But . . . she couldn’t ignore this.
Ignore it, Violet.
Violet pinched the bridge of her nose. How troublesome. What was the worth of one’s peace? If it wasn’t him, she’d rest easy knowing the answer. If it was... well, she’d still rest easy because she’dknow, beyond a shadow of a doubt. Not knowing would drive her mad.
And if fate meant to taunt her, she’d be damned if she didn’t meet it head-on.
*
“You think hecame?” Reaper asked.
Drake flicked his brother a look. “I don’t know. And keep your voice down.” Knight occupied his usual spot behind the bar of the tavern, and the man had hearing sharper than a hound’s.
“Pip and his cousin are keeping an eye out, but so far as I can tell, the dog has tucked its nasty tail between its legs.” A week has passed with no word. Rook had returned to London with the “invitation” they had printed and swore on his life he’d do good by them. Drake refused to believe his gut had diminished to the point where he could not judge a man’s character anymore. However, Rook was the sort who survived by becoming whatever the moment required, and men who adapted that well could be dangerous. They slipped through the world like mist, belonging everywhere and nowhere at once. Useful allies when pointed in the right direction. Absolute devils when the wind shifted favor.
Deuced annoying.
His brother scoffed. “In hindsight, this was a bloody terrible plan from the start.”
“And why is that?” If the Bulldog wanted his hands, should he just wait to hand them over? Not bloody likely.
“Because,” Reaper said, leaning back in his chair, “you sent an open challenge to a mad dog and expected him to trot over quietly. That’s not a strategy, that’s bloody trouble.”
“I’m the mad dog here.”
Reaper gave a snort of disbelief. “You are the most level-headed of us all. Not even Maxen is as disciplined as you. Look at how far our dear brother has fallen. Hasn’t been home in days. Don’t follow his path.”
“I can be a mad dog and level-headed at the same time.” Of course, when it came to a fight, boxing match or otherwise, no one was as disciplined as he was. As patient as him. However, he wasn’t about to sit still and wait for another attack on him. He wanted the coward that hid behind his name to knowhe, Drake,knew of his plans, knew he was coming. And, also, for pure fun, to taunt him.
Drake’s mouth tipped into a humorless smile. “You’d prefer I call him for tea?”
“I’d prefer you deal with him directly rather than this roundabout way.”
Drake would rather not use this roundabout way either. He’d love nothing more than to drag the blackguard out into the street and end this properly. “I can’t leave for London right now.”
“I’m not saying you leave,” Reaper said. “Send Saint or someone else to pick him up and drag his arse here.”
“Then it wouldn’t be dealing with him all that directly, would it?” Fortunately, except for this barnacle Reaper, no one else thought the faux matches he’d set up were unusual. He always let off steam this way. For those matches, however, he’d send another fighter in his stead and only satisfy the crowd for one match. The ultimate match, before heading off to the lure.
Reaper’s jaw tightened. “I still don’t approve.”
Approve his arse. Drake drummed his fingers against the table. “If he shows his face, we end this damn business. If he doesn’t, we use Rook to track his movements so we know his next one.”
“I don’t trust that damn crow either.”
“You don’t trust anyone outside the family.”
“It’s how I survived this long,” Reaper said so flatly, one might mistake the truth of those words for sarcasm.
“A wet nurse frets less than you,” Drake retorted. “Don’t worry. It’s all going to go according to plan.”
Reaper huffed a dark laugh. “Forgive me if I don’t share your optimism.”
The door to the tavern opened, and Deveraux sauntered in, spotted them, and headed over. Reaper groaned.
Drake arched a brow. “Aren’t you always the champion for family, even dragging us all the way to our recluse duke half-brother’s castle to establish a bond?”
“He never betrayed us.”
