Devil in Winter (Wallflowers #3)(43)

“You’re underestimating him,” Cam said, watching as Sebastian moved forward again. “He—there’s a fellow. Grand right hook. Good on his feet too. Men his size can’t usually move that fast. Now if he would just—damn, there’s a missed opportunity—” He suddenly whooped with approval as Sebastian felled Peregrine with a hard left to the jaw. “There’s some pile-driving force!” he exclaimed. “He’s got power and accuracy…all that’s wanting is some decent instruction.”

Reduced to a groaning heap on the ground, Peregrine seemed oblivious to the hard-faced man who stood over him.

Realizing that the fight was over, the club employees ventured forward with approving cries and slaps on Sebastian’s back, assuring him that he was not quite the namby-pamby they had thought him to be. Sebastian received the dubious praise with a sardonic expression, and brusquely supervised the loading of his disabled opponent into the carriage.

Gently Cam turned Evie to face him. “Tell me how it started,” he said urgently. “Now, before your husband reaches us.”

Rapidly Evie explained how Bullard had deceived her into coming downstairs, and how he had literally handed her over to her relations in exchange for a sovereign. Her words came out in a jumbled stammer, but Cam managed to follow the disjointed explanation. “All right,” he murmured, his honey-skinned face wiped clean of expression. “I’ll deal with Bullard. You go take care of St. Vincent. He’ll need you. Men are always full of sap after a good fight.”

Evie shook her head in confusion. “Sap? What? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Sudden amusement sparkled in his eyes. “You will.”

Before she could question him, Sebastian reached them. It seemed that the sight of Evie in Cam’s arms was not at all pleasing to him. His face took on a sullen cast. “I want to know what the hell happened,” he said furiously, snatching Evie back with possessive hands. “I leave for two hours on a peaceful Sunday morning, and I come back to find the damned place upside-down—”

“She’ll explain,” Cam interrupted, staring beyond Sebastian as his attention was caught by someone in the stable yard. “Pardon, I have to attend to something—” He vaulted lightly over the short railing and disappeared into the crowd.

CHAPTER 12

Cam found Joss Bullard near the stable yard, and confronted him warily. Bullard breathed with flared nostrils, the whites of his eyes showing. They had never been friends. Their relationship had been more like that of warring siblings who had lived under the same roof, with Jenner as a parental figure. As boys, they had played and fought together. As adults, they had worked side by side. After the many small acts of kindness Jenner had showed to Bullard, Cam would never have expected him to behave like this. Confusion and fury tangled inside him, and he shook his head slowly as he stared at Bullard.

“I don’t know why you gave her over,” Cam began, “or what you thought you had to gain from it—”

“I got a sovereign for it,” Bullard shot back. “An’ well worv it to be rid of that idiot tangle-tongue.”

“Are you mad?” Cam demanded in a flare of rage. “What’s the matter with you? We’re talking about Jenner’s daughter. You shouldn’t have done it even if you’d been given a bloody fortune!”

“She’s never done nofing for Jenner,” Bullard interrupted harshly, “or nofing for the club. But she comes ‘ere at the very last to watch ‘im kick off, an’ then she takes everything. Bugger the ‘igh-kick bitch an’ ‘er sodding ‘usband!”

Cam listened closely, but he failed to grasp the reason for Bullard’s jealousy. A Gypsy rarely understood resentment of other’s material possessions. Money was good only for the temporary pleasure of spending it. In the wandering tribe that Cam had belonged to until the age of twelve, no one had ever thought of wishing for more than he needed. A man could only wear one suit of clothes or ride one horse at a time.

“She was Jenner’s only child,” Cam replied. “What he gave to her has nothing to do with you or me. But nothing is worse than breaking the trust of someone who depends on your protection. To betray her…to help someone take her away against her will…”

“I’d do it again!” Bullard said, and spat on the ground between them.

Cam stared intently at the other man, realizing that he didn’t look well at all. His complexion was pale and wormy, and his eyes were dull. “Are you ill?” Cam asked softly. “If so, tell me. I’ll go to St. Vincent on your behalf. Maybe I can get him to—”

“Pox on you! I’m well rid o’ you, ‘alf-bred Gypsy filth. Well rid o’ all o’ you.”

The violent hatred in Bullard’s tone left no room for doubt. There would be no turning back for him. The only question now was whether Cam should collar him and drag him to the club, or let him flee. Recalling the vicious gleam in St. Vincent’s gaze, Cam reflected that if given a chance, the viscount might actually kill Bullard, which would lead to a great deal of unpleasantness for everyone, especially Evie. No…better to allow Bullard to disappear.

Staring at the hatchet-faced young man whom he had known for so many years, Cam shook his head in angry puzzlement. Soul loss, his people called it…the essence of a man becoming trapped in some dark otherworld realm. But how had it happened to Bullard? And when?