Chapter Eight
Colton tossed the stick out into the gray drizzly afternoon and walked farther into the stables away from the cold. At least it had stopped storming. He rubbed his arms up and down his shirtsleeves to rid himself of the chill from standing too close to the open door. Thank goodness the stables were heated. “So, Dazz. How do you like your new accommodations?”
The stallion’s ears swiveled forward at the mention of his name.
Grinning, Colton rubbed his nose. Colton had been in here since he arrived home, and he was reluctant to leave although Dazz seemed to be fitting in fine. The vet had given him a shot of painkiller, some nanomites to fight infection and heal the damage, and pronounced him good to go. With the exception of riding. Which Colton wouldn’t have done anyway. Doc Jones wanted him to wait a couple of days and see how Dazz was doing.
The soft thudding of horse hooves reverberated outside, growing louder until Apollonia galloped into the stable heading right for him with a large stick in her mouth. If he didn’t know her, she would’ve startled him. She was huge for only nine months old. Not something you’d want bearing down on you at such a speed. The filly dropped her stick at his feet and looked at him expectantly.
Colton picked up the stick, ambled to the doorway and hurled the piece of sycamore out of the stables.
Apollonia turned slowly then took off in a full gallop after her makeshift toy.
When Colton turned back to Dazz, Rexley was standing at the stall with a big grin on his face. He must have come in from the side door. “When did she start playing fetch?”
“The other day when I was brushing Apollo. She came and dropped a small branch over the stall door. When I tossed it out, she brought it back, so I started playing with her.” He stopped in front of his oldest brother and reached a hand toward Dazz.
“You do realize she’s a horse and not a dog, don’t you?”
“Sure I do. I don’t think she does though.” Colton chuckled. When she was around three months of age and venturing farther from her mother, she latched on to him. If he didn’t let her out of her stall or wherever she was when he was outside, she got so riled up he was afraid she’d hurt herself trying to get to him. So he’d started letting her out. To this day, she followed him around like…well, like a puppy. “What’re you doing out here?”
“I came to see you.” The corner of Rexley’s lip tipped up slightly. From Rexley it was a smile. A greeting.
Colton smiled in return. “You found me.”
“So I did. How are you doing? Have you made any more plans for your racing stud?”
“I’m fine. And I talked to an architect a little over an hour ago. She said I’ll be able to look at preliminary plans by the end of this week.” The anticipation was going to kill him. “If I approve them, I’ll have the final blueprints by early next week and should be able to break ground on the new stables and training facilities a fortnight from today.” Colton bounced on his toes.
“Good. Have you decided on a location?”
“The west pasture. Halfway between the castle and Wentworth Park.” It was the perfect spot. Far enough away from both homes to keep it from feeling crowded. “Wentworth approved of the location from a security standpoint.”
“Ah. Speaking of Wentworth…I just got back from town and heard an interesting rumor.”
Dazz head-butted Rexley’s shoulder, jostling him until he was forced to catch his balance.
“Oh?”
“Yes. And I see there must be something to it given this one’s appearance.” Rexley turned toward Dazz, patted his neck and contemplated him. “I heard you and Wentworth assaulted some man and stole his horse.”
Colton groaned. How had the rumors started? No one had been around to see. “They’re saying we stole Dazz?” Colton scoffed.
“That’s what I heard.”
“That’s preposterous.”
The clip-clop of horse hooves echoed on the cement floor, and the scent of wet animal enveloped them. Colton wrinkled his nose. It must be sprinkling outside again. “That’s not what happened at all. Dazz was being abused. Wentworth and I rescued him. The only connection between Wentworth and me is I had to take him as a partner in my racing stud because I didn’t have enough money to buy Dazz on my own. If I had bought him outright, I wouldn’t have enough for a down payment for my stables.”
Rexley’s eyes narrowed briefly, and his mouth pinched ever so slightly.
Shifting his weight, Colton glanced away and tried not to squirm.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“I don’t know, but I couldn’t let Dazz stay with an abuser. It seemed like the only way at the time.” He’d been pondering it all afternoon. While he knew there could never be a romantic relationship between him and the viscount, Wentworth’s actions today reminded Colton why he’d always adored the man. It was going to be absolute torture having to deal with Wentworth on such a personal level and getting to see how honorable and kind he was on a daily basis, but Wentworth was wonderful with horses. And Colton had enjoyed himself. He’d found he actually liked Wentworth. They could be friends.
“Jeremy said you spotted Wentworth in a compromising position and decided you no longer want him. It’s not true, is it?”
Blast it. Why had Trouble said that? Colton gritted his teeth. He didn’t want pity. And that’s exactly what he was getting. Poor little Colton finally woke up and realized what an idiot he was.
Rexley touched his arm. “He’s worried about you, Colton. It’s not like he’s gossiping. He came to me upset the night you saw Wentworth with Eugene Collis. Jeremy was ready to run Wentworth through for hurting you, even if it was inadvertently.” His hand slid down Colton’s arm, and he pried Colton’s fist open. He held Colton’s hand for a moment. “I’m worried too. Let me be your partner? I have the money to buy Wentworth out. I rarely spend my allowance on anything but toys for Muffin, and I save way more than I spend.”
Rexley was not a man who showed affection easily, and for him to make such an offer meant the world. It was like saying, I love you, little brother. Warmth blossomed in Colton’s chest, and he surged forward and hugged his brother.
Rexley stiffened, and Colton thought he would not return the gesture, but then Rexley’s arms wrapped around him. He rubbed Colton’s back and moved away enough to make eye contact. “Let me help. Please.”
“That you offered means everything to me, but I can’t take advantage of you like that. You don’t even like racing. Why would you want to be co-owner of a stud?” Besides…he could do this. He could be partners with Wentworth and friends with him without wasting away for love of the man.
“I don’t dislike racing.” Rexley cuffed him on the chin. “And I believe in you. This is something you love.”
Colton blinked. How could he refuse? Yet how could he accept? It wasn’t fair to do something like this without talking to Wentworth first, even though it was only a verbal agreement between them. Not to mention, he didn’t want to use his brother to get him out of a situation he’d put himself into.
“Just say yes, little brother.”
“But—”
“Say yes. Would you or would you not do the same for me?”
“Of course, but—” Was it fair to force Wentworth into contact with him? “I can’t. It’s not right to just oust Wentworth without talking to him.” Even if it would make things more…comfortable.
“Then take me as a partner as well.” Rexley held out his hand.
Arguing with himself for several more seconds, Colton stared at the elegant hand. How could he refuse? The more capital he had, the more chances of success.
“I’ll make you loads of money.” He shook on the deal.
“I’m counting on it. Now, tell me about Dazz’s situation. How was he abused?”
Colton relaxed, feeling better than he had in a long time. “Mr. Plume, or someone who worked for him, had driven nails in Dazz’s hoof walls. Wentworth and I more or less coerced him to sell Dazz to me. After I punched him.”
“You punched him?” Rexley caressed Dazz’s velvety nose.
“It felt wonderful.”
“I’ll bet. I’ve no tolerance for cruelty.” Leaving one hand on the bridge of Dazz’s nose, Rexley brushed a hank of mane out of Dazz’s eyes with the other. “Where have I heard the name Plume before?”
Colton rubbed his new pet’s neck. “Viscount Leith’s heir.”
A petite sorrel-colored head came up underneath Colton’s arm and flipped it off of Dazz. Satisfied her human was now paying attention to her, Apollonia dropped the stick in her mouth.
Colton petted her and chucked her piece of wood toward the door.
She scuttled backward out from under his arm and took off after the stick.
Smirking, Rexley continued to pet Dazz. “Ah, yes. I knew the name sounded familiar.” He turned to face Colton with a serious look on his face. “Plume has a reputation for not taking care of his animals.”
“How do you know?” Colton studied his brother. Rexley didn’t follow racing or any other sport.
“People talk. I listen.” Rexley shrugged. “Lord Freeson had a run-in with Plume last year. Plume’s an outsider in the racing circles, but he wants to make a name for himself. From what I’ve heard, I’m surprised he hasn’t been blacklisted yet. He’s vindictive and will do anything to get ahead or get back at someone he thinks has wronged him. Freeson took issue with how Plume was handling a horse, and Freeson’s winning mare came up lame a week later. There was evidence the horse had been purposely injured, but not enough to pin it on Plume.”
There wasn’t much of a chance Plume could get on Townsend property without being caught, but the thought that Plume was known for his abuse made Colton’s heart ache. At least he’d saved Dazz from the blackguard. “You learned all that from listening?”
Rexley nodded. “More or less. Plume asked Jeremy to dance last season, and Jeremy refused. Freeson overheard Jeremy tell me Plume made his skin crawl, and Freeson was all too willing to tell us his tale. He seemed quite genuine, so be careful and watch your back.”
Apollonia came back and stopped in front of them.
Rexley held out his hand. “You’re quite a handful, my lady. Which reminds me…it’s Muffin’s bath time.” Apollonia nuzzled into Rexley’s hand and gave him her toy. He tossed it and turned his attention back to Colton. “I’ll get you a bank draft tomorrow morning. I need to get inside and find Muffin for Christy.” He slapped Colton on the arm as he started past. “You okay?”
“I am now.”
“Good.”
Apollonia passed Rexley on her way back into the stables.
Chuckling, Colton grabbed her halter. “Come on, you little hellion. Let’s get you brushed. I have a ball to get ready for.” Maybe Wentworth would be there tonight. The bigger question was, did he want Wentworth to be there? And if so, what did he expect? He and Wentworth had definitely overcome a boundary today they’d not previously crossed. Only time would tell what it meant.
Things must not be going well for the family business if Julian was living in this neighborhood. Sebastian stepped around a squashed metal trash can, several torn boxes and various trash. A lone streetlamp at the end of the block cast eerie shadows rather than brightening the corner. The other streetlights had long since burned out or been broken by street kids. The place reeked of despair.
No wonder lifts wouldn’t come to this part of town. Sebastian had taken a lift to Pickett Street and had to walk the rest of the way. And it wasn’t a pleasant jaunt. Today’s rain and sleet had given way to frigid wind and a dusting of snow. He shivered, uncertain whether it was from the chill or the depressing surroundings.
As he walked down the filthy sidewalk, he was filled with a mixture of disgust and pity. Living in a neighborhood like this was a tough life. It made him appreciate the comforts of home. Not many men of his acquaintance would venture here, but Sebastian was no hypocrite. He was also no easy target for pickpockets, thugs or thieves.
Even at this time of night, in this cold, there were signs of life. A cat, or was that a big rat, darted across the street into a hole in the foundation of a brick building. A wino slumped against the same building, talking to himself. At least Sebastian assumed he was mumbling to himself, since there was no one else near the man. Several yards in front of the man a door creaked open onto a stoop, and the yellow glow from inside flooded the street in a triangular pattern. A number four hung upside down over the doorway.
An old woman stepped outside with a broom. She swished the ragged bristles back and forth above the stoop. “Get, you! Scat, you dirty little bastard. Shoo. Stay off my porch.”
Until that moment Sebastian hadn’t seen the small figure curled into a ball. His gut clenched as the child unfurled himself and scrambled down the steps.
Sebastian would never understand how people threw their kids away. All children should have a nice warm bed and food in their bellies. Starvation was the worst sort of punishment. Even worse than being homeless. One never got used to the gnawing discomfort of hunger. You ate what you could to survive, but it was never enough. The hunger never seemed to vanish completely. Sometimes life sucked.
With a small shake of his head, he pushed away the memories trying to bombard him and continued down the street.
Soft sobs echoed behind him, along with the child’s shuffling feet. Bloody hell.
Sebastian kept walking. He was almost there. Ten was the address Jeffers gave him this afternoon. He’d see if Julian was there first, and if the boy was still here on his way back, he’d—
Sniffles joined the sobs.
Sebastian stopped. He closed his eyes for a moment then turned around.
The little boy stood in the street, snow and vapor from his sobs swirling around him. As if sensing Sebastian’s attention, he turned his head. His grubby little face resembled a chimney sweeps of old. No gloves graced his fingers, and his ratty coat was two sizes too small with holes in it.
Huffing out a breath, Sebastian walked toward the kid.
The boy’s eyes widened. “I din do nuffin, guv.” Backing away, he shook his head.
“Stop.”
The boy froze. Tears glistened on his face, streaking the caked-on dirt and leaving clean runnels.
“I swear it weren’t me, whatevah it was.”
“You aren’t in trouble.” Sebastian began removing his gloves. “How old are you?”
“Seven and ten summers.”
Right.
Sebastian handed his gloves to the kid. “Try again. How old are you?”
Eyeing the gloves, the kid backed away. After a few seconds he answered softly, “Ten.”
“What’s your name?” Sebastian shook the leather at him. “Take these.” When the boy snatched the gloves, Sebastian added, “And put them on.”
“Me name’s Digby.” Digby stuffed his fingers into the gloves. He missed a hole and had to try again before getting them on correctly.
“Where are your parents?”
His forehead furrowed, and he eyed Sebastian warily. “Me mum’s dead.”
“Where’s your father?”
“Ain’t got one. Me mum didn’ know who ’e was.”
Which explained the reaction of the lady on the stoop. The boy really was a bastard. Sebastian’s heart went out to him. Their society had no sympathy for kids born on the wrong side of the sheets. Bastards were shunned. It was better off to be orphaned than be a bastard. To be abandoned with your parentage unknown, like Lady Muffin, was preferable to being a child born out of wedlock. It had never made any sense to Sebastian. “You want a nice warm bed, hot food and a job?”
Digby stepped back a few more steps. “I ain’t no whore.”
The fact the boy even knew such things existed broke Sebastian’s heart. “I’m not looking for a whore. I assure you, you’re way too young for my tastes.”
“Then why would ye want me?” Digby glanced around, taking in his surroundings. He was about to bolt.
Sighing, Sebastian dug into his coat pocket. He pulled out a few pounds and his calling card. “If you change your mind, go to Wentworth Park and ask for Berkley. Tell him Sebastian sent you. I could use someone to help out in the kitchens.” There was plenty of staff at Wentworth Park, but perhaps it would help persuade the kid to come work for him. It would get him out of the cold.
“Why would ye do this fer me?” Digby glanced down at the contents of Sebastian’s hand and fumbled with the gloves.
“Someone helped me out once, and I want to return the favor.”
Digby got one glove off and started on the other. “No ’fence, guv. But I don’t trust ye. I’m no whore.”
“Keep the gloves and take this. If you change your mind…”
Digby snatched the money and calling card. “I won’t.”
“Suit yourself.” Sebastian removed his scarf and tossed it at Digby. “Keep this too. Do what you will with the money.” He supposed he could alert the authorities and get the kid sent to a foundling home, but in Sebastian’s experience the kid was better off on the streets. Even the orphanages were tough on bastards. The foundling homes would boot out a bastard to make room for an orphan if need be.
With a sinking feeling in his gut, Sebastian turned and walked away. At least he’d tried. He couldn’t force the kid.
When he found Julian, he was going to deck him. What was he doing living in a place like this anyway? Tension seeped into Sebastian’s shoulders and traveled up to his jaw. How dare the jackass not come to him for help. Julian always was a proud pillock.
In the alley to Sebastian’s left, four adolescent boys crowded around a trash-can fire. A fifth smaller boy sat huddled in a cardboard box rubbing his hands together. Within seconds the click-clack of footsteps followed Sebastian. Dust.
“Whoa there, toff. We’ll be having a word with ye.”
Bloody hell. He turned. He’d wanted to trounce someone, but not a group of kids.
Five boys no older than sixteen had made a half-circle behind him. They were a rough-looking lot, and all but one of them were as big as Sebastian. The one in the middle was shorter but much stouter than the rest. All of the boys appeared as though they could use a good scrubbing. The scent of smoke clung to them along with the stench of unwashed bodies. One boy had a bent pipe down by his side. Another one had a battered croquet mallet.
“I don’t want any trouble. I’m searching for a man named Julian Towers. Do any of you know where I can find him?”
Pounding feet and a flash of gray passed Sebastian. Digby. That probably didn’t speak well for Sebastian’s chances of getting out of this without hurting a few of these teens.
The group of four didn’t even glance at the child. Their gazes stayed on Sebastian. The boy on the left side of the middle held out his hand and smiled, showing off a broken front tooth. “What’s it to ye?” His hair appeared a lighter shade of brown. Probably blond under all the dirt.
“Do you know where I can find him or don’t you?” The anger at Digby’s fate and poverty in general vanished, and calm took its place. Sebastian cataloged his surroundings.
The boy with the pipe, clearly the leader of the group, brought it up in front of him and smiled. “Ye can turn over yer blunt and valuables the easy way or we can do it the hard way if ye like. ’Sup to you, chap.”
So be it. Sebastian would not relinquish his purse to a bunch of thugs. Pickpocketing was one thing—it was a way of life for foundlings—but assault and robbery was another thing entirely. “You really don’t want to do this.”
“I think we do.”
They rushed him all at once.
Sebastian deflected the first punch and followed up with a jab to the leader’s lips. Sebastian caught the pipe and kneed the assailant in the groin. Ducking the mallet, he swept the boy’s legs out from under him.
By the time he had the third boy down, the first was getting back up. As each one came at Sebastian, he easily dispatched them again. He had to hand it to them, for all their ineffectiveness, they were persistent. If they kept it up, they might just wear him down enough to get a blow in.
The boy with the broken front tooth let out a whistle, and four more hoodlums poured from the alleys on each side of Sebastian. Great. The boy with the wooden mallet swung at Sebastian again. Grabbing the striking end of the mallet, he turned, using the thug’s momentum to dislodge his hold on his weapon. He smacked the kid in the rump with the handle and tossed the mallet away. He punched the next ruffian in the chin, and blood flew from his mouth.
The other five tried to flank him, but he moved with them, keeping them in front. Two of them came at him, but he kicked one in the ribs and punched the other in the gut.
A sharp pain exploded in his back, and the pipe clattered to the ground several feet in front of him. Bugger that hurt. Sebastian winced. He may have even grunted, but he didn’t let down his guard. How had the little reprobate gotten behind him? He kicked back as the pipe thrower closed in on him.
Crack.
A wail rent the air.
Sebastian hadn’t wanted to permanently damage any of them, only teach them a lesson, but he couldn’t keep up this pace. He popped one of them in the chin and watched him hit the ground so hard he bounced.
“Hey!” The quick staccato of footsteps approached from behind.
Blast. Sebastian grabbed the kid closest to him and put him in a headlock, exerting just enough pressure to let the panic set in. He backpedaled to the nearest building, putting his back to it and opening up his field of view.
A big man came running down the street toward them followed by a smaller boy. Digby.
The other thugs ran away, leaving Sebastian with the gagging, squirming kid in his hold.
What the—? Sebastian squinted down the dimly lit street.
This man was not filthy like the others. He wore hessian boots, buff trousers, a white shirt and dark waistcoat, sans outerwear. His brown hair was a bit long for convention, and he held a saber in his right hand. He was also much bigger than the others.
Wonderful. Sebastian shoved the reprobate against his chest and dug down in his right boot for his knife. As Sebastian gripped the hilt of his weapon, a shadow loomed over him.
“Need some help, Commander?”