Page 51 of Eliza and the Duke
“Do you see him?” she asked the very second they made their way inside.
Mr. Dunn was taller than her, but even he couldn’t see over the people in front of them. He shook his head and said, “Hasn’t come out yet.”
The air held a formidable energy. She assumed it was due to the amount of money wagered on the match. She had foundthat when fortunes were at stake, people could be unpredictable and given to outrageous things.
The smell in the warehouse was as pungent as that outside. The fish and earthy decay was replaced by sweating bodies, smoke of various kinds from cigarettes to cigars, and the pungent scent of mold. The warehouse appeared to be old and dilapidated with crumbling mortar between the bricks. Brick pillars lined the inside, but one of them had crumbled at some point in the last decade and left a mountain of bricks that several boys stood upon to get a better view. Wooden crates lined the edges of the large space, piled three and four high. Some young men and boys had worked their way to the top of those stacks and sat there looking down on them. One group found sport in spitting down wads of tobacco-browned saliva on unsuspecting victims and would laugh uproariously when the person inevitably yelled in outrage.
Eliza drew closer to Mr. Dunn and directed him away from that side. He laughed when he saw what was happening and obliged her, making a line past the group ahead of them that had turned to watch the boys on the crates. This helped them get closer to the front and brought the fighting ring into sight. Eight metal stakes were planted in between the cobblestones with a double line of rope stretched tight between them to form a square of roughly fifteen feet on each side.
Tall barrels had been set outside each corner and one at the midpoint of each rope section, presumably to keep the crowd back. A young man stood on one of the corner barrels calling out bets while a man at his side wrote them down. There was a set of wooden risers on the opposite side from Eliza and Mr. Dunn. A group of around fifteen men stood there to get a better view. She recognized Brody immediately. A burning cigarwas clamped between his teeth and a conniving grin curved his lips. She disliked this man immensely. The men surrounding him were likely all on his payroll. Men who wouldn’t hesitate to do evil deeds. Men who wouldn’t hesitate to harm Simon, Daisy, or even her if Brody instructed them to. She didn’t know the odds of any of them recognizing her from their one encounter, but she kept her head down so that they wouldn’t notice her, just in case. Mr. Dunn also seemed to pull back into the crowd, making sure they were in the third row and not as in the open.
Nerves swirled in her stomach, and not the good kind like when she saw Simon. This place seemed very dangerous, the tension on the verge of explosion, and she didn’t like that so much of the success or failure of the night was carried on Simon’s shoulders. What would this crowd do if he lost? What would they do if he won? There would be no pleasing everyone. What would Brody do if Simon didn’t perform as he wanted? It didn’t bear thinking about.
The warehouse was filled to the breaking point, and she could see shadowy figures outside the windows and spilling through the large open door that indicated there were at least a hundred people outside trying to see what was happening. The press was very nearly cloying. Sweat trickled down her back and she tugged at the collar of her high-necked dress trying to get some air.
Thankfully, an older man in a suit came out and climbed through the ropes to the middle of the ring. He held his hands up as if to call for quiet, an impossibility with this crowd. He looked to be a former fighter himself. His arms seemed muscled under his coat and his stomach padded with a thick layer of muscle and fat. His very presence demanded respect, andsome did quiet down, though a din still continued from the back. He inclined his head to Brody, who held up his hand, tipping the cigar in a gesture of goodwill.
From her vantage point, Eliza had a clear view down a dark corridor that led to a back door. The warehouse wall made up one side of the corridor while a room made up the other. A man had come in through the back door flanked by two men. He was shirtless and wore knee breeches and thick hide boots. He had a swarthy appearance, his skin weather-beaten and tanned, as if he’d been a sailor at some point in his life. His multicolored hair was cropped short but frizzed at the neck with streaks of gray and blond intermingled with dark. His full beard was black, and that coupled with his complexion put her in mind of the pirate Blackbeard.
His appearance at the ring was met with a combination of huzzahs and hisses. Unlike Simon’s last opponent, this man appeared well muscled and as if he knew his way around a fight. His expression was closed and drawn tight with anger and an innate hostility. He was focused on winning this brawl and not on fawning for the crowd. In fact, it appeared that he might want to take on a few of the men who were taunting him.
“That’s Rouse,” Mr. Dunn leaned over and said near her ear.
“Is he the favored?” she asked.
Mr. Dunn shook his head. “No, the Duke is favored, always.”
She smiled in pleasure at that. Of course Simon would be favored. He was good, but he also had an appeal that most other people didn’t, certainly not Rouse.
After a few minutes more, there was movement down the corridor. Her heart recognized his shadowy form before hereyes had the opportunity to focus in on him. It fluttered and sped in her chest, slamming itself against her ribs. Simon emerged and the crowd cheered, a deafening roar that rolled through the warehouse. He was shirtless like his opponent, but he wore similar breeches and boots, though his were considerably less worn. The hair on top of his head had been pulled back in a queue again, but a couple of days’ growth of beard covered the lower half of his face. He was alone. Was that because Brody had decreed that it would be so, or was it because Mr. Dunn was acting as her nursemaid?
She yanked Mr. Dunn’s shoulder and pulled him down. “Go to him,” she yelled to be heard over the excitement.
He only gave a harsh shake of his head, but she could see the concern etched into his features.
The spectators began chanting his name. “Duke, Duke, Duke.”
Simon raised his arms in acknowledgment, and the entire place erupted in anticipation. It was a palpable thing that filled the air, like the cloud of smoke that hovered over them. Simon himself looked different than she had ever seen him. He was fierce and vicious, his face a mask of brutal masculine beauty.
The fight at Montague Club had been a match between gentlemen. This one was different. This was a brawl between seasoned fighters. He bounced on the balls of his feet as he approached the ring, a look of grim determination on his face. She hadn’t realized how very little Simon had been engaged with the other brawl until she saw him now. He almost appeared a completely different person. Primal and unrefined.
The air had stilled in her lungs. She couldn’t look away from him. This was who he had been. This was the man he had been when he’d run the streets of Whitechapel. When he’d fought for Brody. When he’d killed those men. When he’dwatched Mary die. When he’d taken on the responsibility of raising Daisy. He still was this man. He was also the Simon she knew from Bloomsbury. Somehow they both lived within him.
She loved both sides of him. Shelovedhim.
Air fled her lungs in a whoosh. The blood in her head must have done the same because she stumbled. Mr. Dunn frowned down at her as she caught herself against him.
All this time she had been courting Simon.
All this time she had been falling in love with him.
All this time she had wanted to get caught.
She knew that now. She knew it in a way that made her feel whole and pure. He was the future that she wanted. Every time she had sneaked out to see him, risking discovery, her reputation, and her betrothal, had been because pursuing Simon had been more important to her. He’d been more important. He was worth more to her than the dowry from her useless father.
She would tell him so after the fight. She only hoped that he wanted her in the same way.
Twenty-Seven
