Her Royal Payne Page 8

  She glanced at the door to see if Mr. Mostyn would give her any guidance and saw Mr. Payne had one arm around Mr. Mostyn’s shoulder. Mostyn was leaning his head down to listen to Payne who was speaking earnestly. Mostyn glanced in her direction, and Modesty realized they must be speaking of her. Then Payne looked at her and gave her a reassuring smile. She tried to smile back, but it was all she could do this morning not to burst into tears yet again.

  “You write, and I will sign,” Mr. Mostyn said. It was the most words Modesty had ever heard him utter.

  Mr. Payne looked a little taken aback, but he didn’t argue. He entered the chamber, went to the desk, and opened and closed drawers until he found a blank sheet of parchment. Then he dipped a quill in ink, scrawled something quickly, and held the pen out to Mostyn. When Mostyn entered, the room seemed to grow very small and quite warm. The tall man bent, and with his tongue lodged at the corner of his lips, he made his mark. Then he replaced the quill and returned to the studio. Modesty could see why he used this room. The angle of the door allowed her to see almost the entire studio. She saw Mostyn hand the paper to Mr. Burr and then Burr nodded and left.

  “Lady Lorraine will be here soon,” Mr. Payne said. “In the meantime, make yourself comfortable. Do you need anything?”

  She tried not to look at him. When she looked at him, she couldn’t help but notice he did not wear a coat, and she could see the slimness of his waist where the waistcoat met his breeches. He had broad shoulders and unlike some men she knew, he did not need the coat to emphasize them. They were quite impressive even in shirt sleeves.

  “Miss Brown?” he asked.

  She quickly looked away. “Where should I sit?” she asked.

  “Anywhere you like. I believe Lady Lorraine favors this chair, so you might find it comfortable.” He indicated the feminine chair behind the desk. “Or you could sit on the chaise longue.” He indicated the couch before the fire. “Then you’re sure to be warm. I’ll be in the ring if you need anything.” He started for the door then paused. “Try not to make a sudden appearance when I’m in the middle of sparring,” he said. “My head has just stopped ringing from the last time.”

  “I apologize again,” she said. “I didn’t mean—”

  “I was teasing you. You haven’t been teased much, have you?”

  She shook her head. She couldn’t remember ever having been teased until she met him. She had always thought of teasing as an unwanted thing. A boy pulling a girl’s hair or calling each other rude names. But the sort of teasing Mr. Payne employed was not unpleasant at all. It was sort of a friendly banter.

  “Right. I’ll be in the studio,” he said. She watched him leave and wondered if she should close the door behind him. While she wondered, he stripped off his neckcloth and his waistcoat and handed them to Mr. Okoro, who laid them on a chair at the side of the ring. Then Mr. Payne sat on the chair and removed his boots and stockings. Modesty knew she should close the door now. At the very least, she should look away. There was nothing sinful about the human body. God had made it, and it was good—as was everything in His creation—but the direction of her thoughts was anything but pure. And Paul had instructed the church at Philippi to think on “whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely.”

  Mr. Payne’s calves were certainly lovely. They were round and muscled and covered with a light dusting of dark hair. And then he tugged his shirt over his head, and though she had seen his chest before—just this morning, in fact—her mouth still went slightly dry at the sight of his bare chest. Not only were his shoulders broad, they were muscled. She had seen statues carved out of marble, and she had thought the sculptors quite inventive in the way they portrayed the chiseled form of man.

  But now she knew men like those rendered in marble existed. Men who had flat bellies with ridges of muscle, thick biceps, and—Payne rose and gave her a view of his bare back—and Lord, help her, backs that all but rippled with muscles. Mr. Payne bent to duck under the ropes marking the boxing area, and Modesty quickly turned her back. She should not ogle him. She would not like to be ogled were she in his place. She would read the letters.

  She withdrew the packet from her coat pocket then decided it was too warm with the fire and removed the coat. There was a coat rack by the door, and she hung the coat there and then, a bit reluctantly, hung her hat there as well. She tucked stray pieces of hair into her cap and hoped not too much of her awful red hair was visible. Of course, standing so near the door she could not help but peek out. Payne was in the arena, going through a complicated set of jumps and lunges and dropping to the floor, all at what appeared to be Mr. Okoro’s direction. She realized he must be warming up his muscles, and since her thoughts were drifting to those muscles again, she looked away and took her packet of letters to the longue.

  The twine on the packet had been tied tightly as though to keep the letters undisturbed. Her efforts to loosen the knot only tightened it. Modesty wondered if her difficulty was a sort of sign. Perhaps she was not meant to read the contents of the letters. They were private. But how could she justify not reading them if they might give some indication as to the whereabouts of her father? What if he needed her, and the clues to finding him were in this packet of letters?

  She struggled with the knot further, and then gave up, went to the desk and searched for a letter opener. She found a quill knife and used it to sever the twine. The pieces unraveled and pooled on the desk. She swept them away and dumped them in the rubbish bin. Looking up, she noted she had an even better view of the studio from the desk, so she made a point of returning to the longue before she watched Mr. Payne too long.

  She was staring at the letter on the top of pile and wondering at the unfamiliar writing on it when she heard the first thud. She couldn’t stop herself from looking up and immediately witnessed another thud. Mr. Payne had hit Mr. Mostyn’s upraised palm. Mostyn had joined Payne in the ring. Mr. Mostyn had removed some of his clothing as well but retained his shirt. He was not moving around as Mr. Payne was. He was holding his hand up and moving it about as Mr. Payne danced around, jabbing high and low at Mr. Okoro’s orders. Mr. Okoro stood outside the ring, seeming to direct the activities inside.

  Modesty completely forgot the letters she was supposed to be reading—or perhaps not supposed to be reading—and stared at the action in the ring. The way Mr. Payne moved was mesmerizing. He was so fluid and quick. His muscles bunched and rippled as he moved, and it was almost beautiful. And then Mr. Okoro called out something and both men went to different corners. Mr. Mostyn leaned against the ropes on his side as though quite bored while Mr. Payne wiped his face with the towel Mr. Okoro offered and listened as Okoro gave him a litany of directions. Finally, he nodded and tossed the towel on the ropes. He went back to the center of the ring, and Mostyn joined him.

  Their stances were different now, tighter and purposeful. She realized the sparing was about to begin in earnest. The men circled each other, both crouched, Payne’s fists raised, Mostyn’s hanging loosely at his sides. Payne jabbed and Mostyn ducked. This went on for some time, with Mostyn seeming to easily avoid every punch Payne threw at him and not offering any of his own.

  And then suddenly that changed.

  Suddenly, as if some undetectable cue had been given, Mostyn threw a punch. Mr. Payne seemed ready for it. He ducked, turned, and punched back. Modesty winced at the thud of Mr. Payne’s fist connecting with Mr. Mostyn’s chest. She put her hands on her cheeks, ready to cover her eyes if necessary. She really did not want to see anyone hurt.

  The two continued their dance—advancing, retreating, one jabbing and then the other. Mr. Payne hit Mr. Mostyn again, and Modesty covered her eyes. Her fingers were spread, though, and she saw the smile Mr. Mostyn flashed. It was not a smile filled with any sort of humor.

  Faster than she could close her fingers, Mostyn feigned moving to the left. Mr. Payne shifted away, and Mostyn, who had only looked as though he would go left, had a
n opening and punched him hard in the belly.

  Mr. Payne doubled over, and Modesty ran toward the ring. She didn’t even realize she was running until she was at the ropes and pausing to figure out the best way to get through them. Finally, she decided there was no ladylike way to get through them and just crawled under one. Vaguely, she heard Mr. Okoro calling her name, but she ignored him, climbed to her feet and stood between Mostyn and Payne who was now looking up at her in confusion.

  “Step back!” she ordered Mr. Mostyn who looked down at her impassively. “Don’t you dare hit him again.”

  He didn’t move, which was not a promise not to hit Mr. Payne again, but at least wasn’t aggressive. She turned to Payne. “Are you hurt?”

  He gestured and moved his lips, but she couldn’t hear and had to step closer. Closer to that bare chest, which was now glistening with perspiration. “I’m fine,” he wheezed. “Just had the breath knocked out of me.”

  She turned back to Mostyn. “Why would you hit him so hard? This is supposed to be practice.”

  Mostyn looked at her then Payne then finally to Mr. Okoro as though he expected one of them to do something with her. Mr. Okoro entered the ring. “It is practice, Miss Brown.”

  “But Mr. Mostyn hit him very hard.” She gestured to Mr. Payne who was now covering his eyes as though humiliated.

  “Let me help you out,” Mr. Okoro said. Modesty allowed it and then allowed Mr. Okoro to escort her back to the antechamber. He went to a cabinet, lifted a pitcher, and poured a liquid into a glass. She took it and sniffed.

  “It is only water. You seemed overwrought.”

  “I am not overwrought.” She was overwrought. She must be if she was climbing into boxing rectangles. “I do not understand why that big brute would hit Mr. Payne.”

  Okoro smiled. “Rowden hit Mostyn first, and harder than he should have for a practice fight. Mr. Mostyn was repaying him in kind. It’s a sort of game with them. They have been friends for a long time, and they like to see who can land a punch.”

  “Hitting each other is a game?”

  “You do not have brothers, do you, Miss Brown?”

  “No. What has that to do with anything?”

  “Never mind. I assure you Mr. Payne is fine. He is also a big brute. If Mr. Mostyn wanted to flatten him, he could have. He pulled that punch at the last moment.”

  She sipped the water and sank onto the longue, considering. “It did not appear that he pulled it, as you say.”

  “I assure you he did. Moreover, you needn’t concern yourself with the practice. I am there to make certain Rowden is ready for his fight tomorrow. He won’t be ready if Mr. Mostyn knocks him flat. But you should let me watch out for him. Men do not like to be rescued by women.” He lowered his voice. “Hurts the pride.”

  She thought of Mr. Payne with his hand over her eyes. “I didn’t think of that.”

  “I daresay this situation is all new. Mostyn’s lady will come soon, and she will explain everything.”

  “Fine.” Modesty nodded, rather embarrassed now that she had obviously overreacted. When Mr. Okoro returned to the studio, she rose and closed the door after him. She had come here to read the letters and read the letters she would.

  No matter how much they scared her.

  Six

  Lady Lorraine swept in with a lot of noise and commotion as she always did. She wore a velvet dress in deep green with a matching cape. Burr hurried in her wake and she had two maidservants with her as well. As soon as Rowden heard her laugh, Mostyn cocked his head and climbed under the ropes. In the middle of the round. What man walked away from a fight before the bell was rung?

  Rowden put his hands on his hips in annoyance as he watched Mostyn greet his wife. She smiled up at him, her cheeks pink from the cold. The cape concealed her figure, so Rowden couldn’t see if there was any sort of bump indicating she was with child, but she certainly didn’t act like she had slowed down at all. She was speaking rapidly, as usual, directing everyone in her wake hither and yon.

  She came to a stop before the ring and looked up at Rowden. He gave her a slight bow. “A pleasure to see you again, my lady.”

  Mostyn threw his shirt at him, hitting him square in the face.

  Lady Lorraine laughed, and Rowden tugged the shirt over his head. “It is a pleasure to see you as well, my lord.”

  He raised a hand. “I’m not a lord any longer.”

  “You should be,” she said definitively. “And I will simply never get used to calling you Mr. Payne. You are Lord Rowden Payne to me. I deem it so.”

  “How can I argue then?”

  “You can’t. Now, where is my charge?”

  Rowden shook his head. “She isn’t a charge, exactly.” It was best if Lady Lorraine didn’t begin to think of Miss Brown as a little injured bird to take under her wing. Rowden was trying to keep himself from thinking that way. Yes, Miss Brown needed help, and yes, he wanted to help her insofar as he could. But there was only so much he could do. She needed someone to assume care for her, and he was not a relation or a husband, and therefore couldn’t do more than he’d already done.

  In fact, a young unmarried woman like her should not be associating with him too frequently. Even if she did have captivating eyes...

  But he had to put her out of his head, as he had been doing, because she wasn’t the sort of woman he could have anything to do with or would want to have anything to do with him. Better to give her to Lady Lorraine and have her assist. She was always looking for something to do.

  “She needs help finding her aunt, one Augusta Ryan.”

  “Never heard of her, but I can make inquiries.”

  “I thought you might. She’s in a bit of a fragile state. Her father has gone missing and she has nowhere to go. Burr found her sleeping on the stoop outside this morning and brought her to me.”

  “Why you?” Lady Lorraine asked.

  “That’s a long story. Mostyn can tell you.”

  She glanced at her husband. “You know he will never tell me.”

  Rowden pointed to the closed door of the antechamber. “She’s in there.” He climbed under the ropes. “I’ll introduce you.”

  “So your fall from grace did not strip you of all your manners, I see.”

  He winced. “I suppose that pun was intentional.”

  “Anyone with the sobriquet The Royal Payne must appreciate a good pun.”

  Mostyn moved ahead of them and opened the door to the antechamber. He stopped, stared, and looked back at his wife. “She’s asleep.”

  Lady Lorraine peered around him. “Why is she dressed like that?”

  “She’s a Methodist or some such thing,” said Rowden.

  “The Methodists I know don’t dress like that.”

  Rowden didn’t know any Methodists. Or if he did, they hadn’t confessed to it. Come to think of it, she’d never said she was a Methodist. He’d just assumed. “Maybe she’s not a Methodist. She’s part of one of those churches who stand outside taverns and yell at the soiled doves to repent. Her mother is dead, and her father is missing, and all she has is some memories of an aunt. She was supposed to be reading these letters we found to see if they contained any information on the aunt.”

  Lady Lorraine moved into the room and looked down at Miss Brown, who was curled into a ball, her face pressed into the cushions of the longue. The letters were clutched in her hand.

  “Poor thing. And why were you involved again?”

  She did not surrender easily.

  “Mostyn will tell you. I have to get back to the studio.” But he didn’t move. Instead, he watched as Ewan’s wife bent and put a hand on Miss Brown’s shoulder. “What is her name?” she asked quietly.

  “Modesty Brown.”

  “Miss Brown.” Lady Lorraine shook her slightly. “Miss Brown, time to wake up.”

  Miss Brown’s striking eyes opened, and she sat quickly. “I fell asleep.”

  “That’s quite alright. You must be very tired after y
our ordeal.”

  “Lady Lorraine,” Rowden said, “may I present Miss Modesty Brown.”

  Miss Brown got to her feet. “Should I curtsy?”

  Lady Lorraine held out a white-gloved hand. “Why don’t we shake hands?”

  Miss Brown shifted her letters to the other hand and took Lady Lorraine’s.

  “Did you read the letters?” Rowden asked.

  Miss Brown looked sheepish. “Not yet. I was about to, but I must have fallen asleep.”

  Rowden believed her, but he didn’t think that was the whole of the reason. He would have thought she would start reading the letters immediately, almost as soon as he removed them from the trunk. But she had hesitated to even take them. Was she afraid of what she might find out?

  “You must be tired and hungry,” Lady Lorraine said, taking her arm. “You will come home with me, and after you have rested and eaten, we can talk about the aunt you’re searching for. I know almost everyone and surely someone knows someone who knows who and where Augusta Ryan might be. I have the carriage, and we can be home shortly.”

  “Lorrie,” Ewan said, his voice a warning. He was a man of few words, but he didn’t need them. Clearly, he was not happy with the plan for Miss Brown to travel to his home.

  “I will see you this evening,” Lady Lorraine told him. “I’ll tell Cook to prepare your favorite for dinner tonight.” She led Miss Brown out of the antechamber then directed one of her maids to return and gather any correspondence. “I’ll read it, and we can discuss any necessary replies after dinner,” she told her husband. He scowled at her, but she merely waved and was gone.