her sketchpad on her lap and the charcoal in her hand danced over the page. A piece of his heart flew into her keeping, for there was no better sight after surviving what could have been a worse situation.

“Mallory.”

She jerked her head around then gasped. “Nathaniel!” In the next second, she sprang off the sofa. Her sketchpad and charcoal fell to the Aubusson carpet, but she stepped over them to rush over the floor to his location. The skirting of her night dress and matching wrapper flared out behind her. “What happened?”

“Your mother sent a man to give me a beating and a warning as I was coming home, but I gave him a message to send back to her instead.” Then he held out the bouquet of flowers, that didn’t look any worse for wear. “These are for you.” She didn’t need to be apprised of the fact that her mother dangled her as a prize for allegiance and service to one of her henchmen.

“They’re lovely, of course, but I’m more concerned about you.” She took the floral offering, gave it a quick sniff, then carefully laid it on a nearby rose-inlaid table. “Oh, Nathaniel, I’m so sorry. You look a fright, but how do you feel?” she asked as she drew her fingertips along the side of his face, his chin, his shoulders with concern in her eyes and on her face.

“To see those jewel-like eyes of yours and know you are worried for me?” When she merely stared, he huffed out a breath. Even that hurt. “I feel as if I could jump off the roof of this townhouse and fly.” Still, he would make certain he removed his pistol from the drawer beside his bed and kept it beneath his pillow. Also, at the first available opportunity, he would call a full meeting of the rogues at the club so they could formulate a plan.

Lady Stover needs to be dealt with, permanently.

“You are simply... wonderful.” Then his wife threw herself into his arms. It made him ache like the devil, and his cane tumbled from his hand, but he wrapped his arms around her, went so far as to kiss her because he could. This was ages better than the welcome he’d received when he’d returned from war. She pulled away with an odd expression. “Your lip is bloody and tastes like metal,” she murmured but then went right back to kissing him as if none of that mattered.

Perhaps it didn’t, and in that moment, Nathaniel was shown, in sharp relief, exactly what he was fighting for, what they all were. It was this kindness, this caring, these emotions that were oftentimes confusing or like a mad rush of water when one fell into a lake. It was this coziness in coming home knowing there was a woman waiting for him, anxious to see him. Beyond all that, it was knowing that he mattered in this world, and that everything he’d done in his past had been worth the pain and the anguish because, at the end of the day, he was wanted for him. Not for his title, not for his name, not for the status or the coin.

Just... him.

The sensation of falling assailed him, and he renewed his efforts to kiss her senseless until Jennings once again interrupted their embrace by telling him that his bath had been drawn and was waiting.

He couldn’t even muster annoyance at that, for yes, even his staff was worth fighting for, and people like Lady Stover—his mother-in-law, oddly enough—weren’t allowed to bedevil any of them with fear and intimidation.

Not anymore.