~  Thursday, Jan 14, 1813  ~

The boys at the rehab home voiced their excitement when I arrived, some offering marriage proposals. When I explained that the reason for my visit was to collect their testimonials, they were eager to recount their dire circumstance and the hardships their families faced. Even Nurse Ginny recited her young brother's tragic tale of how he lost the function of one of his lungs. Apparently, the annuity he received barely covered the cost of the equipment needed to keep him alive, to say nothing of the fact that he was not likely to find a wife who would be willing to care for him.

As for Colonel Hobbs, while we agreed on the need to better compensate our permanently injured soldiers, he could not put his position in jeopardy by articulating this on paper. He did, however, grant me an open invitation to use him as counsel should I ever need it. Thomas recited a hymn about guardian angels in my honour, and there was nary a dry eye in the ward when I left.

That evening, when the duke's carriage arrived to carry us to the boxing arena, he was waiting for me with a smile on his face. I knew the question he planned to ask even before it left his lips. "So, are you testing your constitution with more bloodletting, Mistress Hayes? Or, is this purely a case of infatuation?"

Given that the duke had known me since I arrived in Mistress Price's home, I did not attempt to deceive him. "I would not say it is infatuation, your grace. But I will admit to having a more than casual interest in one of the fighters."

"And would that fighter's name be Captain Jules Thompson?" The smirk he offered remained firm as he waited for my answer.

"You are correct. The captain and his younger sister, Alice, recently buried their mother, and I have taken a liking to them both. Although, truth be told, the captain is quite self-absorbed and has been rather a bother to manage."

"Yet, here you are, requesting my companionship at an event you clearly do not delight in, all on behalf of this self-absorbed captain."

"My intentions are to see that Alice's brother does not look like the backend of a stubborn mule when he accompanies her to the Earl of Oxford's ball tomorrow."

He chuckled. "I am happy you chose my company to see you through the evening's unpleasantness. I hope you have accounted for a rendezvous afterwards. I have been reading a very intriguing text titled the Kama Sutra, and there are a number of positions I am eager to try."

I blinked as the duke held my gaze. I knew very well which text he referred to, having received a copy from Mister Faircloth after his visit to Asia. "I have, and I look forward to experimenting with you. Your nimbleness has no equal."

My flattery had the duke's chest expanding more than usual, and he leaned across the carriage to press his hand over mine. "If I ever fail in that department, please put me out of my misery. You know where I keep my pistol."

After a cordial coach ride, we arrived at the boxing pavilion and were met with the usual pomp and circumstance. True to form, the duke made sure I was attended in a respectful manner as he escorted me with his arm wrapped protectively around my waist, and the crowd parted, allowing us to take up a position beside the ropes.

Inside the boxing ring, the fighters stretched and bounced around on their toes like performers at a ballet. The captain's eyes widened when he noticed me, then narrowed as he surveyed the duke's hand resting on my hip. Honestly, did he still believe I was too fragile to attend a simple battle of fisticuffs?

The well-dressed man I remembered from my previous visit to the arena called for attention, announcing the two competitors and their fighting credentials. Although Captain Thompson had a meager three games to his acclaim, his rival, MacMillan, had none. That meant nothing to me. A fight was a fight, whether the captain thought his opponent was an easy take down or not. The bell rang, the crowd bellowed in my ears, and the two boxers started their dance.

Determined not to repeat my previous exploits, I steadied myself against the duke, who had not left my side since we arrived. Clearly, he was doing all he could to make sure he witnessed the end of the match. Straight away, the captain rounded on MacMillan, punching the burly Scotsman in the mouth. Fortunately, there was no blood to speak of. Although, strangely, I wished there had been. I wanted the captain to win this match swiftly and without too much damage to his person, for his sake as well as Alice's.

Despite the eager gleam in MacMillan's eyes, Jules appeared to have decided not to give the amateur any grace as he took every opportunity open to him. While both fighters exhibited competent battle skills, after the first round, the gleam in MacMillan's eyes was accentuated by a crimson gash through his left eyebrow, while Jules had no injuries to speak of. During the short break, the duke felt the need to check on my status, leaning into my ear so he could be heard over the crowd noise.

"How are you feeling, so far, Mistress Hayes?"

"I am perfectly fine, your grace."

"Very well. Should you remain so, you will be fine to stay for the main attraction, then?"

I blinked at him, probably looking like a foolish owl waking in the morning rather than the eve. "This is not the main attraction?"

"Certainly not. These fellows are just the warmup act. You didn't think these good people came all the way out here for one fight, did you?" Based on his silly smirk, he knew damned well I wasn't aware of it. But there was nothing to do for it now.

The bell announced the second round, and the two men returned to their skirmish. MacMillan managed to catch the captain in the gut straight off. When the captain dropped his arm to protect himself, his opponent threw a fist at the captain's chin. MacMillan must have hit the soft flesh of the captain's lips, because he spat blood from his mouth. My own gut tightened at the carnage, but I refused to look away. If I could shoot a pheasant dead, I could do this.

After a bit more brutalizing, the bell rang, and, once again, I composed myself while the fighters did the same in their respective corners. The captain had not looked at me since that first glance, but why would he? He needed to focus on not getting pummeled to a pulp, and I needed to keep my wits about me. The same two females I had seen at the last match stood near the captain's corner. Apparently, they favored him. I only hoped they would not distract him with their low-cut dresses and suggestive manner.

The next two rounds deteriorated into bloody bludgeoning, and when Jules forced Macmillan to his knees from a violent right hook, I became acutely aware of the duke's hold on my waist as the crowd flew into a frenzy. MacMillan took his time getting back on his feet, but due to his unsteady stance, Jules was able to promptly knock him down again. This time, MacMillan remained on his knees, and the bell rang, ending the fight.

Whistles and jeers filled the arena, and the duke kissed me resoundingly on the cheek. "Your captain made good work of his opponent," he said breathlessly. "Although he will likely receive a few second glances at the earl's ball tomorrow. Based on the position of his nose, I believe it may be broken."

I stared across the ring where a rough-looking man wearing a thick beard tried to stave the flow of blood from the captain's nose with a stained cloth. "Oh, bother. Alice will not be pleased. Perhaps, I should see that he gets to a proper physician."

"Doctor Phipps is always on hand to see to any major injuries." He pointed to the bearded man who had tilted the captain's head backward and was moving his finger back and forth in front of the captain's eyes. "If you would like to be sure your captain has not sustained a grave injury, I will escort you to him while they prepare for the next match."

"Yes, I would like that. Thank you." Taking his hand, I allowed the duke to usher me across the arena. The smell of pipe smoke and body odor assaulted my nose, and I held my breath as the bodies parted to allow us room to pass.

When we arrived on the other side of the ring, the captain was being helped under the rope, but not by Dr. Phipps. His arms were slung over the shoulders of the two females. The doctor was still inside the ring putting his supplies away.

"Your grace." One of the women performed a curtsy, leaving the captain to stumble against the other one. "This is a right pleasure."

"Yes, hello. We're here to check on the wellbeing of your charge. How are you feeling, Captain Thompson?"

Wearing a painful grimace, the captain looked between myself and the duke, eventually letting his gaze stop on me. "I'b fide. Your presence was dot deeded, Bistress Hayes. I will be perfectly capable of chaperoning Alice to de earl's ball toborrow." He spoke like someone with a terrible head cold, and I felt a sudden rush of anger.

"Well, that's a relief to know. Will you be able to speak properly through a broken nose? What did the doctor say about it?"

"Dot broken. Just bruised. Dow, if you will excuse be. I have to take a sedative." He finally acknowledged the duke with a nod. "Your grace."

My cheeks continued to burn as the captain was hauled away by his giggling attendants, and the duke took ahold of my arm. "It appears your captain is in fine hands. Why don't we return to our places and prepare for the next battle?"

Although, I didn't believe the captain was in fine hands at all, Jules was a grown man making his own choices, no matter how idiotic I thought they were. I remained secured to the duke's side and endured two more punishing battles between behemoths who fought like blood-thirsty animals. By the time we were taking our seats inside the coach, I had convinced myself I would never attend another boxing match no matter who the captain found himself in the ring with.

Attuned to my distress, and being the noble gentleman that he was, the duke made blessedly few requests from his sex book, giving me the opportunity to engage in the positions I fancied and leaving my derriere mostly out of it. When the coachman dropped me at my home, I collapsed into bed, remembering very little of how I arrived there even after I was awoken by a faint knocking on my boudoir door.

"Mistress Hayes," came Tilda's wee voice. "You have a visitor."

Although my eyelids refused to open, I blinked until they cooperated, and I answered my maid in a voice that sounded like I might still be asleep. "Is it morning already?"

"Technically, yes. But the sky is still dark. It is round three o'clock."

"Who, in heaven's name, is calling at this hour?"

Groaning, I pushed upright as the door opened and Tilda peeked her head inside. "It is Captain Thompson, Mistress. And he is in a terrible state."

That got my eyes open, and I hopped out of bed, groping for my dressing gown hanging from the screen. "What kind of state? Is he injured?" Of course, he was injured. I had left him in the incapable hands of two harlots after being pounded by a large Scotsman.

"He does appear to have sustained a nose-ender. And he is quite intoxicated, to boot. He insists he speak with you about some urgent matter he refused to discuss with me. I saw him into the parlor. I hope that doesn't put you out."

"That's fine, Tilda. Thank you. Please, brew a strong pot of coffee while I attend him."

When I reached the captain, he was pacing my parlor, weaving past the serving cart and leaving the scent of sour parfum and sex in his wake. As he fumbled for a wingback to steady himself, I felt my annoyance grow. How dare he show up at this unholy hour and insist I open my home to him. If his needs were so urgent, why couldn't he share them with my maid? I corralled my temper and approached with caution.

"Good morning, Captain. To what do I owe the pleasure of this early visit?"

My presence appeared to startle him, and I grabbed his hand as he stumbled backward, falling into the wingback and pulling me down onto his lap. With only my dressing gown serving as a barrier, I felt the muscles of his thighs beneath my bottom and the curves of his chest against my back. Looking more pleased than startled, a wide smile grew on his face.

"Well, I've never been off...ered such a friendly greeting before." A strong-smelling hiccup interrupted his dubious comment, and I quickly unseated myself from his lap.

"Your drunkenness does not give you a pass for behaving badly. Tilda is making coffee, which I hope will bring your senses round." I gave his face a closer look and noticed a healthy purple halo blooming around his nose. "I wouldn't be so sure your nose is not broken."

"Sss...fine." He hiccupped again and waved his hand animatedly about his head, which lolled against the chair. His nose may have been fine, but his constitution was a wreck.

"On second thought, I don't think coffee is going to do it. Stay put. I'll be right back."

I hurried into the kitchen, where I found Tilda hovering dreamily over the kettle, waiting for the water to boil. "Tilda, I'm afraid I must ask another favor of you. Can you wake Jasper and have him meet me in the parlor straight away? Once the coffee is brewed, I will need you to bring it up to my bed chamber. I am relocating the captain there."

Tilda's eyes widened into saucers, although they were still glazed with sleep. "Aye, Mistress."

I knew what she was thinking, but I didn't have time for explanations, and I hurried back to the parlor to sit with my drunken charge. When Jasper arrived, I instructed him to accompany the captain up the stairs while I prepared a bath. Given his state, the captain made no enquiries as to why he was being brought to my bedroom and seemed only vaguely aware of his surroundings as he watched me fill the copper tub with warm water.

Tilda delivered the coffee, and once she realized what my true intentions were, she fetched my bath soap and we got to work removing the captain's stinking clothes. This finally roused some interest from him.

"I may be drunk, but I'm not easy," he croaked merrily.

I snorted as I roughly yanked a boot off his stockinged foot. "Tilda and I are simply preparing to give you a bath. Quite honestly, you stink. And based on what I'm smelling, I know exactly how easy you are."

That shut him up, and soon we had him relaxing in the tub while I scrubbed his body with a cloth. After Tilda managed to administer a full cup of coffee to our drunken sailor, I shooed her away. She seemed to be enjoying herself a bit too much.

"Now that your senses have come round somewhat, Captain," I began as I lathered up his hair. "What is it that brought you to my doorstep rather than your own?"

At first, I thought he might have fallen asleep. With the room lit only by candelabra, I saw precious little of the captain's form, relying on the sounds he made to gauge his coherent state. I adjusted my position to look into his face and found his eyes at half-mast, focused absently on the ceiling. Despite his awareness, he made no attempt to respond to my question.

"Captain? Are you..."

"What's your mission here, Mistress Hayes?" His habit of interrupting me was becoming tiresome, and I scowled as his eyes scanned my face, like I should be the one ashamed of my actions.

"Do you mean the fact that I have welcomed you into my home at three in the morning, offered you coffee to flush the alcohol from your system, and provided you a bath to wash the stench of blood and whore off your body?" Scooping water into a pitcher, I poured it over his soapy head, causing him to sputter.

"You could have given me some warning," he grumbled as he ran his hands over his face.

"I gave you as much warning as you gave me. I expect that makes us even."

We looked at each other through the flickering light, and I thought he might have been suppressing a smile, but it didn't break through. I filled the pitcher again and held it up until he acknowledged me with a nod. I dumped it over his head and stood to fetch him a bath towel.

"No. I am not talking about what you've done for me tonight. I am talking about what you've done for my family. If there is some compensation you're seeking, I won't abide it." The captain's tone remained neutral, as if he wasn't invested in the accusation he was making, and I reminded myself that he was still intoxicated even though the hiccups had abated. I snatched a towel from my wardrobe as I turned to face him.

"And what sort of compensation do you imagine I am after?"

His forehead wrinkled as he stared into the bathwater. "Coin? Influence? Admiration?"

With all the restraint I could muster, I walked back to stand in front of the captain as he continued to lounge in my tub. "I do not need the coin. I will never have the influence. And I have no interest in seeking admiration from anyone. Except, perhaps, my staff."

He finally met my gaze, and based on the uncertain tilt to his head, I expect my anger was showing through in my eyes. "Then what is your mission? The Thompsons are not in need of charity."

"Firstly, I did not ask to become embroiled in your family's unfortunate circumstance. And, secondly, Alice has been very plain that she enjoys our friendship. I enjoy hers as well. Were it not for me, I suppose she would be left taking her mother's position of caring for the household and the two, dare I say, selfish men who currently occupy it. I do not see it as charity. If you wish to call it anything, call it a kindness. If that's all you came here to say, I will hail you a hackney, and you can take your leave."

The captain had carried on this insulting manner from the moment he arrived, but there was no sense reminding him of this in his current state. With a painful knot forming in my throat, I held the towel out to him, although I wished to throw it in his face. He stood and took the towel, and I began cleaning up around him, listening to his unsteady footfalls as he stepped out of the tub and padded over to the cedar chest where his clothes were laid out.

The candelabra shone brighter where he stood, and I took advantage of the light to glimpse his nude form. While I had seen his bare torso in the boxing arena, I had only guessed what he might look like beneath his trousers, and I was impressed by the symmetrical nature of his upper and lower parts. He made a fine example of the human male form should any artist wish to sculpt him, apart from the damage inflicted during military battles and in the boxing ring. But those bits made him all the more masculine. Before he could find me staring, I went back to cleaning up. He still had not dressed when he spoke.

"I'm an arse. And I'm sorry."

I stopped to look at him, wondering whether to accept his apology now or make him repeat it tomorrow when his head had cleared. He went on before I could decide.

"I let those women babble on and get inside my head. I expect I would have let it go if I hadn't finished off that bottle of port."

Damned harlots. I should have known it was them. But it was still no excuse for his behaviour, and I wouldn't let him use those flirty females as scapegoats. "I agree, you have behaved like a drunken arse from the moment you arrived. Which is why I would prefer to hear your apology when you're in a clearer state of mind."

He squinted at me, his eyes still glazed and bloodshot, then he nodded his agreement. The action appeared to throw him off balance, and he toppled backward onto the bed. While it was not the first time a naked man had lain prone on my bed, they had always been paying benefactors. The captain seemed to find the situation amusing, and he started to laugh.

"I beg your pardon. The floor upended me. Just give me a moment while the rest of the room stops spinning."

"Please, do not be sick on my bed. Let me get you another cup of coffee."

While I poured his coffee, he continued to chuckle softly, throwing his arm over his eyes and spreading out comfortably on my best handwoven quilt. This was all quite inappropriate, and I planned to tell him so as I walked back with his cup. By then, he had composed himself and was staring intently at the canopy of my four-poster bed.

"So, it's only Alice?" he said. "She's the reason you have taken kindly to our family?"

What was he going on about now? Perhaps, the harlots weren't the only ones putting thoughts into his head. Curious where he was headed with his inquiry, I baited him, hoping he would reveal more. "Well, the state of your father has become my concern, as well."

"It's pity, then? Makes sense, I suppose. You seem obsessed with being charitable."

Obsessed?

"There is some amount of pity, yes. How could there not be? But my intentions are not fueled by it. They are genuine."

He finally turned his head to let his hooded gaze fall on me, while I stood beside the bed holding his cup and keeping my eyes averted from his manhood, which also exhibited pleasing dimensions. "You know, you cannot save everyone. And some of us aren't even worth saving."

"Where is your inebriated mind taking you, Captain?"

"Oh, we have been to hell and back. But that's no concern of yours. You have enough on your hands with Alice and my pitiful father." With that, he curled into a man-sized ball, completely ignoring the cup in my hand, and closed his eyes.

"Captain. Do not pass out on my bed. It is inappropriate."

"Inappropriate for whom?" he croaked, the sleep in his voice already taking over.

"Captain! You are nude in a courtesan's bed who is not your beneficiary. I would say it is inappropriate for all parties concerned."

"And how many...parties...is that...exactly?"

As I prepared to list the number of servants in my employ, his immediate family, the nosy neighbors who relished in gossip, I heard the captain's nasally respirations as he attempted to breathe through his bruised nose. If I wasn't mistaken, he had done precisely what I had asked him not to do. The man was out cold in my bed.