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Clarence deserved each and every one of them, just as he deserved the irritation coursing through him now.
Not that it was difficult to rile Clarence. He was forever obsessing about various slights. But still. Clarence was upset, even for him.
Did she dare ask the name of the man? Had he spoken the identity of the offender when she’d stopped paying attention? If he had, he’d be terribly angry if she posed the question.
So she didn’t want to ask.
Still, she’d like to know the man who so directly and easily dug under Clarence’s skin. At the very least, she’d like to shake his hand.
That last thought made her smile and she ducked her chin quickly to hide the curve of her lips. Imagine if she could find another man who could put Clarence in his place. The sort of man who might be her hero.
A soft sigh escaped her lips. What a lovely dream.
* * *
Lord Rushton Smith, Rush to everyone who knew him well, sat in his carriage and chuckled. He hadn’t been this amused in weeks.
Actually, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this…light.
Not since his family had purchased the gaming hell, Hell’s Corner. And even before that, the weight of financial strain and the burden of supporting his family, had been oppressive. He raked his fingers through his hair and sat back in his seat.
This was why a man should just work with his hands. It was steady. Even. He’d always found his hands to be his most consistent tool.
They’d hoped the club would provide them with a dependable income. And it had been a financial boon, there was no denying that. But it had tied him even more tightly to his family, this life in London, at a time that he wished to escape. And Hell’s Corner created one problem after another.
There was the man who wished to purchase the gaming hell from them, which sounded like a solution but the offer had been anything but… When his eldest brother had refused the offer, the solicitor had attacked Rush’s sister, Mirabelle. They still weren’t sure about the perpetrator’s true name or who he worked for, but he was a danger lurking in the background that had hardly allowed Rush rest.
While he no longer wished to be beholden to his family, he’d not leave them in a crisis. Rush had found a new job, one he was very excited about. He’d become the estate manager for a merchant who’d purchased a large estate west of London. The position would utilize both his accounting skills, but also, he’d spend a fair bit of time on the grounds. Outdoors where he belonged.
Best of all, his new boss spent most of his time in London, so Rush would be on there without an overseer most of the time. A position that suited him.
And it was time for him to gain some autonomy from his family. His brothers each had a life independent of the club of their siblings, but for him…every action he took was for the betterment of his brothers and sisters. And it was choking him.
One might have thought that running an illegal gaming hell was perfect for a man who’d been raised on the East side of London. He’d grown up amongst criminals and thieves.
But Rush wanted more than just to live in the shadows of the seedy underbelly. He wished to move and think and breathe. Besides, since when did running a criminal operation mean he was chained to a desk turning as soft as his waste of a father? It cut him to think of himself as just another worker bee growing weak in an operation that didn’t suit him at all. None of his brothers had to chafe under such restraint. The tension in him had been building for weeks.
But today…today he’d had a bit of fun and it had been so satisfying.
Some tiny and pompous man had strutted into White’s, calling out about his importance and his position and how everyone ought to take note of him.
Rush did. Thinning hair, weak arms, pasty skin, as though he rarely stepped outdoors. A gut and a chin that belied his thin frame. The man was everything he hated about the peerage. Weak, sniveling, and yet full of his own pompous worth. It was like a disease among them.
He was the opposite man to Rush in every way. Though to be fair, of late, he’d also spent a great deal of his time indoors, calculating numbers. He was the only one of his brothers who was any good at the endeavor, even if he still preferred to be physical. He’d much rather, be swinging an ax, riding a horse, or wrestling a man.
What did that make him exactly? His whole life he’d been a man without a country. He didn’t belong anywhere. He wasn’t a gentleman despite the title of lord, nor was he a laborer, as his muscles implied. He didn’t fit with brothers, nor his father, the peerage, or the working class. He was a man without purpose, a ship without a rudder or a port, and it made him itch to strike out and find his own place in the world.
One that valued the thickness of his chest, the bulk of his biceps, and the power in his thighs as much as it did his business sense.
But he digressed. The little weasel had come in, loudly bloviating on his position, and then he’d stopped in front of Rush’s table. His beady eyes had homed in on Rush’s feet, placed in another chair, and that weasel’s gaze had managed to narrow.
How eyes that small worked their way smaller still, Rush couldn’t say, but they did. The other man’s lip had curled and then the little rat had demanded that Rush make room for a baron.
He might not belong in the world of lords but he’d not bow or scrape to it. Never.
Rush might have told him that he was the heir apparent to a marquessate. But honestly, the position was so new, he’d completely forgotten and if he were honest, he didn’t hold much value in a position of the peerage. A man’s actions should measure his worth, not the title given to him by his father. And if superiority were measured by blood, why was he as a bastard son less? Shouldn’t he be as important as a baron?
And honestly, he didn’t understand the system enough to know if the baron outranked him. Rush’s father had been an earl and he’d tried to teach all his sons the class system, but as bastards they’d just assumed…they’d find their lives and livelihoods outside of the drawing rooms of London, so Rush had never much paid attention.
