Page 17 of Eliza and the Duke
Without turning his gaze from the leader of the group, Lord David said, “Let go of my wife.”
The one who held them immediately dropped his hands and moved back from them.
“I don’t want to see you again tonight.” With those words of warning, he released the leader. The students fled into the crowd like discarded fish that had been tossed back into the sea.
Lord David gazed at them, his eyes roaming over Jenny in a visual inspection as if checking for some hidden injury. “That should be all we’ll hear from them tonight.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Eliza said.
Jenny made a concerted effort to keep her face toward the fight ring, but Eliza knew her sister well enough to know that it was a struggle. She practically vibrated with energy. “Yourwife?” she said, her tone textured with a mixture of pique and amusement.
He didn’t talk for a moment, but the silence spoke to a deep well of complicated feelings. Cora and Eliza often joked about how the man, a known rake, seemed entirely too preoccupied with their Jenny. So consumed in fact that he often didn’t seem to know what to do with himself in her presence. Finally, he said, “I didn’t…It…” Rarely one to be tongue-tied, he huffed out a breath. “It was convenient they believe that.”
Seeming to have recovered, Jenny glanced over and blinked her eyes at him. “Or your wish that it be true.”
He looked toward the ring, but his lips turned up in a smile. “I assure you that’s not the case. I thought we’d already established that I’m not in the market for a wife.”
“Ah yes. You’re in the market for something else entirely.” Jenny’s tone had become slightly mocking.
Lord David turned his head to look at her sister and, though Eliza wasn’t in his direct line of sight, the heat of his gaze nearly singed her. “That’s right. Something I’ve been told isn’t for sale.”
“You don’t possess the right currency,” Jenny said.
His gaze sharpened, catching that tiny opening. “What currency do you mean?” he asked as if he’d comb all the sands of the earth to find it once he knew what it was. Eliza imagined that he’d never been in such a position before, wanting someone who didn’t want him back, though Eliza knew for a fact that wasn’t true. Jenny wanted him, she just didn’t want to be tossed aside by him after their fling was over, so she abstained.
Before Jenny could issue a retort, Eliza cleared her throat rather obnoxiously to remind them that she was there. She couldn’t listen to any more of this. They both glanced at her in mild annoyance. Jenny returned to her senses first and took several steps forward to distance herself from him.
“How did you find us?” Eliza asked him.
“Luck,” he said. “I happened to be in the crowd behind you and saw you when you lifted your veils.”
He moved to stand behind Jenny, far enough away that he wasn’t touching her, but close enough to keep her protected should the need arise again. His attention was not on the ring. Eliza rolled her eyes. The ground could swallow her whole and Lord David wouldn’t notice unless it took Jenny along with her.
“Aren’t you going to tell us to leave, that we have no business being here?” Eliza asked.
The corner of his mouth tipped up and he finally spared her a glance. “Why would I do that? As far as I’m concerned, Society and their rules can go hang.”
He had propositioned Jenny, a debutante, so Eliza wasn’t entirely shocked by his attitude.
Before she could reply, the lights along the wall dimmed and an expectant hush rumbled through the crowd. The fight was about to start.
Nine
A dozen men walked stoically outof a door that led to a corridor. They wore nondescript black suits. “Back now, back!” the middle-aged man in charge called out. The crowd roared as it accommodated them and created a narrow path. The men lined up six on each side of the path, close enough they could touch each other if they reached out their arms, presumably so that none of the spectators could come between them.
Soon three men walked out of the corridor and down the path. The man in the lead wore a plain white shirt buttoned to his collar. His hair was somewhere between blond and brown with dark muttonchops that extended down to his jaw. He could have been anywhere between the ages of twenty-five to forty-five. It was impossible to tell. He walked with comical pomposity, his nose in the air and his step measured and formal. A mixture of cheers and boos greeted him when the crowd got a good look at him.
“Do they not like him?” Eliza leaned over to ask Lord David.
He gave a brisk shake of his head. “That’s Mr. Rodney Carstone, a member of Gummidge’s, a rival club across town. He’s been claiming to any who would listen that he could beat Cavell. Some of his club has come, but it sounds like most are ours.”
Indeed the jeers now far outweighed the cheers as Mr. Carstone climbed into the ring and walked from corner to corner with his chest puffed out, his expression smug. He didn’t strut around for long before the cheers started up in earnest as Simon walked through the door. The crowd surged toward him as one, unsettling her footing. She might have stumbled had Lord David not been standing next to her. He reached forward and took hold of Jenny, who held on to his forearm to steady herself. She called a thank-you to Lord David, but a raucous cheer filled the room, swallowing up the words.
Simon bounced on the balls of his feet, his gaze straight ahead as he made his way to the ring. His hair was pulled back similar to the style he’d worn on the night they met. It was tied in a queue at the crown of his head. The effect was startling in how it emphasized the planes and angles of his cheeks and jaws. He seemed dangerous and single-minded in his pursuit of victory. His glittering eyes only enhanced the effect. She had kissed this man twice. The memory did very pleasant and joyful things to her insides.
Lord Leigh was in his entourage, which surprised her. She’d never seen him less than formally dressed, but he was now. He wore trousers and shirtsleeves with a black silk waistcoat, but no coat or tie.
Simon climbed the dais and stepped through the satin ropes. His breeches were the color of parchment and he worea white shirt. Unlike his opponent, his was open at the neck, and she caught a glimpse of dark chest hair. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal his forearms and, she imagined, to not hamper his reach. Lord Leigh stood outside the ropes, intent on whispering last-minute instructions to Simon. She might have tried harder to figure out what he said if she’d been less preoccupied with the state of Simon’s chest. A very small part of her regretted that she hadn’t let the night in her bedroom play out as it might have had she not corrected his assumption.
