She eyed him suspiciously. “Very well. A kiss in return for each favor I request.”
Eli smiled into the night, happy with their agreement. In essence, he would court Miss Samantha Pengarden, and if all worked in his favor, she’d be deeply in love with him before she realized his ploy to make the woman his.
It only took fourteen hours for Eli to realize he’d made a grand mistake by striking a bargain with Sam. And thinking that, at any point, he’d had the upper hand, now proved how misguided he’d been. She’d soundly duped him. He threw the letter down on his dressing table and rubbed his face before reading it once more, but the words remained the same.
Dear Lord Ridgefeld,
Thank you for your gracious acceptance. It is my wish to see a gentleman’s boxing club. Do arrive at eleven sharp, and we shall attend the morning rounds at Gentleman Jackson’s. I hope I am not mistaken in assuming your status can gain us entry.
With kind regards,
Miss Samantha Pengarden
She could not actually mean to request he secure them entrance into a lord’s gentlemen-only establishment such as Gentleman Jackson’s. The comical—or possibly better called, sad—part of the entire debacle was that Eli hadn’t been to a boxing club before. It would be a first for both of them. Certainly, he’d witnessed competitions of strength and honor during his travels, but never had he entered a proper establishment meant solely for physical exertion as opposed to righting a wrong or returning honor.
With her note in hand, Eli summoned his carriage and arrived to collect her from Craven House—a rather sprawling townhouse on the edge of Mayfair. The residence was on the fringe of propriety: two blocks in either direction would place the home in an elite area or a section bombarded by growing poverty and hard financial straits. Its immaculate landscaping and fresh paint told Elijah that Sam and her family took pride in their home. A sign hung proudly, displaying the manor’s name: Craven House.
Mathers quickly opened the carriage door and set down the steps for Eli to depart. “May I knock to announce your arrival, my lord?”
Eli feared he’d never gain a familiarity with Mathers addressing him so formally. He and the servant were of a similar age and had grown up as friends. His valet—and sometimes carriage driver, footman, and confidant—had been the grandson of the late marquis’ own valet. It was only natural Mathers serve the Ridgefeld family as his family had before.
“No, thank you,” Eli said, hopping down from his carriage with more gusto than the moment called for. “I can collect Miss Samantha.”
With heavy steps, he made his way up the drive, uncertain what Sam had told her siblings about their outing. Lying was not an option for Eli, as he knew deception never favored a man. And he wanted nothing more than to make a notable impression on Sam’s family. Over the coming days—and possibly weeks—he would do all in his power to court her properly…maybe a proposal of marriage even awaited them. However, that would be impossible if he lied and her family ever learned of it.
A bolt of dark green moved behind the hedge at the side of the townhouse, catching Eli’s attention and bringing him up short before he took the final steps to knock at the front entrance. The figure had moved far too quickly to be a servant at work on his chores. He scanned the place where he’d seen the movement but saw nothing but well-trimmed, square shrubbery.
“Lord Ridgefeld!” Eli spun back toward his waiting carriage where Mathers stood, slack-jawed, and staring at Sam. “I see you received my letter. I was uncertain you’d be at the museum to receive my note.”
Two things were clear. Firstly, Sam did not trust him to keep his side of their bargain. And secondly, she had no intention of telling her family where they were headed, that she was with him, or that they did not have a proper chaperone.
“I gave my word and will uphold it.” Eli retraced his steps toward the carriage. “I thought I would speak with your family.”
Clutching a large bag tightly to her chest, she glanced over his shoulder and then back at him. “They are out for the afternoon, my lord. If you had arrived only ten minutes ago, you would have caught them before they departed for Hyde Park.” He raised a brow as a serene smile spread across her face. “Shall we?”
Mathers stepped forward and offered his hand to assist her into the carriage.
Eli frowned. Since when did his servants take orders from others?
“Where to, my lord?”
“Gentleman Jackson’s.” Eli regained his side in the carriage, sitting across from Sam, who still clung to the duffle she held, certainly a bag too bulky for their afternoon plans. “It is good to see you again, Miss Samantha.”
“And you, Elijah.” The breathy way his name left her lips sent his pulse racing. “Thank you for accompanying me on this outing.”
She said the words like he’d had a choice in the matter—besides breaking his promise to her.
“My pleasure, I assure you.” He eyed the bag once more. She pulled it closer as if to hide it in her skirts. “May I ask what you brought?”
“Of course, you may.”
He waited, but she said nothing further. “What is in the bag, Sam?”
“My boxing gloves—err, Garrett’s boxing gloves.”
“What do you plan to do with them?” Something told him he did not want to know the answer, especially if it had anything to do with Eli donning the gloves and entering the ring.
“Step into the ring, of course.” As if to punctuate her words, his carriage jerked into motion.
“Absolutely not.” Eli vehemently shook his head. He would put his own person at risk before allowing her to participate. “I made a promise; however, I cannot, in good conscience, keep that promise if it will put you at risk. I will not do it. A woman entering a gentleman’s boxing club is outlandish and unheard of. But entering the ring? Preposterous.”
“Humpf.” She turned and pulled the curtain aside to watch their progress. “If you insist, I shall leave my gloves in the carriage.”
“That is very gracious of you,” Eli said, rubbing his palms down the velvet seat at his sides to dispel the nervous sweat that had gathered. If she’d persisted with her foolish plan, would he have given in to her demands? He’d had a difficult time as it was securing a way into Jackson’s without anyone noting Sam’s attendance. Thankfully, it seemed the proprietor was not completely shocked by his written request, and had actually hinted at the fact that Eli’s bid was quite commonplace. “May I ask why you are interested in Gentleman Jackson’s?”
Her face brightened, and a mischievous grin settled on her lips.
Lips he would relish kissing when their afternoon was complete, and he had fulfilled her first wish.
“I suspected you would never agree to accompany me to White’s. The next best thing is Jackson’s.” Her smile only intensified, as he finally understood the brilliance of her plan. “Though it is only a boxing club, I will gain a rare sight of what it would be like to live the life of a gentleman.”
The late-morning traffic was light, and his carriage sped through town without much delay, swinging around to the back of the large building housing the boxing club. On any other day, Eli would have enjoyed attending the establishment, watching two men in a bout of fisticuffs, and the thrill of donning the gloves himself. But not this day.
“Where are we?” she asked, allowing the curtain to fall back into place as she turned to face him. She bit her lower lip, hard-pressed to keep her skepticism from showing. “This is not Gentleman Jackson’s.”
It was Elijah’s turn to look smug, knowing he’d be able to keep his promise but also keep her reputation intact—for at least another day. “It certainly is.”
“B-but...” she stuttered. “We are in an alley.”
“Directly behind the boxing club.” His bravado soared, even as she narrowed her eyes. Mathers opened the door and set the steps, just as the back door of the club swung open to reveal a broad-shouldered man with a neck as thick as an ox. He must
be the owner—and an avid boxer. “Your private entrance to debauchery awaits.”
Eli stepped from the carriage and reached his hand out to help Sam.
One glance at the man holding the door, and her eyes rounded as big as saucers.
“Lord Ridgefeld.” Their host bowed to Eli and turned to Sam. “Miss Samantha Pengarden. I am Mr. John Jackson. It is a pleasure to have you both at my esteemed establishment. Your private ring awaits. Right this way.”
Jackson stood back and allowed them entrance before bustling inside to lead the way down a well-lit corridor.
“I asked to witness a boxing match, not”—Sam paused, motioning to the vacant hall before them—“this.”
“It was a surprise to receive your request, my lord,” Jackson threw over his shoulder as they turned a corner and stopped before a closed door. “I had occasion to meet your grandfather several times, and even your father once or twice, though he was only a lad.”
Eli clasped his hands behind his back and turned his eyes to the floor as his pace slowed. The last thing he wanted either Sam or Jackson to see were the tears threatening to escape at the mention of his sire and grandsire.
“I have readied my own private ring for your viewing.” Jackson pushed the door wide and allowed Sam and Eli to enter. A large, square boxing ring stood in the center of the room. Several rough benches had been pushed against the walls to allow room for two overstuffed armchairs, precisely positioned to gain a full view of the ring. Several men huddled in the far corner. “I have two of my prized purse fighters preparing to spar for you.”
The proprietor waved them to their seats.
Eli guided Sam to their place as she took in every detail of the room, from the cream-colored walls, to the hanging gloves, to the large hand-drawn posters of men dressed for sport, to the telltale signs of dried blood on the wood floor—stains either forgotten or incapable of being scrubbed clean.
“This sport is not one for delicate eyes, Sam,” Eli leaned close and whispered. “We can leave whenever you say the word.”
She bit her lower lip, pulling her arms and legs close as a smooth, expressionless look overtook her normally lively face. “I requested this outing and know the sights in store for me.” She tucked her ankles below her chair and folded her hands primly in her lap.
Never once had Eli witnessed this reserved side of her.
Was she nervous of the display to come?
Jackson had assured Eli in his note that he’d instructed his fighters to spar lightly: no blood was to be drawn from either party.
“I need speak with Mr. Jackson. May I retrieve anything for you? A drink perhaps?”
“No, Elijah,” Sam said. “Thank you.”
“Very well.” He stood and moved toward Jackson to offer his thanks for seeing to his outlandish request. “Mr. Jackson, thank you for organizing this, especially on such short notice.”
The man chuckled softly, the sound a few notes too high for a man of his immense size. “You may not believe this, my lord, but female members of the aristocracy—from elderly matrons to young debutantes—routinely set up private fights. It is only right I allow them entrance, so long as they do not interfere with my male membership.”
“Their husbands and guardians do not find issue with this?”
“I have learned that men and women of the ton do not always question how the others spend their time.” Jackson glanced toward the men donning their gloves. “However, business is business. If it keeps food on my table and my doors open, ladies may request private gatherings here.” He looked to the ring. “The men are ready.”
Eli would have never imagined that women’s delicate sensibilities could endure the flying of fists and knuckles meeting flesh. Had Sam attended a private gathering at Jackson’s before? From the stiff set of her shoulders and her gaping mouth as she watched the men enter the ring, he suspected not.
Sliding into his seat, he patted her clenched hands. “Are you ready?”
“I believe I am, my lord.” She gave him a tight-lipped smile. “I have long wanted to see what my brother does when he says he is off to his boxing club.”
“Jackson is certain to have a show for you.” Eli relaxed in his chair. Only time would tell if he’d made a grand mistake by agreeing to bring Sam to such a violent affair.
Chapter 23
Sam’s entire body hummed with excitement. She felt invigorated—liberated—though a bit dismayed at the sheer violence of the match as she exited with a satisfied smile while Mr. Jackson held the door. That Elijah would make good on his promise and accompany her to Gentleman Jackson’s had never actually seemed like a viable outcome. She’d expected him to send word that he could not attend her that day or arrive and outright forbid her to go to a men’s sporting establishment.
Though it wasn’t only the sight of the shirtless fighters, their hands gloved and raised for battle that caused a flutter of anticipation to course through her the second they’d entered the private room. Sam could think of only one thing after they had departed Craven House: the kiss she would owe Elijah at the end of their outing.
She’d dreamed of pressing her body close to his, setting her lips upon his, allowing her tongue to explore…since their night in the study at Hollybrooke. In fact, his lips had no more left hers that long ago night than she was already longing for another kiss.
Remembering the scandalous image in In Physica Educationem in Caritate: Volumen Unum had not dulled her need. The sight had filled many lonely nights in the last six weeks. Several times, she’d wondered if Eli had returned the book to Cummings’ study before he departed. She could not be so lucky to learn he’d absconded with the volume.
The sun shone brightly, assaulting her eyes after their time spent in the dimly lit interior of Jackson’s private sparring room. It had all been exciting, yet far less grand than she’d expected. Garrett hurried off to his club every Tuesday afternoon at precisely one o’clock. Could it be that her brother was truly in need of exercise?
“Miss Samantha?”
She focused, pushing the thoughts from her mind to see Elijah’s offered hand. His carriage waited in the alley where they’d left it. How long had they been within the club? The sun had crested and started its descent toward the western horizon.
Mid-afternoon.
Her sisters, with any luck, would still be attending Jude: settling her into her new home, offering suggestions for renovations, and keeping the dowager Lady Cartwright from sinking her claws into her new daughter-in-law while Simon handled his affairs at the museum.
It had been far too easy to slip from the house without notice. Before Jude’s betrothal to Simon, Marce had been like a hawk, hovering over her siblings, waiting for one to step out of line. Now it seemed they could come and go as they pleased; though, certainly, her blessings would not continue. Their manservant, Mr. Curtis, was sure to see the carriage return to deposit her at her doorstep. Possibly worse was if the elderly servant spied Sam kissing Lord Ridgefeld.
The Ridgefeld carriage was comfortable and maintained—if dated—but still far more luxurious than the Craven House coach. The dark burgundy seats showed off her dark green gown to its finest. She much liked the way the two hues paired and silently committed to finding a sash of the exact shade to wear with her gown.
When the carriage started out of the alley, Sam met Elijah’s stare, and she knew he too thought of the kiss to come. Maybe she should pull the curtains, shimmy across the carriage to sit beside him and give him his reward before they reached her home.
“You are flushed, are you overly warm?” he asked with a hint of concern.
She could not admit it was the anticipation of their parting that brought heat to her cheeks, though his concern did bring to mind another reason. “No, my lord. Quite the opposite, I must admit. The breeze from the open curtains is cold against my face.”
Without another word, he turned to both sides and pulled the cords free of their holds, releasing the material to
cover the windows, casting a shadow across his face. She didn’t favor the way it hid his deep cocoa-brown eyes or the dark lashes framing them. Concealed the way his lips parted when he smiled and his dimple appeared. Sam had no need to see them now in reality, as her memories conjured them whenever she closed her eyes. She fought the urge to allow her lids to lower and the pleasurable sensations to take hold. She would not allow herself even the briefest moment of fancy while the real man sat mere inches from her.
So close…yet so incredibly far away.
If she were to reach out to him, would he come to her willingly?
Did the mere thought make her a wanton woman, unworthy of a man such as him?
Sam could not—would not—think in those terms. Similar to men, women had needs. So far, besides a few not so intelligent decisions, she’d managed to harness her desires since gaining a peek at the wickedness denied to unwed ladies. If she asked politely, would Elijah show her all she’d been unable to see in her limited time with In Physica Educationem in Caritate?
If she’d been thinking correctly the previous evening, Sam would have added it to her list of demands in recompense for his ungentlemanly departure from Derbyshire.
The likelihood that he’d continue to answer her demands—or that she had many others planned—had a sense of urgency filling her. They would arrive at her townhouse shortly.
Sam pushed from her place and came to rest next to Elijah on his bench.
His eyes barely registered the shock of her movement when his hands slipped around her back and beneath her knees, lifting her to settle across his lap. The muscles of his thighs could be felt through her many layers of underpinnings and his woolen trousers.
Her pulse quickened at the same time she allowed a groan to escape.
Sam didn’t hesitant a moment before anchoring her arms around his neck and scooting closer into him. The heat from his body warmed her.
The Mistress Enchants Her Marquis Page 20
