Whirlwind Affair

all his comments. He were nothin' but a servant! Well, when Refern collected his blunt, the first thing he were going to do were hire himself a fancy butler he could sniff orders at.

After a quarter hour wait, where he were forced to stand on his throbbing ankle-'cause in spite of all the hoity- toityness of his lordship's fancy house, there weren't one single chair in the bloody foyer-Willis finally led him down the corridor. Well, when Redfern collected his blunt, the second thing he were going to do were buy himself a fine house and fill the bloody foyer with bloody chairs so a bloody body could sit itself down. Yes, he'd set himself up right nice, and never again take orders from any nose-in-the-air nobleman.

Seconds later Willis opened a door. Redfern offered him his best sneer, then limped across the carpet. The door closed behind him with a firm click.

The earl sat in a brown leather chair near the fireplace, a brandy snifter cradled in one hand, the other hand resting on his mastiff's enormous head. Both the earl and the dog watched his hobbling progress across the room through narrowed eyes, and Redfern weren't certain which made him more uncomfortable-the man or the beast. He weren't particularly fond of dogs, especially dogs wot looked like they could chew his arm off with one bite. Shelbourne certainly seemed to love the monstrous beast, always pettin' it. He'd even heard the earl talkin' sweet to the beast several times, in a silly high-pitched voice like one would use with a tyke. He indulged in a mental shrug. Just no figurin' the Quality.

Redfern halted in front of the earl. The heat from the fire only partially eased the chill of unease snaking down his back. No, the earl didn't look happy-and he hadn't even told him the bad news yet. Maybe this was a bad idea.

'Well?' the earl asked in that icy tone of his.

Trying to inject confidence into his voice, Redfern said, 'I've got me some good news, my lord. That box you want? You'll have it by this time tomorrow. You've got me word on that.'

'Really? Unless you intend to rob me, I do not see how that is possible. You see, Redfern, I have the box.'

'You?' Redfern repeated, confused. 'How'd-'

'Mrs. Brown gave it to me.'

Although muddled by all the whys and what-fors, Redfern instantly understood the ramifications. Relief relaxed his shoulders. 'Well, fine, then. You've got what you wanted. Now, about my blunt-'

'I'm afraid there's a problem, Redfern. You see, the box contained a note I wanted. The note is no longer in the box, leading me to believe Mrs. Brown still has it.'

'Bloody hell, wot's this now? First you wanted the ring. Then the box. Now this note. Why the blazes, if all you'd wanted was this foolish note all along, hadn't you just said so?' He clenched his hands to curb the overwhelming desire to plant the earl a facer. 'You blame me for botchin' a job, but how can you expect me to succeed when I don't have all the bloody facts?'

The look the earl leveled upon him was no doubt meant to freeze his blood, but there was no cooling the anger bubbling in Redfern's veins.

'I wanted all of them,' the earl said. 'The ring, the box, and the note were together until you separated them. My error was in assuming you were intelligent enough to carry out the simplest of orders.'

He took a leisurely sip from his brandy, then continued, 'I want that note, Redfern. And you're going to get it for me. Do you understand?'

'I understand.' But it's the last bloody thing I'm doin 'for the likes of you.

'Good. Mrs. Brown is traveling tomorrow to the Bradford country estate in Kent. I'm certain she'll have the note with her.'

He hesitated. Blast and be damned, hopefully the earl weren't going to want him to read this bloody note. Well, if so, he'd figure some story. He'd gotten himself this far without knowin' how to cipher words. 'Course, the earl didn't know that. And none of his business it was, either. 'How will I know which note you're lookin' for? You know how ladies are, always keepin' letters and such.'

'This letter will be old, and will have been folded many times so it would have fit in the ring box. It will be hidden somewhere-she wouldn't keep it out in the open. Bring me the letter, and I'll make you rich beyond your wildest dreams. If you fail…' The earl shrugged. 'I believe I've already made myself clear regarding that scenario.'

Very clear. Still, nothin' but anticipation surged through Redfern. He would indeed be a rich man. Because the blasted earl were going to have to pay a king's ransom before Redfern would surrender that letter.

*********

Robert eyed the rough-looking character who answered his knock on Michael Evers' door. Although properly garbed in servant's attire, the man looked more like a cutthroat than a butler. No doubt because of the huge muscles evident beneath his black jacket, his shaved head, the scar that diagonally bisected his forehead, and the small gold hoop earring dangling from his left lobe. He looked as if he could pulverize stone without breaking a sweat.

'Bloody early fer a visit, ain't it?' the giant growled. He crossed his beefy arms over his massive chest and regarded Robert from his extraordinary height with an obsidian-eyed glare.

Robert handed the man his calling card, which was swallowed up in his ham-sized palm. 'I need to see Mr. Evers. Immediately.' Although he favored the man with his best aristocratic stare, it was damned difficult to peer down his nose at someone who stood a foot taller than him.

'Well, we'll just see if Mr. Evers needs to speak to you.' With that, the door slammed in Robert's face.

Momentarily stunned, he stood on the porch, a cool gust of early morning air blowing about him. Then amusement tickled him. Damn, but Michael certainly employed a colorful group, both at his boxing emporium and his home, and it seemed some new face or another was always popping up. This giant was unfamiliar to Robert. As he recalled, Michael's last butler had been thin as a stick and sported a patch over one eye.

Robert knew his friend could afford properly trained servants, as well as a much grander residence, thanks to his lucrative career. But Michael preferred to live simply, in a part of town that, while decent, fell short of being fashionable. And he'd once told Robert that he liked to hire people who needed a second-or in some cases a third or fourth-chance in life. An admirable and noble sentiment to be sure, and Michael could certainly defend himself against any ruffian who might be foolish enough to cross him.

The door swung open. With a jerk of his head, the giant indicated he should enter. 'This way,' he growled, leading Robert down a short corridor. Opening a door, the giant shouted across the threshold, 'Here's the bloke wot came to see ya.'

Robert entered the breakfast room. Michael looked at him over the rim of a steaming cup of what, based on the redolent scent in the air, was strong coffee.

'Good morning, Jamison. You're looking a mite better than when I saw you last.'

'Feeling better, too.'

'No more being bashed on the head, then?'

'No, Although I suspect your, er, butler would be happy to oblige.'

'Don't worry about Crusher. His bark far outweighs his bite.'

'I don't believe I'd care to experience either his bark or his bite. Do I want to know why he's called Crusher?'

'Probably not.' He waved Robert forward. 'Sit down. Enjoy some coffee. Would you care for some food?'

'No, nothing, thank you. I cannot stay. We are leaving for Bradford Hall as soon as I return to the town house.'

'We?'

'Me and Al-Mrs. Brown.'

'Aye? And how is the lovely widow? Fully recovered, I hope?'

To Robert's annoyance, warmth crept up his neck. 'She is very well.'