Trimmed in Blue

by Sandra Sookoo

  Riley came out swinging, literally. Cecil was caught up in a whirlwind of blows that left him reeling and doubled up with pain, along with a bloody nose. He hadn’t had a chance to defend himself from the attack. And it was hardly gentlemanly. This was rough and tumble street fighting, but he would do his best.

  He took a deep breath and retaliated using a quick double uppercut, one with each fist, and then followed those with a blow to the man’s temple.

  But Riley wouldn’t go down.

  From seemingly a long distance, Louisa’s cry of encouragement sank into his brain, discerned somehow over the roar and cheers from the crowd. His heart squeezed to know she continued to support him even when he wasn’t making his best showing. Samuel yelled for him to pull his head from his arse and to keep moving. Footwork as well as strategic punches would win the day; they always did.

  Of course, he knew it, but Cecil nodded. He could do this. Above all, he couldn’t let the distraction of Louisa take him out. Straightening his spine, he blew out a breath and once more faced his opponent. Stupidly, he wanted to appear as a hero in Louisa’s eyes to elevate his status, make her think he was more than what he was.

  “Give up already, Carrington. I’m twice the boxer you are.” Riley snarled and snapped his teeth as he circled.

  “Sorry to disappoint you.” Every movement he made brought spikes of pain to different places in his body, but he entered the fray once more.

  “Stubborn nob.” Riley came on like a beast. The man was good and had brute strength on his side. “Your time as London’s darling is at an end.”

  Cecil defended the best he could, but it was as if he were fighting a hurricane and being battered from all sides. For the first time since he began boxing for money, his confidence flagged. Though he rallied a few times, punch after punch was exchanged, and Riley barely slowed his assault.

  As the match wore on, round followed round, and Cecil’s endurance wavered. His stamina waned. Blood dripped down his face and onto his chest. He couldn’t remember how many wounds he’d sustained. Sweat streaked into his eyes, stinging, and blurring his vision. At least Riley looked the same. He laughed as he swung at the man, missing. His muscles burned from overuse. Countless bouts before this, he’d bested his opponent in under three rounds. Never had he worked so hard for a victory. His body ached from the continued beatings, but he defended himself, for it was all he could do.

  No longer was he on the offensive and hadn’t been for much of this current round. “Enough,” he called and hoped his voice held.

  Then the round-ending blow came without Riley acknowledging his concession like a gentleman.

  “Ha!” His opponent slammed a ham-fist into Cecil’s stomach that lifted him off his feet and sent him flying over the grass. He landed hard on his back with a knee bent while gasping for air. Unfortunately, he had no strength to regain his footing.

  “Shit.” As if he were disconnected from himself, he laid there while life continued around him. The judge counted down from five while Cecil didn’t move in the sweet meadow grasses, wheezing and cataloging his injuries. Sometimes, a man had to take the loss, but he didn’t have to like it. Damn it all. If he hadn’t filled his deuced head with thoughts of her...

  Women ruin everything.

  The crowd roared as James Riley was declared the winner. Fickle people, those. At the start, he was the favorite, unless one counted the betting books at various clubs. Now, he’d fallen from grace. And what a bitter tumble it was.

  Cecil sat up in time to catch the other man’s bloody grin, and he nodded. “Good show, Riley. You bested me soundly.” The fight had been a much-needed challenge as well as an ego buster. He’d learned the lesson. His ego had needed the hit. Never again would he let a woman discombobulate him. Starting from this moment, Louisa was nothing more than a student to whom he taught boxing.

  That was all.

  As a few of the more rabid fans of the sport swarmed Riley’s corner, Cecil struggled to his feet and returned to his. Once there, he accepted a towel from Samuel. “Thanks.” He hated to face a potential lecture from his friend, but there was nothing for it.

  “That wasn’t your best performance, Carrington,” Samuel murmured, but instead of the disappointment in the other man’s eyes, there was speculation.

  “I know.” Over Samuel’s shoulder, his gaze connected with Louisa’s. Shock reflected on her face, shock and concern. Her eyes, now more green than brown, were wide and round and held way too many questions. With effort, he ignored her even though doing so caused him a lancing pain different than what he’d received from his injuries.

  “You’re distracted.” Thank goodness Samuel didn’t turn around.

  “I know.” Cecil wiped at the blood and sweat on his face and head. Then he drew the towel over his chest, breathing a sigh of relief when the crowd surged again and Louisa as well as her brother disappeared from view. Perhaps they’d made the decision to leave. “It won’t happen again.”

  “I thought you would take ‘im, Mr. Carrington.” William wasn’t as skilled in hiding his disappointment as Samuel was. But then, he was a boy yet.

  “Me too.” He shrugged, and when his muscles screamed a protest, he groaned. What he wanted more than anything was to be alone, so he could berate himself in private. “Get on with the both of you.” He waved them off, too spent for arguments. “I’ll meet you for dinner later at our usual spot once I clean up.”

  “I don’t know what fuckery you’re handin’ me, Cecil, but I’m not believin’ it.” So great was Samuel’s ire that he’d resorted to island slang. He tossed Cecil’s clothes over.

  “Just... don’t right now.” After another pass of the rag over his face, Cecil threw it into the empty water bucket with the others.

  “Do you require medical assistance?” Samuel asked instead, once more composed. “You look like you’ve slept in the gutter for a month.” His cultured tone was back. Perhaps that meant his annoyance had passed.

  “Nothing is broken, save my nose and my pride.” He yanked on his garments. “Go. I’m in no mood for company.”

  “Back to sulking.” Samuel snorted. He flicked his gaze around the immediate area. Of course the crowd shifted and showed Louisa clearly standing there. “Ah. Come, William. Wi run tings, tings nuh run wi, eh Cecil?” he asked in a soft voice.

  Cecil rolled his eyes. “Yes, every man is indeed in charge of his own destiny, and I’m about to make certain mine is back on the path I’ve always intended.” And that meant forgetting everything about Louisa.

  Period.

  “Aye, let me know how that goes.” Samuel glanced at William, who shrugged and retrieved the bucket. “If you’re so tied up in knots now, I can’t imagine what you’ll be like given another few weeks.” Then they both exited the ring at the opposite side.

  Eventually, the crowd thinned and left the area. Riley held court with a small knot of supporters at the far end of the meadow. Bastards who withheld their appreciation when things went bad. With a sigh and a tight chest, Cecil ducked under the rope and approached Louisa. How the devil was he to broach the subject?

  But Jonas spoke first and scattered his thoughts. “Good show, Mr. Carrington. Great fight.” Hero worship was clearly stamped upon his shining face and in his eyes behind his thick spectacle lenses.

  He grunted and tamped down a groan. God, his body ached. “I lost the match,” he said in clipped tones.

  “Doesn’t mean you’re finished.” The boy shrugged. “It means you have more motivation to show the next guy how good you truly are.”

  “I thought you were splendid,” Louisa added. Her gaze roved over his chest and she bit her lower lip slightly as she stared. “I had no idea watching a boxing match would be so heart-pounding, so exciting, so real.”

  Bloody, bloody hell. Cecil’s promise to himself dissolved like sugar in water at the admiration sparkling in her eyes. What he wouldn’t give to kiss her right now. “Thank you.” Then he peered more closely
at her brother. Red marks and slight bruising on his cheek told of a slap or punch. He looked at Louisa. She bore lines of exhaustion on her face and slight shadows beneath her eyes. She also favored her left arm. “Damn it all.” The situation for them grew worse daily. “Why didn’t you send word?” As gently as he could, he examined Jonas’ cheek.

  “There wasn’t time, Mr. Carrington. Only when Mother and Father left the house today for a picnic with friends did we escape.” His eyes were as wide as his sister’s. “She fought him though, last night. I heard it. Father ran down the hall holding his privates.” Pride rang in the boy’s voice.

  “Good.” He slid his attention to Louisa. His heart squeezed painfully. “Are you well?” How could he ever think to leave her at merely a student? It simply wasn’t possible. Not anymore.

  “I’ve been hurt worse.” But she didn’t stop cradling her arm.

  What did he want more than anything? To hold her and tell her everything would turn out right as rain. “Perhaps you were correct after all, Jonas, about the motivation,” Cecil said quietly.

  There was plenty of time to lick his wounds when he was alone. But his motivation had never been more solid. No matter what it took, he would help her change her fate regardless of what that meant for him.

  Louisa’s happiness was his new goal.

  Chapter Eleven

  November 4, 1818

  Another sparring lesson was in the offing. Louisa walked through Hyde Park rather briskly, for a decided chill had set in. This morning, she wore a borrowed jacket in addition to her breeches, shirt, and vest—her usual attire for boxing lessons—as well as one of the grooms’ slouch-style caps. Her hair was tightly contained in a knot at the back of her head, and the mass rested comfortably beneath said head gear. It was all in hopes that, to any prying eyes, she resembled a chimney sweep taking a short cut to his destination.

  Not to mention she could easily blend in with the merchant class or slip through alleys better than if she’d been in skirts, for she didn’t trust her stepfather not to have her followed. Thank goodness she’d taken precautions and hadn’t hired a hack until she’d wandered a circuitous route through Mayfair.

  Her breath puffed about her head as she scurried along the darkened paths of the park. As much as she could, Louisa stuck close to the Serpentine, for with every step her mind wandered, and Cecil dominated her thoughts. Ever since the night of their shared kiss, she’d been at sixes and sevens.

  He’d certainly made an impression on Jonas. Meeting Mr. Carrington the boxer was all the boy could talk about, and still she didn’t reveal that she took lessons from the man. It was a secret she wished to savor. But, in order to treat her brother and to get them both out of the house and away from the baron, she’d taken him to watch the boxing match two days ago. She’d lied to their mother about their destination and didn’t care one whit for the consequences if they were caught.

  She’d needed to think.

  Except, all the thoughts she’d wanted to ponder had fallen right out of her head the second she’d spied Cecil in all his boxer’s glory. He’d been spectacular, both while fighting his hulking opponent and stripped down to breeches and shoes. Oh, the sight of that bare chest and the muscles that rippled with each movement! A shiver of delight fell down her spine at the remembrance.

  Never before had she openly gawked at a half-naked man. But then, never before had the sight of one captured her imagination and fired her fantasies either. He’d moved like a dancer; his punches were powerful, his footwork sublime. Surely, he’d withheld all the gritty details of boxing from her, for seeing it firsthand was most assuredly different than the sparring she did with him during lessons. She’d been utterly captivated with the fight. How the two of them had interacted, the types of punches used, the raw force they’d both exuded when locked in combat had boggled her mind. Jonas had been as enchanted, and she’d seen him doubling up his fists as if he wished to copy their movements.

  Though Cecil had ultimately lost the match, he’d been magnificent, and she’d given a piece of her heart to him for no other reason than he’d taken the time to talk with Jonas even while in a rotten mood that no amount of breeding or manners could hide.

  “Damnation, Louisa, watch where you’re going.”

  The growl in his voice yanked her from her thoughts just as his hand on her arm prevented her from falling into the Serpentine. Obviously, his frame of mind was still foul.

  “Good morning,” she responded, biting back the sharp retort she’d intended.

  “You’re late.” The annoyance in his tone grated across her nerves. Yes, he’d lost the bout, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a glorious fighter.

  “By a tick perhaps.” She rubbed her left arm from where he’d grabbed her. Vague aches bothered her from the last run in with the baron.

  Immediately, Cecil frowned, or rather, his frown grew and his eyebrows sloped downward. “You favored the arm two days ago.” It wasn’t a question. “Did I hurt you further?” His tone softened slightly. “I apologize. Sometimes, I don’t realize my strength.”

  “No.” That was another aspect of him she marveled at. His hands, so rough and powerful enough to throw punches were also gentle and as delicate as angel’s wings when he handled breakable glass or even caressed her cheek. This man was an enigma. As he removed his padded gloves from where they rested over his shoulder, she shook her head. “It’s almost healed.”

  “Was what Jonas said true?” He snapped his teeth together.

  “Yes.” Louisa unhooked her gloves’ laces that were tied to the waistband of her trousers. “The night before the fight, I retired early.” Heat slapped her cheeks, for she’d wanted to finish the sketch she’d started of Cecil. “After puttering with my watercolors, I fell asleep. He came into my room, perhaps at one o’clock.” She swallowed down the sick taste in her mouth. “I woke to him standing at the side of my bed. When I sprang up, he caught my arm and wrenched it, sending me stumbling. I attempted to fight him like you’ve showed me, but in the end, I rammed my knee into his manhood. That sent him running.”

  “That bastard doesn’t deserve to live.” The deceptively quiet warning rumble in his voice sent gooseflesh sailing over her arms.

  Louisa ignored his response, for if she didn’t, she would break into tears, and she wanted to appear strong in Cecil’s eyes. Too many times already she’d told of her worries and difficulties. Would he think her a victim? “In any event, he’s either craftier and stronger than I’ve given him credit for, or—”

  “Or?” He looked sharply at her.

  “Or I’m not a good enough student. I should have been able to rout him with punches.”

  Cecil jerked on his padded gloves and yanked the ties with his teeth. “Or I’m a miserable teacher. It would explain why I lost the match.” The annoyance had grown in his tone, but this time it was directed at himself.

  Though her heart squeezed for him, her patience slipped. She put on her own padded mittens and let him tie the laces. The tautness across her hands sent anticipation dancing down her spine. “You are a brilliant teacher, and a wonderful mentor, really, in more things than boxing.”

  He snorted. “I’m rubbish.” The despair in his eyes was genuine and not a bid for sympathy. What demons of his own did he wrestle with? “I’d like to hope our lessons are helping you, yet the baron still plagues you. What else is there to think than I’m ineffective?”

  “Enough, Cecil. You lost.” Louisa cut the air with a padded mitten. “Sometimes, a hero doesn’t always win.” When one of his eyebrows rose, she modulated her waspish tone. “A man with dented armor is more believable than a knight rigged out pristinely.” She stared at him. “You’ve said yourself that going against better opponents helps you grow. Here’s your chance. No longer are you that bullied little boy you told me about.”

  A grudging grin tipped the corners of his lips. Flutters moved through her belly. “Are you trying to cheer me up?”

  “Eith
er that or move you to sparring. I’m ready for you today.” She smacked her gloved hands together. “And if it stops you from moping, all the better. I’ll even stroke your ego if you need it afterward.”

  He chuckled. “What about your arm?”

  “It’s a reminder to do better next time. I’m sure you think the same of your bruises.”

  “I do.” His grin widened. “First, let me show you a choke hold for those times your tormentor is persistent.”

  “How—” Before she could finish the question, he darted behind her, wrapped one arm about her middle, which rendered her arm immobile, while his other arm went around her neck with her throat in the vee of the bent elbow. “Cecil?” A trace of fear climbed her spine, but she knew he wouldn’t hurt her. He wasn’t that sort of man.

  “The trick is to squeeze just enough to cut off the airflow, but only as a last resort, for it’s all too easy to kill.” His voice in her ear was both comforting and alarming. “Once you cross over into that territory, you’ll be forever changed.”

  She clawed at his arm, but her mittens made that ineffective. Her pulse increased into a frantic rhythm. The horrors she’d already endured at the baron’s hand came rushing back as she struggled in Cecil’s hold. “Let me go.” Panic filled her chest. Had she read this man wrong the whole time?

  “I know it’s uncomfortable, Louisa, but this can save your life,” he said into her ear, breaking through the haze of anxiety. “You can either apply pressure like this.” He tightened his arm for a fraction of a second but then relaxed his hold. “Or move your forearm to his throat. Like so.” He demonstrated the technique. “Secure that arm with your other one. It’s your choice how you go about it, but surprise is the key. If you must, play into his vices. That will put you into prime position.”

  When he released her, Louisa gulped in a breath, and then annoyance roared into her chest. She rounded on him, getting off a punch that landed square into his shoulder. “Never do that to me again without warning. I don’t care if it’s in a lesson or not.”