Page 22 of Daring the Forbidden Earl
Still on edge after his encounter with Lord Dresday, Mark dressed for his evening of sport much earlier than he needed to. With nothing else to do but wait until his dear friends arrived, he positioned himself in the drawing room to look over the evening’s post with a few snifters of brandy to get him in the spirit for boxing.
“What scandals might I find in this charming pile?” he murmured, secretly hoping he might happen upon another one of the explicit documents addressed to Johanna.
Instead, his fingertips settled on a letter that was written in a decidedly feminine hand, though it was not the same penmanship as the mysterious peddler of sexual suggestions. Curious, and a little concerned in case it had come from Miss Steele, he flipped it over and caught sight of the wax seal.
“Johanna…” he gasped, tearing the letter open and flattening it out on his lap, where the exquisite creature herself had sat just that afternoon.
A pleased smile turned up the corners of his lips as he read her words, letting them titillate his already rampant anticipation for their next encounter.
She wants us to be secretive, hmm? That, I shall gladly do.
After all, he knew Nora and Johanna had become close, and the former would likely endeavor to steer them away from one another if she were to discover that something was blossoming. Nora was forever encouraging Mark to find love, but he knew that did not include finding it with one of her dearest friends. Nora knew too much about him to ever agree to that.
“But it is different with you, Johanna,” he said quietly, as though she were in the drawing room with him. “It has always been different with you. I would tell you so, if I could find the right words.”
He supposed he had become somewhat pensive after the encounter with Lord Dresday. It had taken him at least two hours to rid himself of the shameful feeling that had roiled in his belly. Of course, he had been honest with the Baron, in that he had not coupled with Miss Steele. The trouble was, he could not deny the harsh truths that Chalke had alluded to—why would Lord Dresdaynotsuspect Mark, considering his reputation?
I have played with fire so often, I suppose it is to be expected that, one day, I would get singed…
“I will have to discover the real culprit,” he told himself. “Westwood and Denninson will be able to advise me.”
He took up his brandy and downed the entire glass as he read over Johanna’s words once more. His heart raced faster, and his loins pulsed with the flow of his imagination, as he closed his eyes and envisioned Johanna sinking naked into a bath to cool herself. He smiled as he thought of her gasping at the touch of the cold water, and how her pink nipples would stand to attention, begging to be sucked.
If he had been alone in his bedchamber, he might have brought himself to a satisfying conclusion, but it was almost eleven o’clock and he did not want Chalke catching him in the act. Still, he found his breaths turning shallow as he thought of her delicate hands trailing across her slender, slick limbs, before disappearing below the surface of the soapy water.
“My Lord.” Chalke swung open the drawing room door and strode in, making Mark lurch forward in his armchair. If there had been anything left in his brandy glass, he would have upended it in his rush to fold the letter back up.
“Have you forgotten how to knock?” Mark wheezed, trying to think of a suitable place to put the naughty letter.
Chalke bowed. “Apologies, My Lord. I just wanted to inform you that Lord Keswick and Lord Denninson have arrived, and they are waiting for you in the carriage.”
“They will not come in?” Mark canted his head.
“Apparently not, My Lord.” Chalke smiled. “They are likely eager to discover where it is you are taking them. I cannot tell if they are excited or petrified.”
Mark stuffed the folded letter into the pocket of his waistcoat and got to his feet. He discreetly looked down, to make sure that his stirred passions had dissipated, before crossing the room and heading out to meet his friends.
“Should I expect a late return, or will you be coming home in the morning?” Chalke asked, clearly expecting it to be the latter, judging by the somewhat weary tone in his voice.
Mark shook his head. “I will return tonight, though I do not know when.”
“Very good, My Lord.” Chalke seemed surprised, but he said nothing more as Mark exited the townhouse with the enticing letter still on his person. In truth, he might as well have been carrying an explosive, for if that letter was read by outside eyes, it had the potential to tear Johanna’s reputation to ribbons.
Chapter Thirteen
“Icannot believe you have brought us here!” Liam shouted above the earsplitting roars that erupted around the three friends. “Nora suspected it might be something of this ilk, but I told her you were finished with gambling of this kind.”
Mark drank in the vibrant atmosphere of the somewhat illicit warehouse, on the banks of the River Thames. Men from all walks of life were gathered around the roped-off sides of the eight-foot square, where the prime boxers of the season would take to the floor and battle for the glory and the inconsiderable fortunes that could be made in that square.
“It has been a long while since I have enjoyed a boxing bout.” Kenneth looked a touch more enthusiastic about the night’s entertainment, as he viewed the names that had been scrawled on a board.
Mark glanced at Liam. “You have become such a dry sort of fellow since marrying Nora, which is honestly surprising, considering she is one of the most colorful individuals I have had the good grace to meet.” He grinned. “Enjoy yourself, Dear Boy! I promise, you will not die from having too much amusement.”
Though it was well-known that commoners and gentlemen alike, and sometimes even royalty, reveled in watching these boxing matches, the figureheads of the law were not so keen on the practice. As such, these events had to be orchestrated in secret, and often in some peculiar places, to avoid detection.
“I hear this fellow is making a name for himself,” Kenneth said, coming back from the board and taking a deep gulp of the ale in his hand. “They call him, The Mastiff.”
Mark nodded. “Everyone is talking about him. They think he may be the new heavyweight champion, though I intend to put a wager on this Ernest Callow instead. I have seen him fight before, and he is a force of nature.”
