Part 37 (1/2)

”Yes? If I call here again?”

Finally, she looked at him, her eyes hard as flint. ”If you call once more, I will be forced to make sure you cannot ever do so again.”

”Really?” He crossed his arms. ”And how do you propose to keep me away?”

”I won't have to. I will sell the town house and leave London.”

”What?” His jaw had grown slack with shock. ”But this is your home.”

”I will find another home. I will leave quietly and move very far away. There will be no chance of our ever crossing paths again.”

He hadn't thought his heart could break any more than it had the day she'd ended their affair.

He had been wrong.

So he'd left, securing her promise that she would remain in her London house and giving his that he would not contact her again.

To his despair, he had kept his word, unwilling to take the risk of her disappearing forever. He needed to know he might catch a glimpse of her every now and again-even if only from a distance.

His family was in Town, the Season in full swing. Esme had been presented at court and had a spectacular coming-out ball. So far she seemed to be enjoying herself, eligible gentlemen eagerly lining up to dance attendance on her. Whether she truly wanted their attention-or any proposals of marriage-remained to be seen.

For her sake, he was doing his duty as older brother by attending the usual dinners and parties and other obligatory entertainments. But for the first time in his life, he couldn't drum up any of his old boisterous enthusiasm. Even the nights he spent making rounds with his friends were falling flat. How could they not when half his mind was always in another part of the city, wondering how Thalia was? Wondering what she was doing and with whom she might be doing it.

His boots beat out a hard rhythm against the pavement, his hands clenching and unclenching as he strode along. He was in a foul humor and judging by the wide berth he was receiving, his fellow pa.s.sersby knew it.

Christ, he wanted to hit something.

Badly.

Which must be why his footsteps had taken him to Gentleman Jackson's without his even being fully aware of his destination. He stared at the front entrance for a few minutes, then went inside.

He was well-known here at Jackson's-just as Lawrence was-and had no difficulty securing a sparring partner in spite of his unantic.i.p.ated visit.

Yet two rounds and twenty minutes later he was no closer to working off his anger than he had been when he'd arrived.

He smacked his sparring m.u.f.flers together, wondering if he would take more satisfaction fighting bare-knuckled. But Jackson frowned on his patrons' not taking appropriate safety measures and even more on those patrons' bruising and b.l.o.o.d.ying his staff-and themselves.

He was about to start another round when he heard a voice that froze every muscle in his body. Blood seemed to boil in his veins, hatred was.h.i.+ng over him like a blast from a furnace.

Pivoting on his toes, he fixed his eyes on Lord Kemp.

Then he smiled.

It would appear fortune was favoring him today after all.

He strode away from his boxing partner, the other man giving him a worried look, as if he didn't like the expression on Leo's face.

But Leo had forgotten him already, his entire focus centered on Kemp.

Ever the bully, Kemp was alternately punching and taunting the man who'd been a.s.signed to spar with him. Jackson didn't employ lightweights and his men knew how to fight. But they kept a sporting att.i.tude and were instructed not to lose their tempers even when confronted by hotheaded clients. Kemp was taking advantage of that, getting in shots that were far from gentlemanly.

Then again, as Leo well knew, even though Kemp might hold a t.i.tle, he was no gentleman.

He watched for a minute as Jackson's man got in a fine uppercut to Kemp's jaw. But moments later he took a pair of jabs to his stomach and another to an area in his side that was already beginning to bruise.

The man shuddered and moved back, gloves up as he tried to shake off the pain.

”That the best you can do?” Kemp jeered. ”My mother could provide better sport with one hand tied behind her back. Tell Jackson to get me someone else. Someone who'll give me a challenge rather than wasting my time.”

”I wouldn't bother Jackson with this,” Leo said, planting his gloved fists on his hips. ”His men fight hard and fair, but none of them are going to give you what you want.”

Kemp swung his head around, a pugnacious sneer on his face. He stared at Leo for a minute before recognition set in.

”Well, if it isn't Thalia's brash young cub. Byron, is it not?”

”That's right.”

Kemp smirked. ”How is my wife these days? Still amusing herself by robbing the cradle?”

”More like continuing to congratulate herself for getting away from you.”

Kemp's expression darkened, Leo's verbal jab clearly striking home. ”So? Have you come to learn from your betters, Byron?”

”If I were, I wouldn't be interested in fighting you.”

”Fight me?” Kemp puffed out his large chest, then laughed. ”You are amusing, if nothing else. But you are wasting my time. I need a real man to fight.”

”Still hiding behind excuses so you don't have to face me? How's the throat by the way?”

Kemp's chin jutted forward, all humor wiped away. He glared malevolently. ”You want a beating, whelp?” He jerked his head toward the sparring area. ”Then come and get one.”

”What do you say we make this more interesting?”

Kemp paused. ”Interesting how?”

”A bare-knuckles match. No gloves. Just you and me. I did hear you say Jackson's men weren't giving you enough of a challenge.”

A few of those men and several patrons had gathered round, listening with undisguised interest to him and Kemp. Leo's earlier sparring partner stepped forward, his heavy brows knotted with concern.

”My lord,” he said in a low voice, ”I would advise you not to embark on such a course. Jackson doesn't hold with bare-knuckle matches, not for his clients. There is far too great a risk of serious injury. If you wish to spar, use the m.u.f.flers.”

”That's right, Byron,” Kemp advised, his upper lip curled with derision. ”Listen to the man. You're going to get hurt.”

But as far as Leo was concerned, he wasn't the one in danger of getting hurt. Kemp was a cruel, arrogant brute and he was going to relish wiping the smug grin off his face.

”Advice noted,” he said to Jackson's man. ”But I believe I'll take my chances.” Bringing one of the gloves up to his mouth, he loosened the strings with his teeth and pulled it off. He worked the second free with his hand.