Forever Yours Series Bundle (Book 4-6)

“I heard voices. A woman’s one. I saw from the upstairs window as she left and I waited for you to come up to me. Who is she?”

James lowered his hand. “No one of your concern. She has nothing to do with me realizing this is a mistake. Now let me take you home.”

Her eyes searched his and then she sighed. “We will not have an affaire de coeur, will we?”

“No,” he said with another smile to lessen the sting. “It was a moment of insanity which passed before we both did something foolish.”

“I am entirely aware of what I wanted to do…of what I still want to do,” she purred, running a finger over his bottom lip.

His lack of reaction was quite evident, and with a disdainful sniff, she twirled around and marched away from him. Almost an hour later the lady was finally presentable and ready to depart. James arranged for a carriage to take her home, but she haughtily informed him that she would be going to Lady Trenton's ball. He bid her good evening, had his valet draw a bath, and soaked his bruised body for a very long time before retiring to bed.

Shortly after dawn, he finally abandoned bed to call upon his good friend Viscount Shaw who resided in Mayfair with his lovely viscountess. The butler delivered James to a drawing room with a lit fire and then went to summon his master.

They had met in one of the many fighting pits that peppered London. Not the fancy places like Gentleman Jackson’s, but those rings where men laid bets on the outcome of a fight as if they were in a gambling den. Many lords trained at Gentleman Jackson’s and took their skills to the underground ring—where fighters did not follow the London Prize Ring rules, hoping to make enough money to pay off their debts or become solvent again. Many did not find honor in it, for it was raw and gritty, the blood and the pain a reality that was hard to shy from. James had been desperate years ago when he had taken to those rings, and those rings had given him money, a backbone made of steel, many cuts and bruises, and lasting friendships he had never thought he would find. For a time, many had also referred to him as the bare-knuckle king for never losing a bout.

Almost half an hour later, the drawing room door was pushed open and Sebastian Rutledge, Viscount Shaw strolled inside. The man did not look pleased to see him.

James stood, tugged off his gloves, dipped into his pocket for two thin leather straps and started to bind his hands.

Sebastian scowled. "You pulled me from the wonderful warmth of my wife's arms for a bout of boxing at 6 a.m.?" he growled, looking ready to knock out James’s light.

"And also for a spot of conversation." He paused on a sigh. "You are normally an early riser, and I need…I need a round. My mind could not quiet."

“I heard you went to The Club only last evening and had a prizefighting match with Lord Barton.”

The Club, as everyone referred to the gambling den owned by Viscount Worsely, another lord who stood on the edges of acceptance because of the manner in which he had made his money. At the back of the gambling halls, there was a room solely dedicated to prizefighting matches. When he'd climbed into the ring last night, the crowd had been pleased one of its bare-knuckle kings had returned after so long. The fight had been vicious and had lasted several rounds. James’s satisfaction had been hollow, and he had been mildly shocked by how much Lady Susanna's rejection had affected his composure. “It did not suffice.”

“So you won then?”

He had won the match and a purse of six thousand pounds. “I did.”

Sebastian considered him for a few seconds then nodded.

James grunted, stripping from his jacket while moving toward a room in the viscount’s townhouse dedicated to sparring. Soft footfalls and muttered curses followed, and James smiled, feeling quite pleased to be lucky in a friendship with a man who enjoyed a good bout of boxing just as much as he did.

A few moments later, they circled each other, dancing and weaving with ease.

“What happened?” Shaw asked. “It is unlike you to show up without announcing. God knows you’ve tried to be very proper and exact even with friends.”

James ignored the jibe that he had tried to be an ideal gentleman and was ridiculous at it. “I had an unexpected visitor. A woman at my home a few hours ago.”

“You visited to provide the details of an interlude?” Sebastian asked with a jab toward his midsection.

James danced out of his friend’s reach, bobbed, and slammed his fist into his side.

“My wife will not take kindly to any bruises on me, and my Fanny can be quite fierce.”

He grinned and before James could shift away, Sebastian delivered a nice slam to his side. With a grunt, James backed away, liking that he was working up a sweat, that his muscles were already burning, and that primal need shifted through his system.

“Are you familiar with a lady who has been away from society these last four seasons, but has resurfaced, say, about the last five to six months?”

Sebastian faltered and stared at him with a measure of surprise. “Well, that was very precise.”

“A lady fitting that description came to me, in disguise, with a very peculiar request.”

An eyebrow winged upward. “Which is?”

James hesitated slightly. “To teach her to fight, to defend herself.”