Laurel wiped her eyes. “Thank you. And please, not a word to anyone.”

  “Of course not.” Aunt Constance smiled. “Go and write your notes, my dear. I will see you later.”

  She returned to her room and quickly penned a brief note to Lady Downley and rang for a maid, asking it to be delivered at once. She took her time composing short letters to Catherine, Rachel, and Leah, letting the three women know she was back in the city and would be at the musicale tonight. At first, she asked for them to attend tea here tomorrow afternoon and then set aside the notes and tried again, recalling that tomorrow afternoon was a garden party hosted by a viscountess who’d had Rachel design a new fountain and gardens for her. Laurel had been disappointed that they would miss the affair but now that she was back in town, she was eager to see Rachel’s work firsthand.

  Once more, she summoned a servant and passed the three notes along, which notified her family that she was back in town and asked them to tea the day after tomorrow. Though she had told Retta to pick out a gown for her, Laurel decided to take matters into her own hands. She chose one that Rachel had insisted become part of Laurel’s wardrobe. It showed a little more of her bosom than she felt comfortable revealing—but that was the very reason she wanted to wear it. Hopefully, the dress would capture Anthony’s attention.

  Until he removed it from her later tonight.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Anthony had already instructed his driver to head to Gentleman Jack’s once Laurel had been dropped off at the townhouse. His anger at her prying into his past had yet to subside. She was very persistent. And persuasive. Though he’d warned Woodward not to speak to her regarding the past, he doubted the man could have stood up under Laurel’s interrogation. Thank goodness he’d arrived in the drawing room when he did, else who knows what the man might have spilled. Anthony knew it was wounded pride speaking, wanting to conceal how shabbily he’d been treated by his family. How he was the little boy not good enough to remain with his family.

  He never wanted Laurel to learn of the treatment he’d suffered at the duke’s hands. Though she infuriated him at times, he still wanted her to have a good opinion of him.

  The most difficult thing had been to hang on to his anger last night and keep from going to her. He lay awake in bed for hours, fantasizing about his hands on her smooth, alabaster skin. His mouth on hers, taking and tasting. Thrusting into her, again and again. It had nearly driven him mad but he’d maintained control and stayed in his bedchamber.

  They hadn’t spoken during their journey back to London. As the miles passed and the silence thickened, he didn’t know how to start a conversation. Instead, he’d let the swaying carriage stoke his anger until, by the time they’d arrived, it filled him. He knew how to control it, though. He’d seen her home and now came to vanquish his demons by using his fists.

  He alighted from the coach and went inside. Gentleman Jack himself was the first to greet him.

  “Back from the country already, Your Grace?” the former boxer asked. “I heard you’ve married a very pretty young thing.”

  “She’s not pretty,” he snapped. “My duchess is quite beautiful.”

  “I see. Are you merely working out with the bags or do you seek a sparring partner?”

  “Both,” he said succinctly. “I’ll be at the bags shortly. Find me someone to fight.”

  The owner took his leave and Anthony headed into the rooms designated for changing. He unknotted his cravat, thinking of how Laurel had done so. He cursed under his breath, determined to push all thoughts of her from his mind. Stripping to the waist, he returned to the outer rooms.

  “Boxing gloves, Your Grace?” a worker asked.

  “No.”

  Anthony went to a vacant punching bag and attacked it viciously, pounding his fists into it. With each punch, frustration only built instead of subsiding. He continued pummeling the swinging bag until sweat dripped from him. Someone brought him a large tankard of ale and he drank the entire thing in one long gulp.

  “I’ve found a partner for you, Your Grace,” Gentleman Jack told him. “Follow me.”

  They passed several marked-off rings, all filled with gentlemen of the ton, sparring with men. Anthony suspected many of the employees allowed themselves to be beaten although he’d boxed with a few who would never give in. The man that watched him approach the ring was one of those. He was two inches shorter than Anthony but made up of pure muscle. From experience, Anthony knew his opponent’s reach was longer than most men of his height.

  Unfortunately, his competitor never stood a chance. From the moment Gentleman Jack gave the signal, Anthony seized the moment, advancing and immediately throwing hard punches to his opponent’s midsection. Before long, the action between other boxers had come to a halt as everyone watched the Duke of Linfield beat a man to a bloody pulp.

  Gentleman Jack called a halt to the match and two workers lifted his unconscious opponent, dragging him from the space.

  “You’ve already cost me two employees, Your Grace. That might be a third. Perhaps you need to find another sport to help exorcise your demons.”

  Anthony glared at the former boxer. “You’re saying I’m no longer welcome?”

  The owner thought a moment and Anthony could see he didn’t want to risk alienating one of his best customers.

  “Let’s strike a bargain, Your Grace. The next time you come, you fight with gloves. Until I tell you to go back to your bare knuckles. Fair enough?”

  “All right,” he said begrudgingly. He didn’t like wearing them but he needed to box. If that was what Jack wanted, he would agree.

  He returned to the townhouse and soaked in a hot tub for a long while as Monkton applied liniment to his bruised knuckles. After ten minutes, Anthony washed it away. He couldn’t show up with the smell of liniment clinging to him. Besides, a duke would always wear gloves to evening social events so his damaged knuckles would never be seen. Monkton had already informed him of tonight’s musicale.

  Since he returned so late, he’d missed dinner. Monkton dressed him in dark evening clothes and Anthony hurried downstairs. Aunt Constance and Hannah were already waiting in the foyer and he apologized to them for his tardiness. They didn’t seem to see anything remiss in him and Hannah chatted away, telling him about the two young bachelors who had visited this afternoon. Anthony nodded and kept glancing up the stairs, anxious for Laurel to appear. When she did, she stole his breath.

  He watched her descend the stairs, the emerald green gown hugging her curves. He couldn’t take his eyes from her. The neckline revealed her rounded breasts to perfection. His fingers longed to skim them. His mouth yearned to suckle them. She reached the bottom of the staircase and he noticed she wore the same pearls he’d seen before and they seemed wrong for this gown. He’d meant to give her jewelry. He had access to the numerous Linfield jewels now. Knowing every eye would be on his bride tonight, he needed her wearing something splendid.

  “You look beautiful,” Hannah exclaimed.

  “Yes, she does,” he agreed. “Will you excuse me a few minutes?”

  Anthony returned to his bedchamber and the safe that held several sets of gems. More were at his bank and he decided he would go first thing tomorrow and claim them. He wanted everyone to see how splendidly his duchess wore them. He took a moment to locate what he wanted, hoping she would appreciate the gesture.

  When he joined the others, he said, “I have something for you, Laurel. Would you remove your pearls?”

  She cocked her head, frowning at him, but reached behind her neck and undid the clasp, lowering the necklace and handing it to his aunt.

  “Could you help me unfasten my bracelet?” she asked Hannah.

  Once the bracelet was gone, he came toward her and opened the box he carried.

  She gasped. “They’re stunning.”

  Anthony met her gaze. “Not as stunning as when you wear them.”

  Handing her the box, he lifted the diamond necklace from the case and moved behind her. He brought it over her head and fastened the clasp at her nape, brushing a brief kiss along it. She shivered. He removed the bracelet and encircled her wrist, closing it.

  She shook her head in wonder. “It’s lovely. Thank you, Anthony,” she said softly.

  “Shall we?” He offered her his arm and she took it.

  Hannah couldn’t say enough about the diamonds, claiming everyone would be jealous of Laurel tonight. His aunt caught his eye and nodded her approval.

  They arrived at the Downleys’ and entered. A musicale was more exclusive than a ball and so the guest list was much smaller. From the moment they entered, Laurel had the attention of every man and woman present. They greeted their hosts and then she was swarmed by others, including the female St. Clairs. His eyes swept the room and he saw the hungry, lusty looks as other men watched her greedily.

  Anthony wanted to work his way about the room and smash every one of them in the mouth.

  The Duke of Everton joined him. “Good evening, Linfield. Did you and Laurel enjoy your brief sojourn in the country? I thought you were staying a bit longer.”

  His eyes remained on his wife as he answered. “We did. Laurel seemed taken with Linwood. It is the main residence of the Godwin family. We will raise our children there.”

  “Laurel is a woman to be treasured,” Everton said of his half-sister. “It’s important to always treasure what we have—for we never know when we might lose it.”

  With that, Everton sauntered away.

  Anthony moved toward his duchess, nudging others aside as he took her hand and slipped it into the crook of his arm.

  “You look parched, my dear. Let’s get you some ratafia before the music begins.”

  He led her away from the horde of admirers, claiming a drink for her and seating her on the end of a row so no one would be on her left. He took the seat next to her, his gaze falling to her lovely breasts.

  Ones that he planned to feast upon tonight.

  *

  Laurel awoke and immediately knew she was alone. Disappointment filled her.

  Last night had been divine. Her choice of gown, along with being newly married and making her first foray into society after her wedding, had guaranteed she received attention at the Downleys’ musicale. If she’d learned one thing about the ton, it was that titles impressed them. The loftier, the better. As a duchess, she’d had a group surround her from the moment she’d entered the room. What she’d enjoyed was knowing her husband’s eyes never left her. He’d come and swept her away, keeping her to himself. Then during the intermission, he’d insisted they leave. She’d pointed out that it wouldn’t be fair to Hannah to depart so early but Anthony had told her he would arrange for the Evertons to take Hannah and his aunt home.

  Once they’d gotten inside their carriage, Anthony had kissed her the entire way home. He’d come to her bedchamber with her, dismissing Retta by saying he would attend to his wife. Her maid had been unsuccessful in hiding her smile as she curtseyed and left the room.

  Anthony had undressed her and made love to her twice, the first time swift and frantic, the second leisurely and just as fulfilling. He’d even held her in his arms as she drifted off to sleep. She’d hoped he would stay the night with her. Obviously, he hadn’t. She didn’t know why it seemed important to her—but it did. Just when she thought they were making progress and taking a step forward in their relationship, her husband retreated two steps.

  She rose and rang for Retta, deciding to dress in her riding habit. She hoped she could convince Anthony to take her riding this morning. She selected her green habit over the repaired blue one, knowing instinctively that he seemed to prefer the first. As she left her bedchamber, she ran into him in the corridor. He was already dressed for riding, as well.

  “Are you going to breakfast or will you ride first?” she asked.

  He took in her outfit. “You planned on riding?”

  “Yes. I thought I would eat something and then have a groom escort me to the park.”

  “I’ll take you,” he said firmly, giving her an inner glow.

  They ate quickly and then went to the stables. He suggested to the groom which horse to bring her and soon it and Bucephalus were saddled. Anthony helped her into the saddle and they set off for the park. They rode for an hour and, once again, Laurel felt a sense of freedom on horseback that she knew would never grow old.

  As they walked their horses back to the townhouse, she said, “I’ve invited my family to tea tomorrow. Will you be able to join us?”

  “If I am available,” he replied.

  “I do want you to get to know my family. They are very important to me.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “I hope to do something, as all of my female relatives seem to do.”

  He frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Rachel designs gardens. In fact, the garden party today will showcase her work. Catherine writes children’s books and donates the proceeds to various charities. Caroline owns a bookstore and tearoom. Even Leah has helped organize the bookstore’s circulating library and a book club for women.”

  He looked thoughtful. “You want to do something similar?”

  “I told you I am interested in helping others. With my new position, not only can I help the less fortunate, but I might inspire other women in Polite Society to do the same. I plan to speak to Catherine about it since she has experience regarding charity work.”

  By now, they had reached home. He brought his horse to a stop.

  “I’ve business to attend to. I will see you later. What time is this garden party?”

  “Four.”

  Anthony nodded and then turned his horse. Laurel wondered what business he had. He’d been so mysterious about it when they’d arrived in London yesterday. Curiosity ate at her, so much that she decided to follow him.

  At first she hung back, not wanting him to notice her, but he never glanced over his shoulder. She closed the distance as traffic on the streets picked up. She didn’t want to lose him. Finally, he stopped on Bond Street and dismounted, tossing his reins to a boy and striding into a building. She saw no markings other than the number thirteen and hadn’t a clue what lay inside. Pulling her horse around, she watched from across the street as other well-dressed gentlemen entered at intervals. After three quarters of an hour, Anthony still hadn’t emerged.

  Laurel decided to go in.

  She crossed the busy street and slid from her saddle, handing her reins to the boy who had taken Anthony’s horse.

  “I won’t be long,” she said breezily. “Keep my mount close.”

  His mouth gaped as she marched toward the door and entered. Once inside, the strong smell of liniment and sweat assaulted her. Looking around, she saw men stripped to the waist. Some fought one another in pairs, while others struck long, oblong bags hanging from the ceiling. She spotted Anthony immediately. He stood in front of one of these bags, a man holding it as her husband punched it repeatedly. He wore something over his hands as he struck the bag. Sweat glistened on his torso. With each hit, the muscles in his back danced.

  The man released the bag and came around, demonstrating something. Anthony nodded and ferociously assaulted the bag again. The force he used made her cringe. She’d seen his knuckles bruised and had been too afraid to ask what had happened to them. Now, she knew.

  The man who’d tutored Anthony began striding around the large room. He had an air of confidence about him. She didn’t know if he owned this establishment or was one of its instructors.

  Suddenly, he spotted her and strode toward her. Firmly taking her elbow, he led her outside.

  “No women allowed, my lady,” he said briskly though he didn’t seem angry.

  Raising her chin a notch, Laurel said, “I am the Duchess of Linfield.”

  He studied her a moment. “Hmm. So, you are, Your Grace. Your husband is quite the boxer. If he weren’t a member of the ton, he would make me more money than Croesus ever had.”

  “He would be a boxer?”

  “That he would, Your Grace.”

  “And your name, Sir?”

  He grinned. “I’m Gentleman Jack, Your Grace. John Jackson, actually, but the gents who come for my lessons like that I dress well and speak even better. Hence, my nickname.”

  “You teach gentlemen to box?”

  “I do. Your husband has taken lessons at my boxing club ever since he returned from the war.” Mr. Jackson shook his head. “He’s got anger in him, that one. The war did that to some men. I’d heard he gotten married, though. Maybe you can help tame the savage beast.”

  Laurel thought a moment. “What I would like, Mr. Jackson, is to learn more about boxing since it is important to my husband.” She paused. “Would you consider giving me private boxing lessons?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Anthony left Gentlemen Jack’s and headed straight for Tattersall’s. He knew any horseflesh worth buying would need to be purchased there. He was eager to find the right mount for Laurel. It was obvious she took joy in riding and he wanted a horse perfectly suited for her. Though she hadn’t been riding long, she showed remarkably good skills. He wanted a horse as spirited—and beautiful—as his wife.

  Their lovemaking last night had been the best of their brief marriage. When they’d finished, he’d been reluctant to leave her, gathering her in his arms and whispering for her to go to sleep. He lay there, utterly content. It wouldn’t do, though, for him to stay the night. Much as he enjoyed her body next to his, he wanted definite boundaries drawn between them. Already, she was becoming far too important to him. He wasn’t going to be some puppet for a St. Clair to tug about. That thought had made him slip from her bed. He’d returned to his own bedchamber and lain awake far too long, the scent of her lingering on his skin.