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That wasn’t exactly the excited response Lydia was hoping for, but for now, that would do. She wound her arm with Honoria’s and led her along the Serpentine. “Now… help me devise a better plan to steal the jewel from the viscount.”

Honoria frowned in thought. “Well, I do not know how, that is more your area of expertise, but I do have an idea about where you can execute your plan.”

“Yes?” Lydia raised her brow.

“The Caldwells are holding a ball in a week’s time. And I can make certain that you’re both invited.”

* * *

Thorn fondled the ring between his fingers as he watched the two men in the ring trade blows.

“You know you need to take it off.” Mr. Johnson, the proprietor of the boxing academy and the finest boxing instructor London had ever known, approached Thorn.

“I know.” Thorn swiftly removed the chain from his neck. He caressed the ruby with his thumb before wrapping the chain around the ring.

“Good to see you back,” Mr. Johnson said, clapping Thorn on the shoulder as he passed him. “By the way, you’re next,” he added over his shoulder.

Thorn grunted in response. The men around him shifted uncomfortably, stepping back and clearing a path as Mr. Johnson stalked through the crowd in search of Thorn’s opponent.

Turning away, Thorn stepped to where his waistcoat lay discarded. He slipped his hand into the inner lining and tucked the chain-wrapped ring into the hidden pocket. He smoothed the material, ensuring it would not slip free, then folded the garment and placed it beneath his pile of discarded clothing.

Safe. Hidden.

The club was filled with gentlemen, true, but last night’s events had left him more paranoid than usual.

How had the ring managed to slip free from his chain and bounce off the bed all by itself?

When he’d found it under the bed, nothing else in the room had been disturbed. He’d thought he was going mad.

For a moment, upon waking up, he’d imagined that someone was in his room. But if they were, how would they escape unnoticed? More importantly, if someone was indeed inside his room, why would they attempt to steal this ring?

True, it was valuable, but most of its worth was sentimental to Thorn. He had far more expensive pieces in his jewelry box. More than likely, he had simply stretched in his sleep and dislodged the chain, sending the ring flying through the air.

“Well, well, well,” a familiar voice interrupted his thoughts. “If it isn’t the prodigal champion of Johnson’s boxing academy.”

Thorn straightened and squeezed his friend’s proffered hand. “Glad to see you, Luke.”

Lucien Drake, tall and lean with the graceful build of a fencer rather than a boxer, flexed his shoulders. His dark hair was already damp with sweat from earlier matches, but his hazel eyes sparkled with their usual mischief. “Haven’t seen you for a while. Where have you been?”

“Busy. I am assuming you’re my sparring partner?”

Luke let out a snort. “Everyone else is too afraid to step forward.”

“Drake, Thornton, step into the ring,” Mr. Johnson’s voice rang out across the training hall, cutting through the murmur of conversation and the rhythmic thud of punches against leather.

They climbed through the ropes and faced each other, raising their arms.

“So, what’s the news?” Luke asked as they both circled each other.

Thorn threw easy practice jabs, and Luke easily deflected them. “My father is finally on his deathbed.”

“Hm…” Luke let out a breath, weaving away from Thorn’s left hook. “I don’t suppose you’re going to be grieving the loss.”

Thorn didn’t answer. Instead, he pressed forward with a flurry of punches, one slipping through Luke’s guard to land just below his ribs. Luke stepped back, both men using the moment to circle and catch their breath, sweat beginning to gleam on their skin.

In truth, Thorn just didn’t know how to answer the question. Sure, he despised him now, but there was a time he idolized the man. For better or worse, he’d shaped Thorn to be who he was today. And the person he was today couldn’t find enough cruelty in his heart not to feel a hollow ache at the thought of him dying. It didn’t mean he had forgiven him, though, or that he ever would.

“Have you heard?” Lucien tried another angle, seeing as he wasn’t getting an answer to his previous question. “Rivendale has arrived in London.”