Page 91 of Wicked Rivals
“Please, Ashton. You must get through this.”You must.
*****
The dreams born of a fever were always those of a nightmare. Ashton struggled to escape the clawing darkness, but the illness was too powerful. The fever swept him away, into memories that haunted him even when he was awake.
The haze of the cigar smoke in the gambling hell was thick enough that he could wave a hand through the air and disturb the clouds wafting about the men’s heads. The sickly sweet scent was overpowering, and it made Ashton’s eyes sting. They’d be red-rimmed by morning if he was forced to stay here much longer. But he had to find his father.
“Pardon me.” He coughed as he tapped the nearest man playing faro. “Have you seen Lord Lennox? Tall man, light hair, narrow moustache.”
The man shrugged off his hand but nodded at a distant door. “Aye, I know him. Through there, last I saw of him. But he’s not alone.”
Ashton expected that. The overdue notices and accounts his father owed had been piling up on his study desk at the townhouse for months.
“Thank you,” he said, but the man was already focused on his game again.
A woman with hair too red to be natural sauntered up to him. “Should you be in here, boy?” Her gown, a clashing maroon, was cut low enough that very little of her figure was left to the imagination.
“Pardon?” Ashton tried to step away from the woman. He was but fifteen, a young man still, but old enough to know a lightskirt was trouble and costly.
“Still a babe,” the woman cooed and brushed the edge of a lacy fan down his cheek.
He shoved the fan away. “Do not touch me like that again, madam,” he warned. “I’m not a child.”
For a moment the woman looked startled, and then she laughed. “A coy one. How charming. You like to be the master, dearie? That’s a game I can play, for the right price.” Her hand slid down to his hip, then attempted to move over to his groin.
Ashton caught her wrist. “My father, Lord Lennox, is with one of your women. I want to know where he is immediately.”
The prostitute cleared her throat and snatched her wrist back.
“Oh, fine. He’s in the farthest room on the left.” She jerked her head at a distant door.
Ashton squared his shoulders and crossed the crowded gambling area to where the private chambers were. When he reached the darkened back room on the left, his hand trembled as he lifted it to knock.
There was no answer from within.
“Father? It’s Ashton!” He hit the door again. He heard a groan as he tried the door handle. It opened and Ashton stared in agony at the scene. There was no woman in the room. Only his father, lying on the bed, clutching his head in pain.
“Father!” He rushed over to the bed, but when he tried to help his father sit up, Ashton was struck hard across the face.
“Leave me, boy!” the man snapped.
Ashton put a hand to his face; the skin burning where the back of his father’s hand had caught him off guard. His father had never hit him before.
“Father, please,” he begged. “Come home. Mother needs you. We all need you.”
Lord Lennox stumbled to his feet. “Damned whore took my coin purse.” He patted his pockets. “Pocket watch, too.”
“Father…”Ashton still touched his face where he’d been struck, but his father wasn’t listening. He left the room, tripping over his feet into the hall. Ashton hurried after him, dodging the gaming tables. His father, although clearly inebriated, was still moving faster than Ashton.
Several other men shouted and cursed as Ashton’s father bowled into them.
“Careful, man!” Someone shoved Lord Lennox toward the front door.
Ashton tripped and fell when a cane swung out and caught his boot tip. A young man with dark hair and black eyes laughed coldly. “Watch it, boy!”
“My apologies,” Ashton muttered, scrambling to get back to his feet. His father vanished out the door.
“Father!” He reached the door in time to see his father lose his footing on the sidewalk and tumble into the street.
