A Season for Scandal by Golden Angel
Chapter 21
Elijah
Walking through the streets in the Warrens toward the more respectable areas of London, Elijah was deep in thought. After visiting the Tramp’s Den, as well as several other gaming hells, he did not know any more than he had before. On the other hand, he was not exactly a known quantity in the Warrens. Adam was the one who had cultivated the reputation as a gambler, playing the part of the rakish, ne’er-do-well third son. As the heir, Elijah had purposefully gone in the opposite direction. The roles had served them well, but it chafed that Mitchell and Adam had been more successful in their investigations.
This was also the first night he had not gone to Josie’s bed, and he could not stop wondering what she was thinking and whether he was taking the right tack. His mind should be focused on the mission and the traitor, but his thoughts kept shuttling back and forth.
He did not have equal time to catch a traitor and win his wife’s heart, especially considering her heart had been taken when he married her. Something he had forgotten when he seduced her their first night and later when he punished her at Lady Greywood’s. After Joseph had announced his engagement, Elijah had continued to go to her bed, but he had quickly discovered having her body and her eager willingness for pleasure did not soothe him. If anything, it made him feel more savage.
Yes, she was willing, but what did that mean? Was she doing her wifely duties? Was she addicted to the pleasure he gave her? Did she have any feelings for him beyond wanting the pleasure he could give her?
Unfortunately, that last question was the one he felt the least secure about the answer.
Josie could be a dutiful daughter when she wanted to be, but she was not quiet if she did not like her duties. Overall, she had settled into the household very nicely. The servants all liked her, Mrs. Brandon was happy with her, and she was shaping up to be everything a future Marchioness would need to be.
She did love the pleasure—and the pain, though he had been gentler with her since the night at Lady Greywood’s, giving her time to adjust, a few swats to her pert bottom here and there, a pinch and twist of her nipples to make her gasp and whimper. He would happily work her up to more soon, but it was not something for every night.
Beyond that? Josie was a hedonistic little thing. She loved horseback riding, dancing, long walks in the country—she was happiest when active and enjoying herself—but she could enjoy those activities with most people. There were very few people she disliked and had never indicated any partiality on her part—other than she thought Elijah was a stuffy prig, and she had never preferred to do any of those things with him.
Somehow, that had translated to a passion in the bedroom—luckily for them, given the circumstances—but Elijah did not want to fool himself. Josie might very well be happy with any bloke who could bring her to climax. She liked people. All sorts of people, and even when they had been at their most combative, she had still liked him. She had threatened to find another man at Lady Greywood’s, which only seemed to confirm that worry.
He was so lost in thought, he almost missed the footsteps coming up behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he half-shouted and turned, twisting and falling to the ground to avoid the gleaming knife headed for his back. His attacker made no sound as they stumbled, caught off balance when the swing did not make its target.
Rather than jumping to his feet, as his instinct wanted, Elijah kicked out and caught his attacker’s legs, sweeping them out from under him. The man went down, uttering a low curse. Another shadow separated from the darkness near them, also armed with a knife. Elijah bared his teeth, pressed the button just under the carved handle of his cane, pulled the blade out, and met the second attacker.
The dim lights in the Warren did not make it easy on any of them. The second man cursed—not as quietly as the first had—when Elijah met knife with swordstick. The clatter of metal in the streets would have drawn attention anywhere else, but not here. Anyone within hearing would scatter and wait until a victor emerged and left. Only then would they come to see if there was a body to loot.
Elijah did not intend for it to be his body, but it was two against one, and his first attacker was already getting to his feet. Distracted by the movement, he did not keep his guard up, and the second man’s knife sliced through his coat, biting into his left arm and making him hiss from the stinging pain.
He parried the next stroke, forcing the other man back and giving him the space to turn. His back was against the wall of the building beside him, giving him cover, so they could not come at him from the back and the front together. It also gave him just enough breathing room to give his attackers a good look.
They were both the usual Warren ruffian, the kind that could be hired for coin to do just about anything. Both of them sneered at him, one fair and one dark-haired, big men with broad shoulders and big guts. Even in the dim light, Elijah could see the dark-haired one had the cabbage ears common among boxers. Neither of them would be easy to take down, but he would keep a special eye on that one, who was likely as deadly with his fists as he was with his knife. Elijah’s one advantage was his swordstick had a longer reach than either of their knives.
“Did someone send you?” he asked harshly, not expecting an answer but asking, anyway. Stranger things had happened. “Hire you?”
The fair one shook his head in seeming disbelief.
“Toffs.” The street slang for a noble became an insult in his mouth. Not speaking further, he opted to lunge forward.
Obviously, the two had worked together before as their attack was coordinated, the fair one coming at Elijah first to engage him while the dark-haired one waited a moment longer to take advantage of his distraction. On someone else, it might have worked, but from the time he was a boy, Elijah had trained for being outnumbered, and his brothers were far better at coordinated attacks than these two thugs.
Swinging his blade back around, he twisted slightly, accepting another shallow slice—this one along his ribs—to change his position. Now, the darker-haired one was slightly behind the fair one, hindering his movement, and Elijah took swift advantage of the momentary reprieve of having to guard against them both. The swordstick flashed through the air, gleaming in the moonlight and slicing through the fair one’s arm. Unlike when he hit Elijah, this was no mere flesh wound. Elijah felt the impact all the way up to his own shoulder as the sharp steel cut through to the bone.
The man screamed, dropping his knife and jerking back, sending him straight into his companion, who cursed and shoved him aside. While they might be working together, evidently, money was the critical factor rather than fellow feeling. The dark-haired one did not even look when his companion dropped to his knees, holding his hand over his arm to try to staunch the flow of blood. His fingers were splayed out, no longer able to grip the knife he had been holding.
Elijah could not rejoice for long because the dark-haired one slashed at him, far more adept than the first villain. They parried several blows, Elijah working hard to keep his back to the wall in case there was a third party waiting to rush in.
Another cut to his arm, deeper than the first, and he grit his teeth against the pain. Seeing a small opening, he took it and knocked the knife from his opponent’s hands but came too close to his first adversary. The villain tripped Elijah, cut arm cradled uselessly in front of him, but going by his angry expression, he was not going to let that stop him.
Now on his back, Elijah was at a severe disadvantage, and for the first time, fear gripped his heart. He was outmatched, and he knew it, even as he rolled away from the dark-haired one, who was still standing. He tried to get some space between them so he could get back on his feet, to no avail. He kicked out, but the other man dodged nimbly, taking his time coming in, a triumphant gleam in his eye.
“Time to die, Durham.” The man’s use of Elijah’s formal title confirmed this was no random mugging. They had been bought and paid for, sent for Elijah specifically.
A group of men stumbling out of a nearby building, drunk, loud, and rambunctious, drew the villain’s attention just long enough for Elijah to jerk upward and thrust his swordstick through the man’s ribs. The sickening feeling of steel sliding through flesh and the man’s gurgling moan as he fell would stay with Elijah for a long after. It was not the first time he had killed, but it never got any easier.
The other man scrambled away and disappeared down one of the alleys, still cradling his arm. Elijah did not bother to chase after him. His own heart was still pounding at his close call.
The drunken revelers down the street did not even notice him kneeling there, next to a body, as they moved away. Elijah did not know whether to feel relieved or disgusted.
Heaving himself onto his feet, he picked up the cane sheath and slid the sword back into it. He needed the cane to help him get home.
Now completely alert, he noticed every tiny sound, every small movement, his head constantly whipping around to check his progress. Not until he reached Mayfair was he was able to marginally relax. The cuts on his arms and torso stung and throbbed worse with every step, but they also helped keep him focused. He would not be caught unaware again.
Now, he would have to figure out how to deal with the distraction that was his wife.
