The Duke's Dastardly Mistake (Unlikely Pairs Book 2) Page 8

  Lydia took one look at her father's bruised and swollen face as he walked in the door and quickly threw herself at him. “Oh, father. You're alive.”

  “Of course I am,” he scoffed, though his face could barely contain his surprise at seeing her. “Why wouldn't I be?”

  Lydia pulled back and looked at him sadly. “I know where you were, what you were doing,” she quietly admitted.

  She wondered if her father was going to berate her, but he remained silent.

  “Are you in much pain?” she asked, hoping he'd at least tell her how he'd fared.

  “No,” he finally admitted gruffly. “I'm not in much pain, but I will confess I am quite ashamed of you.”

  Lydia gasped, then quickly covered her mouth with her hands as tears of humiliation and sorrow filled her eyes. “I'm sorry,” she replied weakly, at a loss for what else to say.

  “You better start making choices that reflect well on yourself and your family, young lady. I'm too old to be calling young bucks out in defense of your honor. I'm going to speak with Lord Whitworth on the morrow and set a date for your wedding. The banns have been read so there is no sense in delaying it any longer. When you are settled down with a respectable gentleman, perhaps your reputation can be reclaimed.”

  Lydia reeled back, the awful reality of her situation crashing down upon her. Her father would likely never look at her the same again—he'd lost all respect for her, and now there was no way he'd ever allow her to break her engagement to Lord Whitworth in favor of Levi. A hopeless feeling unlike any she'd ever experienced before settled upon her like the fog she could see outside the window descending upon the streets of London.

  “Will you hate me forever, Father?” she asked, her voice sounding pathetic, even to her own ears.

  “Oh, fustian nonsense, child, I could never hate you. I'm merely disappointed in your behavior and the choices you've made that have brought painful consequences to all of us. Participating in a duel with the Duke of Ludington, and losing does not do my reputation any credit.”

  Using the very last ounce of bravery that she possessed, Lydia asked, “How is Levi?”

  “His Grace,” he ground out, enunciating the formal title slowly, “is fine. Let me make one last suggestion where Ludington is concerned, then we shall speak of him no more in this family. Forget him, Lydia, before you make yourself miserable. His honor is questionable, and you are engaged to another. Choose to cut him out of your heart now before it only causes further decay.”

  Lydia wanted to argue with her father, tell him that he was wrong, but she knew it wouldn't matter. Her cause was hopeless, her fight over. Her shoulders slumped in defeat as she stared at the polished parquet flooring beneath her feet. “I will try, Father.”

  “No,” he said sternly, “you will not merely try, you will do it.”

  All she could do was nod her head in agreement though her heart was protesting angrily. How could she simply cut out the part of her heart that belonged to Levi? It was not possible, for the entire thing belonged to him. There was no way she could go on living if she were to discard the vital organ and that's precisely what her father was asking her to do.

  In a shocking display of affection, her father wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close to him then planted a kiss on the top of her head. “You are young, Lydia. You're surely feeling as if your entire world has collapsed, and you'll never be happy again. Time heals all wounds, child, and it'll heal this one as well, just you wait and see.”

  His words offered no comfort, and she couldn't pretend they did. She walked with him to the end of the hall where he dropped his arm from her shoulders and turned towards his study while she began the long descent to the third story where her bedchamber was.

  The minute she was alone, Lydia let the sobs she'd been holding in escape from her chest. She sank to the floor and curled into a ball as hot tears coursed down her cheeks and disappeared into her tangled mass of black curls.

  She recalled going to the theater last season to see the production of Romeo and Juliet with her parents. She'd thought it a bit pathetic that two people would be foolish enough to end their own lives because they could never be together. At the time she didn't understand the kind of love that would make people act so irrationally, and instead accused the characters of acting like sullen children, throwing a tantrum to get their way. But now she was starting to see—she honestly felt as if she'd rather die than be without Levi.

  Perhaps her thoughts were a bit dramatic, but Lydia had always been on the theatrical side of things, and she was positive she'd never felt so much pain before. She was convinced the tears would never end, that the pain would never stop, that life would never be happy again. All of these depressing thoughts she took with her as she eventually cried herself into a restless slumber.

  “Miss, Miss, wake up.”

  Lydia groaned but otherwise tried to ignore Helen's gentle prodding.

  “Miss Phelps, you must wake up at once,” Helen said, shaking Lydia a bit more forcefully. “Your intended is here to call on you, and your mother insists you do not keep him waiting.”

  Despite the stiffness in her muscles, Lydia turned away from Helen and covered her face with her arms. “Go away,” she moaned.

  Helen grew quiet, and Lydia was certain her maid had disappeared when all of a sudden, she was doused with a cool glass of water. Lydia shrieked and flew to her feet, brushing the wet locks of hair back from her face as she glared at Helen.

  “What a vile thing to do,” she accused.

  “How else was I supposed to wake you?”

  Lydia turned her back to her lady's maid and huffed towards the fire where she planned on drying out. “Go away, Helen. There's nothing you can say or do that will convince me to get ready to see Lord Whitworth.”

  Helen pursed her lips and made to say something, but then stopped herself. She eventually sighed and turned on her heel and quit the room.

  With the tiniest measure of satisfaction, Lydia went to her bed and pulled the coverpane from it and wrapped it around her chilled body, then returned to the fireplace and sat on the floor before it, swaddled in her blanket.

  She'd just suffered the longest night of her life and cried buckets of tears over a love that was lost to her forever. Her heart was barely pumping, so battered it was by the recent beatings it had taken. How could the world expect her to go on as if she were normal as if she were well? Didn't they know she'd never be whole again?

  When the door to her bedchamber was pushed open, Lydia didn't even bother looking to see who it was. She figured it was either Helen returning with a stern warning from her mother, or her mother herself, ready to lecture her about her behavior and neither person she wanted to see.

  “Miss Phelps? Are you well?”

  Lady Sophia's familiar voice made Lydia startle. She turned her head and glanced at the beautiful blonde woman and managed to squeak out, “I've been better.”

  Lady Sophia shut the door softly then glided towards Lydia. She surprised her by sliding to the ground and sitting by her side. “Somebody's hurt you?” she asked knowingly.

  Lydia's chin fell to her chest. “Truthfully, I've only hurt myself. I've been such a fool.”

  “Care to talk about it?”

  Lydia gazed into Lady Sophia's clear, blue eyes and was grateful when she saw no guile behind them. She was almost tempted to divulge her heartache to her but found herself too exhausted to speak of it. “I'd rather not.”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you?” Lydia wanted to scream at her but knew it would be rude and unfair. Instead, she continued to glance at the wild, orange flames dancing among the logs in the hearth.

  “Perhaps I can cheer you up. I just now spoke to your mother about inviting you to tea next week. She gave her permission. We should have no problem putting the rest of our plan into place.”

  Her words did nothing to cheer Lydia, in fact, they only caused more disappointment to fill her bre
ast. There was no way she could go forward with their plan now. If her father learned of it, he'd cut her off forever, she was sure.

  “I appreciate your willingness to include me in your adventure, but I must regrettably decline the invitation.”

  “But why?” Lady Sophia blurted out, clearly disappointed by her words. “It will be such a grand time, just the thing you need to distract yourself.”

  “If my father were to find out, the consequences would be dire. I can't do it, Lady Sophia, I just can't.”

  Lady Sophia squared her shoulders and snatched Lydia's hands from her lap. “Look at me, Miss Phelps.”

  Lydia reluctantly did as she bid, seeing nothing but a firm resolve in the lady's eyes. It was apparent Lady Sophia was not used to being told no.

  “You can go, and you will. No one will ever find out we attended a boxing match, I promise you.”

  “But how can you be so sure? It seems as if all my wrongdoings are somehow discovered, and I am punished heartily for them.”

  “Your family will never suspect anything is amiss. Your mother especially seems eager for you to spend time with your fiancé and his family, so thoughts of misbehavior will be far from her mind.”

  Lydia knew that was true, but forged on anyway. “You know if we're discovered it will tarnish your perfect reputation. I have little to lose in that regards, but you have much.”

  Lady Sophia covered her mouth and giggled. “See? I am the perfect person to help you, then. I'm an expert at deceit.”

  Intrigued, Lydia asked, “Whatever do you mean?”

  “Suffice it to say that I have many secrets.”

  “Yes,” Lydia groaned, “you've mentioned that before. However, that does not put me at ease. Divulge one of them so I can decide if I trust you or not.”

  Lady Sophia tapped her finger to her lips, something Lydia realized she often did when she was thinking. “Many of my secrets would taint my reputation forever if discovered.” She continued to tap her lips before confessing proudly, “I once spent a week aboard a Pirate's vessel disguised as a boy. No one ever found out the truth. If they had, I can assure you I wouldn't be here to tell you about it.”

  Lydia scrunched her brows together skeptically. “You jest.”

  “No, I do not. I'm insulted you don't believe me.”

  “Your tale is absurd. How did you manage to spend a week away from your family without them growing concerned?”

  “Easy,” she said as she rolled her eyes. “I was spending time with my Aunt in Cornwall, so my parents never knew of my absence.”

  “And your Aunt failed to notice your absence as well?” Lydia asked in disbelief.

  “My Aunt went with me,” Lady Sophia admitted quietly, though she looked rather pleased with herself.

  “Your tale grows more and more ludicrous. Quit cutting shams to try and impress me.”

  “I'm not lying; I swear to you I'm not.”

  Lydia worried she'd offended her new friend when Lady Sophia rose from the floor and brushed her skirts down and said, “I'm not going to beg you to come to the match. I can just as easily go alone. I simply thought you'd enjoy yourself and enjoy doing something a bit daring. I guess I supposed wrong.”

  Lydia cringed as she watched Lady Sophia move to leave. Since the moment they met, she'd treated Lydia with nothing but kindness, offering her friendship without question.

  “Sophia?” Lydia called out and watched as she stopped in her tracks. “Are you absolutely certain I won't get caught?”

  Lady Sophia twirled around and bestowed the most charming smile upon her. “Without a doubt.”

  “Then I will go.”

  “You won't regret it. The fights are exhilarating. All the attendees will be too busy watching the matches; they'll hardly have time to pay us any mind.”

  The way Lady Sophia's eyes lit up as she talked about the boxing matches made Lydia temporarily forget her heartache. The rebellious, restless part of her was filled with giddy anticipation at the prospect of attending the match.

  “Now crawl back into your bed,” Lady Sophia instructed as she waved one hand towards the large canopied bed across the room. “I'm off to tell your mother you are unwell and suggest she send for a doctor.”

  “But I'm not unwell, at least not entirely,” she confessed.

  “Of course you aren't,” Lady Sophia sighed impatiently. “But this will give you the perfect opportunity to avoid my brother, and also meet my actor friend and practice for your performance next week.”

  Lydia just shook her head in amazement. Lady Sophia was ingeniousness.

  His life had sunk to an all-time low.

  Levi sat on the bench in the back room, his elbows propped on his thighs as he stared at his hands. In only a couple of minutes, he'd be competing in his first boxing match, just a se'nnight after participating in the duel with Lord Phelps. No matter that he'd won the duel, he was ashamed of himself for all the choices he'd made that led him to that point. The worst part about it was the fact that he'd not even won Lydia's hand.

  He hung his head in shame as a lock of hair fell across his forehead. It wasn't that he wasn't used to a small measure of scandal attaching itself to his name, for he had participated in a duel in the past, but this time it was different. This time he cared far more about the outcome, and this time the loss of what he'd wanted pierced him to the core.

  He closed his eyes as images of sea-green waves flashed in his mind. Black curls as dark as a moonless sky danced across his memory, reminding him of the girl who'd caused his world to tilt upside down.

  Did he love Lydia Phelps?

  He'd asked himself that question over and over a thousand times and could honestly say he didn't know. Though he wasn't sure he was in love with her, there was something about her that compelled him to behave in foolish ways, that drew him back to her as if a moth to the flame, that caused everything inside of him to shift whenever he so much as thought of her. It was a peculiar feeling, but one he couldn't ignore and certainly one he wasn't willing to give up. It was as addicting as it was frustrating.

  A hearty slap on his bare back roused him from his musings. “Your Grace, it's time.”

  Levi looked up at the man and nodded his head as he rose from the bench, flexing his muscles in preparation. He shook his head to clear it of thoughts of Lydia then allowed the feeling of excitement to wash over him in waves. He knew that a ridiculous amount of blunt had been wagered on tonight's fight and he didn't want to disappoint the men who'd cast their bets in his favor. He had to focus so he could do his best.

  The man led him out to the dark, smoke-filled room. Hundreds of spectators were milling about, humming with a contagious energy as they waited for the fight to begin. The air soon changed from smoke to dust as the man led Levi to the center of the room where his opponent awaited him. Levi glanced at the man, sizing him up as he waited for the announcer to begin.

  His opponent was larger than Levi was, but he didn't allow that to dishearten him. He knew that his slender form allowed him to be more agile, to move more quickly away from the strikes of his opponent.

  Levi bounced from one foot to another as his nerves grew taught. He was eager for the fight to begin.

  Soon, the announcer walked to the center of the floor and shouted, “Gentlemen, let us begin.”

  The crowd roared with delight and Levi, who was standing next to the announcer, could barely make out his next words.

  “The first fight of the night will feature the Duke of Ludington against the Earl of Pepperton. Gentleman, take your places.”

  Levi jogged to the corner opposite the Earl of Pepperton and got into fighting position, his hands held tightly in front of his face. As soon as the announcer removed himself from the circle, the signal was given, and the fight began.

  Both men engaged in the dance, bouncing back and forth in a tight circle, waiting for the opportune time to strike. Finally, Levi moved to strike and was caught by Lord Pepperton's swinging arm that ca
ught him squarely in the chest, causing him to inhale sharply. He jumped back and placed his fists up before his face and squinted angrily. He was not about to let the fool outmaneuver him.

  Back and forth they danced once more, both men waiting patiently to strike. Finally, Levi could see that Lord Pepperton was growing a bit tired and made to strike. This time, his fist hit the man squarely in the jaw, sending his head reeling back as spittle flew across the room. Taking no time to glory in his success, Levi struck again, this time on the opposite side of his face.

  Lord Pepperton grunted loudly as Levi continued to pound him, first in his face, then in his gut. Over and over he hit him until Lord Pepperton doubled over and fell to the ground on his knees. Dust flew up as Lord Pepperton fell forward, his hands hitting the ground forcefully. Unwilling to give the man an opportunity to get up, Levi pounded his fist into his side repeatedly until Lord Pepperton eventually fell to the ground.

  The crowd went wild as the announcer reappeared, grabbing Levi's hand and holding it high in the air as he proclaimed, “We have a winner. This round goes to the Duke of Ludington.”

  Levi managed a lopsided smile as he glanced into the crowds and noticed the greedy gleam that shone in many of their eyes. Since he won this round, he'd be required to fight later this evening. He knew at once that people would be placing more generous bets in his favor since he'd proven himself with this fight.

  As soon as the next competitors were brought out, Levi was escorted back to the room reserved for the fighters. He quickly found a water basin full of cool water and at once began wiping the sweat and dust from his bare chest. A young boy scurried to his side, offering him a flask of liquor. Levi gladly took it, eagerly swigging from its contents before shaking the sweat from his hair.

  The boy took the flask when he was finished and stared up at him with admiration. “You did well out there, Your Grace, 'specially for your first fight. If I were a-bettin' man, I would've placed my money on you.”

  Levi laughed, knowing the young lad probably didn't have two pence to his name. He placed his hand on his shoulder and said, “Don't get overconfident in my abilities. I've yet to prove myself completely. Lord Pepperton was an easy opponent. I'm certain the next man I fight will give me more competition and then you might not be so eager to bet on me.”