by Cecilia Gray
“They?” she asked. “Even more so than you and I?”
“We aren’t in the House of Lords,” he said with an amused glint to his eye. “Those two men have brought nearly two hundred thousand pounds in wagers with them, not to mention the commerce to such a town. If anyone can get you a room, it’s Hughes.”
Just her luck.
After settling into their accommodations at the Dunbury Inn, Christian dragged Peter and their knee man and bottle man who carried their gear, farther afield. The sun was setting, but they still had time to get the lay of the land. Peter was still proving unsettlingly quiet and despite his dismissal of Sera, Christian was beginning to wonder if there was more to the affair with this girl than Peter had let on.
“We’ll walk,” Christian said, cutting through town. It wasn’t an inconsiderable walk, but given the town at capacity, it would be quicker than trying to ready a cart or horses. Besides, he wasn’t sure if he could handle any more time in the confined, rocking space.
Town gave way to homes and then a green field. In the distance, just behind a cluster of oak trees, he could make out a group of men—the officials, a banker, and several gambling den representatives—likewise getting the lay of the land.
“Who are they?” Peter asked.
“The money,” Christian explained. “And therefore not your concern. Do you see the four stakes in the ground? They were freshly placed here, probably before our arrival. Leather hide will be strung between them to form a square, your boxing ring. What can you tell me about that space?”
They’d arrived, attracting the notice of the money men. He could tell they were assessing Peter and even Christian himself. Looking for signs of weakness. Or particular signs of strength. He wondered if Jackson and his boy had been by yet.
“There’s some shade,” Peter said. “From the trees, in that one corner of the ring.”
Christian nodded encouragingly. “What does that mean?”
He shrugged. “Relief from the heat?”
“No. Think on it. The fight will start at noon, the sun overhead. If you have enough bouts, as the sun begins to fall, it will be blinding in the west. You need to think about your foot placement. Where you’re driving the other fighter. You’ll want to seek relief in the shade, but that’s the wrong thing to do, because it’ll put the sun in your eyes. What else do you notice?”
Peter squinted harder at the scene and began to walk the perimeter of what would become his ring, around the posts. “There’s a slight slope.”
“Yes, and the ground itself? It’s springy. Not like the warehouse. There’s give.”
With a bouncy step, the boy shifted his weight from side to side and then back and forth.
“That’s right, get used to it,” he said. “Now picture ten thousand people around you.”
Peter’s arms dropped, as did his mouth. “How many?”
“You heard correctly. Maybe even twenty thousand. A sea of people. The chanting. The screams. The smells. The sun overhead. The wind. The ground. It will all be new. You can’t be distracted.”
“Is that why you agreed to the exhibition fight tomorrow?” Peter asked. “To give me a chance to get used to things?”
No point in letting the boy think he was coddling him. “I do my own business for my own reasons. Come, let’s have a drink.”
Back at the tavern, he ordered a lean meal for each of them and two tankards of ale.
“Everyone’s looking at me,” Peter said.
“That will happen.”
“Except for the people who are looking at her.”
Christian willed himself not to turn around because he knew to whom Peter referred. There was only one woman in society whom people looked at so much, and it was Sera. Still, there was enough commotion, enough turned chairs, that he allowed himself the simple pleasure. He’d wondered if she would head back to London after their encounter, and was now wickedly pleased that she had not.
Again, possibly because he was a glutton for punishment.
She was quite a sight, especially with Damon Savage at her side. Their beauty was enough to make his teeth ache. Damon had once sworn he had no interest in Sera. When she had been widowed, there had been a question of it Benjamin needed to marry her, and Christian had been privy to several conversations among the Abernathys as to the best course of action. He had held his tongue at the time, not sharing to share what he knew to be true: Sera wanted no knight in shining armor.
Damon was his own man, elegant and titled. As desirable to a young lady in status as Tom had been, but with all the physical trappings to make women swoon. Added to that, he was no knight. He may have been Sera’s perfect match.
“Um, sir?” Peter nudged Christian’s shoulder gently.
He started and glanced back where Peter was eyeing Christian’s fork—the one that he’d bent clean in half. He set it down and straightened it. By the time he was done, Sera and Damon had approached their table.
“Might we?” Damon asked, pulling out a seat for Sera before Christian could answer.
“By all means.”
The two sat and food was ordered. They were all aware that every movie at their table was being watched. Every word overheard. A strange hush had fallen over the rest of the crowd.
“You seem fit,” Damon said to Peter. “I trust my investment in you will see a return ten times over.”
“That would be quite the miracle,” Sera noted. “The current odds against Peter are merely four to one.”
Christian stifled a laugh and noticed Peter trying to do the same. Damn, but she was likable.
“A man of my station doesn’t have to bother with the intricacies of mathematics,” Damon said dryly.
“The perfect man to work for,” Christian said.
“Regardless, we should not speak of odds in front of the young fighter,” Damon said smoothly. “It may have an effect on the outcome of the match. Unforgivable.”
Having been dismissed, Peter stood, bid everyone good night, and retired upstairs. Christian shot Damon a hard look. “I’ll thank you to leave my fighter’s psyche to me.”
Damon held up his hands defensively. “I’m just trying to be discreet. The dowager duchess requires accommodations, and given that her trip was only planned as late as this afternoon, she is unlikely to meet with success.”
“I see,” Christian said. “Would you say, your grace, that you are in need of rescue?”
Her eyes flashed fire.
Even Damon seemed appalled by his comment. “Come, man. I know you’ve more than enough accommodation for your team.”
“Of course,” he said smoothly, watching her irate face. “But discomfiting my team might have an effect on the fight. On Peter.”
“What, if his bottle man is unable to hold up the water and oranges?” Damon said.
With a screech of her seat, Sera stood up. “Thank you, gentlemen, I’ll leave you to the remains of your dinner.”
She stalked off, head held high, magnificent enough to draw every eye to her.
Damon sighed. “I suppose she’ll be bedding down with my horses. Not that those accommodations are to be sniffed at. You know how I treat my horses. At any rate, I’ve placed a pretty coin on Peter, although Jackson’s man has the better odds—what, oh, am I to finish dinner by myself?”
Christian ignored him and rose on an curse, then followed her. Why was she so stubborn? So unnecessarily committed to martyrdom? Did she think it made any difference? The cold wind on his face was a welcome distraction as he entered the street. But that reminded him that she’d hardly been dressed for the chill. What was she thinking, walking down the street with only her lady’s maid in tow?
The fights brought any number of pickpockets and criminals with them. She’d be set upon before she knew it. He guessed at her destination—the Spotted Dog Inn a few buildings down the way. Rat- and vermin-infested as far as he knew. Why had he been so determined to rile her up? For his own vanity? There was no benefit to it,
or to him, at any rate.
The streets were rather crowded for the time of day, likely because there were not enough tables for dinner, forcing some of the hungry to wander until seats came available.
A few rabble rousers were among their number, but only a handful whom he didn’t trust. Unfortunately, one of those was looking quite intensely at Sera. After a moment, the boy, with his ragged shirt and shoes, kicked off the wall, dropped the toothpick from his mouth on the ground, and went after her.
Tension leached into every ounce of his body and he quickened his steps. But then Sera, instead of walking into the Spotted Dog, turned a corner before it. And the ruffian turned after her. Christian exploded into a run, arms pumping at his sides. He was going to rip that boy apart if he thought of harming a single hair on her head. He rounded the corner and skidded to a stop.
The boy was saying something to Sera—probably demanding her money, while her maid stood beside her. The moment the boy saw him, he drew a knife on Christian and said, “Don’t make trouble, sir. There’s nothing of this lady’s that I’ll let you take.”
“Step aside, boy,” Christian growled.
“What are you doing?” Sera asked, annoyed.
“Saving you,” he said. Really, was she daft?
“From someone in my own employ?” She looked at the boy. “Put the knife away. You’re only agitating him.”
The boy flicked the knife closed and it disappeared into his pants in an instant.
“This boy works for you?” Christian asked with scorn.
“As of an hour ago, yes. He has been making inquiries, discreetly, to see if there are any rooms available, and it appears he has found a possible vacancy among a peerage party. One of the wives took sick and is returning to town, so he believes I might be accommodated in her room.”
So not only was Sera perfectly well, not only was she not in need of rescue, but she had somehow also procured her own room. He threw up his hands in defeat and stalked away.
He had nothing to offer her.
Chapter Eight
February 6, 1822
Dunbury, England
Sera was awakened by several loud knocks. With a groan, she threw the pillow off her head and saw by the sun streaming in the window that it was far past breakfast. How had she let herself sleep so long?
Her maid, who was already up, answered the door, then came rushing to her bed. “It’s the urchin,” she said urgently. “He has news of Roberta.”
Sera flew out of bed and dressed in record time, forgoing a complicated hairstyle in favor of a simple knot. What was the point of having glorious hair if it could not be glorious when simply presented? She wore a gray dress that matched her eyes and hugged her snugly at the waist, but the same coat from yesterday, as she had packed lightly. She hoped she could resolve her issues with Roberta and Christian presently, else she would have nothing left to wear.
She had given thanks that while the room was modest, it was clean. She hated that her maid had to sleep on the floor, and forfeited two of her own blankets to see to her comfort. Her maid had started a rather robust roaring fire, a skill Sera hadn’t realized she possessed, and she’d fallen asleep rather quickly.
“Shall I have them draw us a bath, milady?” her maid asked.
Lord knew she needed it. She’d been too tired to wait for them to accommodate her last night. “Please do. I will return shortly.”
“Don’t worry, milady. We will locate Roberta.”
“Yes, thank you, of course we will. You’re right.” But Sera knew that locating Roberta was not the problem. Doing so in a manner that preserved her reputation and convincing her to return to London was the problem. The girl was clearly in love with Peter… and the boy had demons. More than she’d ever seen in someone so young. Something had driven him away from London life into the ring in a short span of time.
She nearly groaned with thoughts of the warm bath to come. Her body ached in every respect. Her bones, from the jarring and unexpected ride. Her heart, from seeing Christian so angry and disappointed with her.
It was the one dark spot in her life, she realized—the rift that had grown between them.
She went downstairs and ordered a breakfast sausage, which she brought to the boy who was waiting patiently for her outside.
“She’s staying with a family in a rented house a few miles east. A home rented by the Earl of March. Apparently his son Phillip is a huge boxing enthusiast.”
She knew of the earl’s family only tangentially. They were not much taken with London, but from what she had heard, they were well received. She couldn’t imagine what they had been told to inspire them to take in Roberta, but she was grateful that she was under their protection. She paid the boy well and gave him a note to have sent to London along with the post carrying back news of today’s exhibition fight to the papers.
She was grateful to know that Alice and her family must have trusted her to right this wrong, else they would have descended by now, pregnancy be damned. Sera had worked hard to gain their trust and to prove her worth. There had been a slight hiccup after Tom’s death, when she’d found it difficult to get out of bed, but those days were behind her now.
She was strong and independent, not a weakling to be looked after and rescued.
She sent ahead notice that she would call, and took her bath, eager to scrub off yesterday’s travel and start anew. Her skin was clean and pink when she was done. A fresh start for the day… and other things.
When she arrived at the Earl of March’s rental home, she was warmly greeted by his staff and shown to the parlor, where Roberta sat next to a lady. Sera’s knees weakened in relief. Part of her had doubted her ability to find the girl, but here she was, looking well, although slightly wary and terrified—as she should be—in a proper yellow dress, hands folded, her expression bent slightly down.
The girl had to know she was in trouble.
“Your grace.” The woman rose.
“Please, Lady Francesca, after the honor you have done us by taking in Miss Crawford, let us not be unduly formal.”
The woman smiled. “Lady Rivington, then. And it was the least we could do after what happened. Please, sit. Tea?”
“Yes, please, indeed.” Sera took her seat, wondering how Roberta could possibly have pulled this off. “I hope she was no trouble.”
“Trouble? Oh, of course not. She was the dearest help. And after swooping my poor Christopher out of the way of that wretched horse, I owe her my child’s life. It is the least we could do to see her settled until her family’s arrival. I trust that her aunt, Mrs. Crawford, is recovering well? I also took ill during my pregnancy. Although Roberta had led us to believe it would be Miss Charlotte Belle who would come for her.”
Sera began to grasp the explanation Roberta had given them after seemingly performing an act of heroism: that she was alone on the road because Alice had needed to return upon feeling ill, and that Charlotte was meant to take her place. She had not expected Sera to arrive. Why was that? Was she not capable?
“Unfortunately, my sister Charlotte was unable to make the trip. There were several delays and as you can imagine, the traffic was awful. I arrived late and did not want to disturb you.”
“Roberta told us as much,” Lady Francesca said.
“Well, we mustn’t tarry,” Sera said, rising, although tea had not yet been served. “I’m afraid I must return to some pressing matters in town.”
“Are you certain you cannot stay? Where are you in town? You must consider staying with us instead.”
“I am very comfortably ensconced at the Inn,” she said. “But I actually meant we must return to London. Her aunt dearly wishes her there by her side. As she is not feeling so well. Isn’t that right, Roberta?”
The girl’s eyes flashed a stubborn edge. “That’s not at all what Aunt Alice told me, Lady Rivington.”
“It would be difficult for her to have told you much recently, given that you have been here.”
> “But she did insist that she would want me to see the day’s events for myself.” Roberta smiled at Lady Francesca. “Aunt Alice is always encouraging me to engage in new life experiences.”
“But,” Sera said between gritted teeth, “it is also like her not to ask for support when she so dearly needs it, and so like you to grant it.”’
The tea arrived as Lady Francesca’s head whipped between them, as if watching a volley. “Tea, then?” she said, pouring. “You know, London is only a short drive, especially today with no one on the inbound roads except the post. Perhaps we could watch the exhibition fight and then you could be on your way, arriving long before supper to assist your aunt?”
Sera could see she was politely outnumbered. Perhaps it would be better to give Roberta one glimpse of the fight, and her Peter. Clearly Sera would have no peace without it. She remembered the night of her wedding, when she had been bound and determined to have one grand adventure. Could she deny Roberta the same?
“Excellent idea, Lady Francesca.” Sera took a sip of tea, plotting the day ahead. “‘I do find myself a bit peckish, though.”
“I’ll see if there’s something in the kitchen,” Lady Francesca said, rising. “Our cook is in town helping some of the local taverns with their breakfast needs, and isn’t expected back until lunch. I won’t be a moment.”
Sera and Roberta stared at each other, the tension crackling, until Lady Francesca was out the door.
“You, young lady, have a lot of explaining to do,” Sera said.
“I presume you got my note,” Roberta said. “Which explains everything.”
“Perhaps the rest of the note was lost? We were left with nothing but an obscure statement that you were to rescue someone, presumably Peter.”
“Which is exactly what I intend to do,” she said. “Peter only set foot in the ring because he believed we could not be married. But we can. I love him, and he loves me, and there’s no need for this foolhardy behavior.”
“Foolish girl,” Sera said. “Have you heard such a thing from his lips?”
