What a Reckless Rogue Needs (The Sinful Scoundrels, #2)(98)

“Thank you, Papa. I would appreciate the distraction. I am very worried about Colin.”

“He will come home safe and sound,” the duke said. “I have it on the best of authority that he has someone he wishes to see as soon as this business is over.”

She hugged her father hard. “You have made me very happy.”

“Now, shall we play?”

She took his arm. “I do plan to trounce you.”

“I will give you no quarter, Daughter, but you may try.”





Chapter Sixteen



London

At precisely midnight, Colin strode into White’s Club. He knew who awaited him and where, for it was all set up in advance. His heart beat a little harder than usual, but he greeted acquaintances as he strode through the club. Many were watching, having been recruited into the inner circle. Someone with pretensions to honor was polluting the venerable club. That man would be publicly exposed and severely punished for crimes against the fairer sex.

Brentmoor took a pinch of snuff, rather delicately, and offered it to Bellingham, who waved it off. Brentmoor was unaware that thirty men had waiting hacks outside and were planning a journey for him.

Brentmoor drank three bottles of Madeira, something Colin figured the cur would regret at dawn. Unbeknownst to Brentmoor, the men sitting with him had set him up. Two hours passed when Colin invited Brentmoor to join them at a private party. The bastard accepted and hesitated only when he stepped out and saw the line of hacks at the curb.

Brentmoor spun around and scrambled, but Bellingham caught his arms and roughly tied them behind his back while Harry gagged the villain. Colin stepped forward, stripped off his glove, and slapped it in Brentmoor’s face. “Before this day ends, you will beg for mercy and you will get none.”

Colin pitched a heavy purse to the driver, a bribe to keep his mouth shut. Harry and Bell ducked inside the carriage and Colin shoved Brentmoor onto the floor of the hack. Colin boarded, knocked on the roof, and the hack rolled off. He looked behind the vehicle and saw the other hacks rolling off one by one. The destination was Wimbledon Common, a dueling place.

Brentmoor struggled and groaned when the hack hit a bump.

“That’s only a taste of what I have in store for you,” Colin said.

When they arrived at the field, the servants stood by with lanterns. Colin dumped Brentmoor on the ground, where he writhed like a mangy dog. The other carriages arrived, and the gentlemen descended the hacks. They formed a queue, and one by one they spit on his face.

Colin stood a foot away and saw the murderous expression in Brentmoor’s eyes. Then he pitched his voice so that all could hear. “Brentmoor, you are undeserving of the title gentleman. You have polluted the clubs and the ballrooms. Worst of all, you have preyed on innocent women. Today, you are judged by your peers as unfit to be a man.”

Colin stripped off his coat and cravat and handed them to a servant. “You have meddled with at least half a dozen innocent women, two of whom you got with child and abandoned. You are a snake, but on this day, you will receive your punishment and your sentence awaits you, but first, I have a personal score to settle. Untie and ungag him,” Colin shouted.

He marched toward the center of the field, and Brentmoor strode from the opposite side. “Damn you,” Brentmoor said. “I’ve no issue with you, Ravenshire.”

“I beg to differ,” Colin called out in a clear voice. “You are a coward, a liar, and a bully.”

“Your accusations have no merit,” Brentmoor called out, striding forward.

“You are not a man,” Colin shouted. “You are a filthy swine who preys upon the fairer sex.”

“Name the woman, Ravenshire. No doubt you’ve swived her already.”

Rage pumped through his blood as he met Brentmoor on the field. The first punch resounded with a crack and blood streamed out of Brentmoor’s nose. The cur rose up and landed a blow to Colin’s ear. It rang afterward, but he refused to let it stop him. He punched Brentmoor in the mouth, blackened both eyes, and when the coward fell to his knees, Colin kicked him in the groin. Brentmoor groaned and rolled onto the grass.

Colin stood over him. “Tie him up and gag him.”

Harry tied Brentmoor’s hands and feet and Bell gagged him. Then Colin yanked Brentmoor to his feet and shoved him onto the floor of the hack. “Gentlemen, meet us at the docks.”

Colin approached the driver with a second purse.

“Where to, guvner?” the driver said.

“The docks,” Colin said, and entered the carriage. He knocked on the roof of the carriage and smirked. “Ah, we have one more destination, Brentmoor, your final one with us.” Brentmoor stared at him with murder in his eyes, but Colin knew his bravado would soon turn to watery bowels.

The other carriages arrived, and the gentlemen stepped out to witness. Colin stood Brentmoor outside the carriage, untied the gag, and lifted his voice again. “Brentmoor, you are judged before your peers as unfit to be a man.”

Brentmoor fell on his knees. “I beg for mercy.”

“You do not deserve it,” Colin said. “You have been judged and now you will receive your sentence. The press-gang a few yards beyond awaits you with open arms. I imagine they will have a little fun with a pretty boy like you.”

Brentmoor’s eyes filled with terror. “No, please God, no.”