Free His Wicked Heart by Darcy Burke Page A

table. Jasper
didn’t wait for niceties and poured himself a healthy draught. He
took a deep, stinging drink, noting the entrance of two women, one
with radiant red hair. She wasn’t Olivia, but her presence reminded
him of her duplicity.
    “You ready for conversation yet?” Sevrin
asked with a more than a bit of sarcasm. Jasper shot him a warning
glance, but Sevrin didn’t seem to care. He gestured to the lean
young man sitting to his left. “This is Gifford. I don’t think
you’ve met.”
    Jasper contemplated the smoothness of
Gifford’s jaw, the narrow set of his shoulders. He wasn’t terribly
young, but neither had he reached full manhood. “Is he old enough
to fight?”
    Sevrin called for ale. “Don’t be an old fart,
Saxton.”
    “Will you fight tonight?” the young man
asked.
    “Aye.” Jasper drained the cup, eager for the
gin to take the edge off his emotions. Coupled with a good fight,
soon he wouldn’t feel a thing.
    “Your knuckles have been bleeding, Sax,”
Sevrin observed. “You already get into it tonight?”
    “A necessary interruption.”
    “I suppose that means you weren’t at some
Society event. Isn’t there a ball or dinner party that needs your
attendance?”
    A musicale at Lady Ponsonby’s, not that
Jasper cared. “Probably.”
    Their ale was delivered—one tankard for each
of the three men at the table. Sevrin took a long draught before
saying, “I understand you’ll be selecting a bride soon.”
    Jasper swilled the rest of his gin. “How do
you know that?”
    “My membership at White’s is still intact.”
Sevrin grinned. “There are some things even stiff-necked Society
pricks can’t take from a viscount. I saw at least a dozen wagers in
the betting book as to who she’ll be. Care to give me a tip?”
    “No.”
    A crash from the other side of the common
room drew their attention. Then came a shriek. Gifford jumped to
his feet. Jasper and the others followed.
    The commotion grew. Gifford preceded them
toward the altercation. On the floor, a man straddled one of the
women who’d entered. “Ye’re coming with me.”
    She struggled, but the man was too big for
her. Gifford reached down and threw him to the side. The boy was
much stronger than he looked.
    The man scrambled to his feet, but Gifford
advanced on him. “You shouldn’t beat up women.” He grabbed the man
by the front of his shirt and pushed him against the wall. His head
hit the wood with a loud smack. Surprisingly, he didn’t lose
consciousness.
    The tavern keeper rushed to Sevrin. “Not in
the common room. We have an arrangement.”
    Sevrin nodded and moved to Gifford’s side. He
pulled on the lad’s arm. “Go to the back. I’ll take care of this.”
His voice was stern.
    Gifford hesitated a moment, then he turned
without a word.
    “Go with him,” Sevrin said to Jasper.
    He nodded and followed the youth into the
back room they used for fighting. He stepped over the threshold
just as he heard a grunt. Gifford stood near the far wall shaking
out his hand.
    “Did the wall somehow offend?” Jasper crossed
the room and studied the lad’s hand. “I thought you meant to tear
that man’s limbs from his body.”
    “I might’ve, if not for Sevrin. If not for
this club.”
    Though he’d only just joined, Jasper shared
his sentiment. In the midst of Holborn’s expectations, he’d needed
something he could take inside himself and hold close. Fighting the
other night and tonight dulled the sharp edges of his emotions,
made the cold requirements of his station palatable. Jasper
marveled at the commonality between him and this young man. “I
think I understand.”
    Gifford gave a commiserative nod, his eyes
burning bright. “You can do things here, be different here.”
    Sevrin stalked into the room. “Christ, Giff,
you know the rules. No fighting outside this room.”
    “I know. I’m sorry.” He said the words, but
he didn’t look contrite at all. The fire in his gaze was hot and
vivid. “I