The Prizefighter’s Hart by Emily Royal

Chapter Thirty-Five

“So, you beat Johnny Tighe?”

Thea’s husband pushed his dessert plate to one side, his slice of pineapple untouched.

Mr. Ogilvie nodded and drained his wineglass. “I won myself ten guineas, which I’ll collect at the White Hart tomorrow,” he said. “What do you think of that, little Rowe-ling?”

“I think it’s wonderful,” Rowena said, smiling across the table.

So did Thea, if it meant he’d be moving on.

At least Rowena was smiling now. As soon as Mr. Ogilvie had returned from the fight, he’d disappeared into the garden with her, and since then, Rowena’s mood had darkened, and she’d spent most of the meal frowning, answering Thea’s questions with monosyllabic responses.

Thea glanced at her gown. The lace tuck had a small tear near the neckline—evidence of her husband’s enthusiasm for their earlier lovemaking. Her cheeks warmed at the memory of her cries when he’d brought her to pleasure. Not even her fear that their guest would interrupt them had dampened her desire. In fact, she’d found a particular thrill in the risk of being caught.

And to think—she’d lived thirty years in the world not knowing such exquisite pleasure existed!

“Tighe’s a good fighter,” Griffin said. “How did you best him?”

“He’d had a few too many ales.”

“Which you encouraged him to drink, I suppose,” Griffin said, “and probably supplied yourself, to increase your chances.”

Ogilvie shrugged. “It’s not my fault if he’s too fond of his ale to remain upright.”

“And you hit him when he was down? Hardly the mark of a champion—or a gentleman.”

“Gentleman—hah!” Ogilvie snorted. “You’re hardly one yourself—considering how you treated Louisa. How soon after you married her did you tire of her?”

“That’s enough,” Griffin growled. “As soon as you’ve collected your winnings, I want you gone.”

“Papa—no!” Rowena cried.

Ogilvie laughed. “Eager to be rid of me? Is it because I’m a reminder of a past you’d rather forget?”

“Mr. Ogilvie,” Thea said, “perhaps we should continue this conversation another time.”

“No, Dorothea,” Rowena said, glaring at her, “I want to hear how Papa treated my mother. Wouldn’t you like to know what will happen when he tires of you?”

“Forgive me, Mrs. Oake,” Ogilvie said, “but the truth deserves to be told, no matter how painful it might be.”

His sentiments echoed hers, but his tone carried a certain glee that set her teeth on edge.

Her husband gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles white, a dark glitter in his eyes which caused her stomach to twist in apprehension. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and cold.

“I know what you’re about, Ogilvie, and it stops. Now.”

“I’m not the one with something to hide.”

“We’re neither of us saints,” Griffin said, his voice rising. “I’ll not have you turn my daughter against me!”

Rowena leaped to her feet, pushing her plate aside. Her fork fell to the floor with a clatter.

“You’re doing that all by yourself!” she cried. “Alex has done nothing wrong!”

“Alex, indeed!” Griffin scoffed. “Since when have you lost all notion of propriety?”

Rowena snorted. “You wouldn’t know what propriety was if it bit you on the arse!”

“Rowena!” Thea cried. “I won’t have you using such language at the dinner table.”

“Shall I swear in the drawing room instead?”

“You shouldn’t swear at all.”

“Why should you care? You’re not my mother…” Rowena pointed toward Griffin, “…and from what Alex says, he’s not my father!”

Griffin stared at Rowena, open-mouthed. Thea waited for his denial.

But it never came.

“Griffin?” she asked. “Is that true?”

“Be quiet, woman,” he said. “I’ll not discuss it here.”

“Forgive me, Mrs. Oake,” Ogilvie said. “I’ve no wish to upset you.”

“I think we’ve gone beyond that, Mr. Ogilvie,” Thea said. “I’m anxious to know what you’ve said to make Rowena believe my husband is not her father.”

“He’s not my father!” Rowena cried. “He’s a—a swiving whoreson!”

Griffin leapt to his feet. “That’s enough!” he cried. “I ought to beat you black and blue, girl!”

“No!” Thea cried. “You can’t settle this with your fists—she’s a child!”

“I’m not a child—I’m a woman!” Rowena cried. “And you’re an old hag!”

She burst into tears and ran toward the door. Ogilvie rose to his feet.

“No, Mr. Ogilvie,” Thea said firmly. “You’ve done enough. Leave Rowena to me.”

“I don’t want you!” Rowena cried. “I want my real mother,” she pointed to Griffin, “but she’s dead because of him.” She exited the dining room, slamming the door behind her.

“What have you said to her, Mr. Ogilvie?” Thea demanded.

“Nothing that wasn’t her right to know.”

Thea shook her head. “My husband was right—we had a harmonious home until you arrived. It’s time you left.”

“Leave him to me,” Griffin said. “You deal with Rowena. Ogilvie and I must settle our differences like real men.”

Ogilvie loosened his necktie. “It would be my pleasure to best you once and for all.”

“No!” Thea cried. “The rules of the cave do not apply here. I’ll not have this kind of behavior in my home.”

Ogilvie let out a laugh. “She’s got the measure of you, all right!” he cried. “That’s what a certain type of woman always does to a man—turns him into a wet rag. That disgusting display of hauling her upstairs for a good fuck at the White Hart didn’t fool anyone.”

Griffin fisted his hands at his sides. “Woman, leave the room this instant unless you wish to be forcibly removed.”

Thea’s gut twisted with anger. How dare he treat her so dismissively!

“Very well,” she said. “I’ll go—but don’t think you’ll be welcome in my chamber tonight.”

As Thea left in search of Rowena, all she could hear was Ogilvie’s laughter.

*

Griffin watched hiswife disappear, his blood boiling with rage.

“Your second wife despises you as much as your first,” Ogilvie said. “I’d call that justice.”

“What the devil’s wrong with you?” Griffin demanded. “You strive to turn my daughter—and now my wife—against me. Why?”

“Because you had what I wanted,” Ogilvie said. “From the very beginning, they all raved over the Mighty Oak. If I’d had half your luck, I could have done so much more!”

Griffin snorted. “You never fought fair.”

“Fair?” Ogilvie spat. “Louise only married you for your money. Had life been fair to me, I would have been the one she’d wanted.”

“She did want you, in the end,” Griffin said. “She’d have run away with you if you’d so much as snapped your fingers. But you rejected her.”

“You think I’d want your leavings?” Ogilvie sneered. “She was tainted—and pregnant. I had no wish to become saddled with a brat when the father could have been anyone. Didn’t you wonder why little Rowe-ling was born within seven months of your marriage?” He placed his hands on his hips and gave Griffin a smile of triumph as if relishing the thought of breaking news which Griffin had known for years.

“You think I didn’t know that she’d already lain with you when I married her?” Griffin asked. “I know when a woman’s been touched by a man.”

His thoughts turned to Dorothea—and her innocence when he’d taken her for the first time.

“Rowe’s father could be anyone,” Ogilvie said. “Half the men at the inn had their turn.”

“I’m her father,” Griffin said, “in every sense that matters. Blood means nothing. You didn’t want her. You only wanted Louisa for the satisfaction of securing the heart of the woman I’d married. Once you’d achieved that, you lost interest.”

“And when did you lose interest?” Ogilvie asked.

“When I first caught the two of you in my bedchamber!”

“Why didn’t you throw her out?”

“Because of the child,” Griffin said. “I loved Rowe even though I knew she wasn’t mine. I wasn’t going to let Louisa take her away from me. And though I’d stopped loving her, Louisa was my responsibility—no matter what she’d done.”

“You got rid of her in the end, though, didn’t you?” Ogilvie sneered. “Does little Rowe-ling know her father was suspected of murdering her mother?”

The spring snapped. With a roar, Griffin grabbed Ogilvie by the lapels and slammed him against the wall.

“Careful,” Ogilvie said. “What would your wife think?”

“You leave—this instant,” Griffin said through gritted teeth. “If I see you again, I’ll break every bone in your body and to hell with the consequences.”

Ogilvie’s eyes gleamed. “How much is it worth?”

At last—Ogilvie revealed his true colors. But Griffin didn’t care—he would pay anything to rid himself of the man.

“Fifty pounds,” Griffin said.

“One thousand.”

Griffin barked out a laugh. “Don’t be a fool.”

“It’s nothing compared to your fortune,” Ogilvie said, “or should I say—compared to little Rowe-ling’s. I hear she has twenty thousand, courtesy of your wife’s marriage settlement.”

Could the man sink any lower?

“I’ll give you two hundred now,” Griffin said. “Take it or suffer the consequences.”

Ogilvie’s smile wavered, then he nodded.

Griffin loosened his hold, and Ogilvie made a show of brushing his collar.

“You’ve torn my jacket.”

“I’ll throw in an extra shilling to have it mended if it means I can rid myself of you.”

Ogilvie smiled, then held out his hand.

“Done.”

Griffin took the proffered hand and squeezed it. Ogilvie reciprocated, and they locked gazes, each man increasing the pressure until Ogilvie released his hold and wiped his hand on his jacket.

“I’ll wait in the hall.”

*

Ten minutes later,Griffin strode across the hallway with a bag filled with notes and coins—almost all the cash in the house—but worth every penny.

Ogilvie took the bag. “Thank you.”

“Aren’t you going to count it?”

“I trust you.”

Griffin snorted. “You’ll never understand what trust is.”

“For what it’s worth, I always trusted you,” Ogilvie said.

“Then why did you betray my trust?”

“I envied you. Perhaps you’re right—I only wanted Louisa because she was yours.”

He held the bag out to Griffin. “I can’t accept this,” he said. “I have my winnings—and I promised that I’d go if I won the fight. Let me honor that promise.”

“No, take it,” Griffin said, “for the sake of the friendship we once shared. But I never wish to see you again.”

“You won’t.” Ogilvie pocketed the money and approached the doors, where he stopped and turned.

“Please pass my apologies to your wife.”

Then he exited the house and, without a backward glance, strode down the path and out of sight.

The change of heart that Ogilvie had shown at the end might be the first step toward redemption—but it had come too late. Griffin felt only relief that finally, he’d rid himself of his former friend for good.

Now came the greater task.

Apologizing to his wife.

Her chamber door was closed, but a sliver of light shone through the crack at the bottom. He knocked on the door, then pushed it open.

His wife sat in bed, the book of poetry in her hand. She closed the book, then assaulted him with her clear gaze.

Her expression—which he’d once likened to that of a disappointed schoolmistress—he now saw for what it was.

The pain of a wronged wife.

“Has he gone?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yes. And Rowe?”

“She’s retired,” she said. “She was angry and upset, but I sent Rosie to tend to her, and she’s settled. When I checked in on her, she was fast asleep.”

So quickly? Perhaps his fortunes were taking a turn for the better—and not before time.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” she asked.

He opened his mouth to respond, and she held up her hand.

“Think before you speak, Griffin,” she said, “because I’m tired.”

“So am I.” He unlaced his shirt.

“No,” she said, “I’m tired of your lies.”

He approached the bed and offered his hand. She stared at it, and he kneeled before her.

“Will you take my hand?” he whispered, “and accept my apology?”

She slipped her little hand into his.

“Forgive me, Thea,” he said. “You’ve borne your life here—with me—with such fortitude. I couldn’t have asked for a better partner, and it only pains my heart, knowing that there’s nothing I can do to deserve you.”

She stroked his hand with her thumb, and his body stirred at the light caress.

“There’s one thing you can do for me,” she said.

“Anything.”

“Tell me the truth. I know you’re unwilling to speak of—Louisa…” she colored and looked away, then she lifted her gaze and looked directly at him, her eyes glowing in the candlelight, “…but you owe me the truth.”

“I know,” he said. “I should have trusted you, but I was afraid.”

“Of what?”

“There’s no going back,” he said. “What’s said can never be unsaid. And I fear the truth will hurt you. As for Rowe—it’ll break her heart.”

His eyes stung with unshed tears.

“Griffin?”

The pain and disappointment in Dorothea’s eyes had gone—replaced by compassion.

And love.

He dipped his head and kissed her knuckles.

“Will you be there for me?” he asked, “when I tell her? I want to tell you both together—the two people I love most in the world.”

He waited, and his heart skittered. He’d asked her so many times to trust him, and he’d let her down at every turn. Had he hurt her once too often?

Then she lowered her head and brushed her lips against his hand.

“May I stay here tonight?” he asked, daring to hope. “I need you to hold me.” He caught his breath, waiting—expecting to be rejected.

Then she opened her arms and drew him into an embrace.

“My love…”

His body sighed, and he buried his head in her chest, listening to the soft, steady rhythm of her heartbeat.

*

When Griffin openedhis eyes, at first, he didn’t recognize his surroundings. Then he remembered last night.

Beside him, his wife lay sleeping.

In the morning light, her chamber looked warm and welcoming—a haven from the world outside.

She shifted in her sleep and nestled against his body.

If only he could lie in bed with her all day! They could breakfast in bed, make love all morning to work up an appetite for luncheon—then try something a little more energetic, perhaps using the hearthrug, or even the armchairs to explore a variety of delectable positions…

…and then, in the evening, they could indulge in a wicked adventure with Mrs. Morris’s chocolate sauce.

His manhood stirred to life at the thought of smearing sweet sauce over her wife’s delectable form, then licking every inch of her. Unable to stop himself, he thrust against her, relishing the surge in his blood as he rubbed his length against her back.

“Griffin?” she murmured.

“It’s time to break our fast,” he rasped. “I’m hungry.”

“Griffin!” she rolled over to face him, then placed a kiss on his lips.

“You’re insatiable,” she said, “and I love it. But pleasure must wait. Rowena will be awake.”

The fog of lust dissipated—replaced by the realization of what was to come.

Rowena.

Today was the day he’d break his daughter’s heart.

He climbed out of bed and picked up his clothes. As he was buttoning his breeches, hurried footsteps approached, and the door burst open.

“Mrs. Oake, madam, I—oh!”

Rosie stood in the doorway, eyes wide with shock. She bobbed a curtsey.

“Well?” he demanded. “What is it, girl?”

“Something terrible has happened, begging your pardon, sir,” the maidservant said, her voice thick with tears.

Thea climbed out of the bed. “What’s happened, Rosie dear?”

“It’s Miss Rowena!” the maid cried. “I took in her morning tea, but she’s not in her chamber!”

“That’s nothing to worry about—she often goes for a walk before breakfast.” Thea gestured toward the window. “It’s a beautiful day—I fancy a walk myself.”

“No—you don’t understand, ma’am,” the maid sobbed. “Her belongings are gone. Her valise is missing—her gowns from London and her books!”

A ball of nausea curled inside Griffin’s stomach.

Rowena had run away.

And he knew damn well who she’d gone with.