Page 8 of The Rake’s Absolutely Devilish Reform (The Notorious Briarwoods #4)

S ometimes, when one’s world was so completely off kilter that one had no idea where they were, the only thing to do was to go to the south of London and be beaten up by an Irishman. And so that was exactly what Hector did.

He headed to Southwark to meet Hartigan Mulvaney.

Hartigan Mulvaney was a former soldier and fighter, and he was Hector’s aunt’s personal protection. His aunt was one of London’s most famous actresses and that sort of attention required a man like Mulvaney to disabuse unwanted suitors at the stage door.

So, as Hector stormed into the building where Hartigan preferred to do his training, he pulled his coat, waistcoat, shirt, and cravat off.

Hartigan was already waiting, his tattooed chest bared and a wild smile of violent anticipation tilting his jaunty face.

Hector lifted his hands, ready and aware that he was likely about to get more suffering than most people knew in a lifetime. He eyed the Irishman and gave a nod.

A merry look crossed Hartigan’s face and the muscly man charged forward. Hector grappled with Hartigan for a moment, looking for purchase, and then Hartigan elbowed him in the ribs, slammed him on the top of the foot with his boot, and went for Hector’s groin.

He managed to spin away just in time before losing all ability to have children, but not before Hartigan tripped him, and he went straight to the ground.

The one thing that he had been trained by Mulvaney to understand was that all fights did inevitably land one on the floor, usually sooner rather than later. And one had to know how to handle themselves upon the ground.

Hartigan Mulvaney was not a boxer. He was a man of combat and a man of pain. Pain was welcome to Hector at the moment. He needed the distraction from how wanting he apparently was.

Mulvaney threw himself on top of Hector, grabbed him from behind, wrenched his neck to one side, and then Hector pounded the floor.

Mulvaney let out a laugh. “Done, are we?”

He gave another pound to the floor.

Mulvaney stood back. “Not bad, my lord. Not bad. You are getting better. You are quite good, really.”

He let out a laugh and a groan. “I wouldn’t go that far, Mulvaney.”

“It’s all right.” Mulvaney shrugged his shoulders a few times as if he still had the energy of a tiger ready to tear its prey apart pumping through his veins. “For years, you learned how to fight like a gentleman. Now you’re learning to fight like a man.”

Hector laughed. He’d always been capable and full of physical prowess. He could handle a rapier better than most. He could ride a horse better than most. He could use a bow and arrow, a pistol, and he could box.

This sort of fighting was an altogether different endeavor, and it was the one that Leander, his older brother, preferred to keep his brain in line. Pain was a good teacher, as was chaos.

Hartigan Mulvaney harnessed chaos and made order out of it.

Hector sat on the splintered floor and placed his head in his hands.

“You look as if someone kicked your dog.”

Hector groaned. “That’s what she said too.”

“Ah,” Hartigan said, “you are here because of a woman. Did your mistress leave you for another man?”

Hector rolled his eyes. “Why does everyone say things like that to me?”

Hartigan cocked his head to the side and crouched down. “What do you mean?”

Hector drew in a long breath. “I’m not here to moan about a mistress.”

“Ah, you are here because of a young lady,” Hartigan deduced, sitting down beside him and extending his trunk-like legs. “You are in deep trouble then, and I don’t think I can help you.”

“I don’t think anyone can help me. She wants nothing to do with me. And the man who also wants to marry her is a blackguard that seems like a prince.”

Hartigan clapped him on the back. “Ladies do know their own minds.”

“I understand. It’s just that she thinks…”

“What does she think?” Mulvaney asked.

“She thinks that I am a rake.”

Mulvaney’s eyebrows arched.

“Yes. Yes. She is correct,” Hector allowed. “I am a rake. She is not misguided in this, but I think she believes I’m useless.”

Mulvaney snorted. “Does she know you?”

“Not well,” he said. “Not really. She knows my reputation.”

“And who is responsible for their reputation?”

“That is not fair, Hartigan,” Hector returned. “You know that people make things up about me. You know that people always say wild things about the Briarwoods.”

“Did the word fair fall from your lips? What of life is fair? Do you think life has been fair to me?”

Hector ground his teeth. “I’m an utter arse. Apologies.”

“You’re not an utter arse.”

“Just an arse, then?”

“Aren’t we all?” sallied Hartigan. “And of course I know the gossips make things up about you. But a lot of those things are rooted in fact, my friend. It is true that you are a rake. It is true that you gallivant about town with your brothers. It is true that you are not a man of substance.”

He winced. “Not a man of substance,” he repeated. “I am there for my family.”

“Yes. Yes, you are. You are a good man,” Hartigan allowed. “That’s not what I’m trying to say. Cease being so sensitive.”

Hector guffawed. He had not really thought of himself as the sensitive sort before. “Steady on.”

“Do you wish for assistance or not?”

“I do. I can’t let her go without truly knowing me. And Fitzhubert… He warned me off her tonight. Something isn’t right there.”

“Well, if you actually want her, you won’t moan and fill up with self-pity. That’s all you’re doing right now. And if Fitzhubert is a genuine problem, we will sort him out.”

“I appreciate your support regarding Fitzhubert. But I am not feeling sorry for myself,” Hector protested. “If I’d wanted to wallow, I would’ve gone to the club and drank a bottle of brandy.”

Hartigan laughed. “All right, fair point to you. You are here, trying to work out your next tactic. So what are you going to do to save her from this blackguard and win her over, since you want her? Do you actually want her?”

Hector leveled him with a death stare.

Hartigan lifted his hands in surrender. “Look, if she wants a man of substance, show her that you’re a man of substance. If you are one.”

Hector frowned. “That’s it? No grand gestures of romance? I shouldn’t throw Fitzhubert in the Thames.”

Hartigan snorted. “You don’t need to murder the varlet if you win her. And grand gestures are for braggarts and fools. It’s in the details. Women want a steady man. A man who’s truly there for them. That’s all you need to master. Now get up. Show the world you’re a man of substance.”

Hector got to his feet and swayed slightly. Hartigan’s blows were not a small thing.

Hartigan stretched his neck to the side and there was a loud popping sound.

Hector grinned, then cracked his own knuckles.

“Let us do this,” Hartigan growled. “Let us make the ground shake, and let’s drive out all those self-pitying thoughts.”

“I don’t feel sorry for myself,” Hector returned.

Mulvaney eyed him.

“All right, I suppose I feel a little bit sorry for myself that she hasn’t immediately seen my best qualities,” he said with a dramatic flourish.

But then he grew serious at Hartigan’s own stare.

“Now, you listen, Briarwood. Feeling sorry for oneself,” Hartigan warned, “only gets you killed or on your own. So go to her father and make your intentions clear. Don’t say anything about Fitzhubert until you have solid evidence, otherwise you’ll just look like a jealous fool. Then do exactly what you need to win her, point by point, bit by bit. And when you’ve done all of that, ask her again if she wants to be yours, and then you shall see. But you take her answer, whatever it is.”

“That’s exactly what I’ll do,” Hector said, hope suddenly racing through him. Hope that the woman his spirit longed to claim would be his… And that Fitzhubert would be dealt with easily.

Stifled sobs filled the cold stone room.

Priscilla opened her eyes. It was her father. She had never heard him cry before, and she stayed still on the bed. They all shared it.

Her mother tried to keep it soft with new straw, but they could not afford it now. And straw had taken on the damp of winter. The blanket did not warm her. For the wool had holes in it now, and her frigid fingers grasped at the frayed edges.

She stayed silent, barely turning her head so that she might see them. She did not want them to know that she was listening.

Her father’s voice was broken as he whispered, “I’m so sorry, love. I’ve let you down.”

“No, my sweetheart. My husband. No, you haven’t,” her mother countered in a ragged whisper. “Please do not think so.”

“I have. We can barely feed her,” he returned, panic filling his tone. “I can barely feed you. I have failed as a father, as a husband.”

They sat in the dark and cold with a bit of blue moonlight spilling in through the window. There was no coal. They could not afford it. Nor could they afford to keep even the cheapest candles alight during the night.

But Priscilla could still make them out.

Her mother was holding her father’s shoulders as they sagged up and down.

Priscilla’s own heart ached. She had never seen her father cry. She wanted to jump out of the bed and take him in her arms too.

And so she did.

She bolted off the mattress. “Dada. Dada,” she said. “Don’t be sad. It’s all right. It will work out. You’ll see.”

“Oh, my pet,” he said, his whole body shaking. “I didn’t mean for you to see me like this.”

“It’s all right,” she assured again. “When I cry, you hold me.”

More tears slipped down his cheeks, hot tears that tumbled over her fingers as she wiped them away.

Tears fell from her mother’s eyes too, but they clung to each other, and they all cried together. They cried from hunger, cried from cold, cried from fear of being turned out in a world that had little mercy.

But then her father drew in a breath. “I shall make this right. I shall rise from this and so shall we. And the world will never make us feel afraid again. Everything will change, my sweethearts. Everything. And I will not stop until both of you are safe. Until our family is safe and nothing can touch us. Never again. I promise.”

Priscilla jolted awake. The memory of the past was intense. She laid in her perfect sheets, which caressed her body softly, unlike the ratty blanket in that memory. She stared up at her gilded ceiling. Her heart slammed hard against her ribs as fear spiked through her. She had not thought of that night in years. That night, her father had nearly been broken. And then, somehow, he had turned everything around bit by bit.

He had used his cleverness to pull himself up within the mill to become a manager. And then he had invented something. A new part for the looms. And that invention had changed the way the looms worked. He had started his own mill, producing faster and more effectively than any of the other mill owners could. He had then built mill after mill. And through sheer grit, cleverness, and a bit of luck, he had been able to acquire a title.

He had defied all the odds, and he had done as he’d promised. He had sacrificed everything. He’d worked all hours and never thought of himself. He had saved them. He had pulled them out of misery and poverty. Her father had launched them into a world that they could only have dreamed about. And as she stared up at the ceiling, she remembered the hot tears tumbling down her father’s face and the vow he had made and how he had fulfilled it.

She could not let him down. She could not let her mother down. No matter how her heart whispered that Lord Hector was the man she wanted. He was a man she could never have. He was not going to be hers. The secret yearnings of her heart did not matter. All that mattered was the vow her father had made all those years ago. All that mattered was her being as strong as he was.