Page 23 of Daring the Forbidden Earl
“That must be him.” Liam pointed discreetly at a figure walking toward the makeshift ring. His knee-man and bottle-man flanked him on either side, while a tiny slip of a woman hung upon his arm.
Kenneth turned his nose up. “I am not sure I agree with ladies being present.”
“She is likely his wife, or a paramour of some kind,” Liam replied, evidently getting into the spirit of the evening. The warehouse had begun to bristle with an infectious excitement at the sight of the fighters coming toward the ring, as every set of eyes homed in upon the scene.
Kenneth clicked his tongue. “Nevertheless, I doubt any wife or lover would be eager to watch their beloved get pummeled to within an inch of their lives.” He observed the boxer as though he were a stablemaster looking over a new stud. “I must say, this fellow looks formidable. I would certainly not want to be pitted against him.”
“Not until you have had at least five glasses of brandy, anyway,” Mark quipped, gaining an eye-roll from his friend.
“I would not have actually fought the man,” Kenneth muttered.
As the warehouse settled into a giddy sort of silence, Mark took a moment to scrutinize the two fighters for himself. He recognized Ernest Callow, who stood over six-feet, with a bare barrel-chest and a sturdy stomach that could withstand round after round. His hands were enormous, reminding Mark of bear paws, and though he might not have been the nimblest of pugilists, he made up for it with brute power.
On the other side of the ring, speaking to the thin, sweet-faced girl, The Mastiff cut a very different figure. He was not nearly as tall as Ernest, but he was broader in the shoulders, with a sculpted chest and a ridged abdomen that seemed to be honed from pure muscle. His arms were bulky, but he did not look weighed down by his muscle, in the same way that Ernest did.
“It is certainly going to be an interesting match,” Mark said, deciding to make a wager on The Mastiff after all, as the bookkeeper came by for the last bets before the match began.
As the warehouse waited impatiently, the clamor of eager shouts bleeding back into the previous quiet, Mark looked over at the young woman standing by the far corner of the ring. She seemed nervous, and he could not blame her. Men did not often die in such places, but it was not unheard of.
The two umpires walked into the middle of the ring to announce the fighters, but Mark could not take his eyes off The Mastiff and the young woman. The way she gazed at the fellow was the way Mark wanted Johanna to gaze at him, and though the fighter was a hefty beast of solid muscle, there was softness in the boxer’s touch as he caressed his paramour’s face.
I wonder if Johanna would be afraid for me, if I found myself in a situation like this?
His hand went to the letter in his pocket as the boxer’s hand reached down and smoothed over the faintest swell at the young woman’s belly. Evidently, there was a child growing within her, which made her presence here all the more concerning. Though she did not seem to care. The woman smiled brightly and lifted up on tiptoe to kiss her prizefighter on the lips. A good luck gesture that had the spectators whooping and hollering, though she did not seem to hear it. She was too focused on her love.
“I suppose she is better to kiss him now, while his face is still arranged as it ought to be,” Kenneth grumbled. He was fond of Nora, but when it came to other ladies, he tended to be cold and dismissive. The antithesis of Mark.
Mark nudged his stern friend. “Do you know anything about this Mastiff fellow? He looks remarkably familiar, but I cannot place him. Are you certain we have not seen him fight before?”
He did not know why, but there was something in the fighter’s dark brown eyes and wavy, light brown hair that reminded Mark of someone. The name was dancing on the tip of Mark’s tongue, but he could not quite urge it to twirl off.
“Ah, you are right!” Kenneth nodded. “We might well have seen him a year ago, when we ventured to that bout outside the city. I believe that was his debut, and he was rather impressive considering it was his first match.”
Mark clicked his fingers. “That is it, my Dear Boy. I knew I could rely upon you when my memory fails me.” He paused, thinking back to Miss Steele. Could he have forgotten about her, too, as he had forgotten about seeing this boxer before?
Did I couple with her?
It made him nervous, for he prided himself on his ability to remember the names and faces of every woman he had shared a bed with. Then again, during that period in which his father had just died, he had not been himself. The grief could well have fogged his memory, but that begged an even more worrying question: what if Lord Dresday had every right to force him into marrying Miss Steele?
He shuddered. “Apologies, my friends, I feel the need to take some fresh air.”
“But the bout is going to begin!” Kenneth protested.
“I will not be long,” Mark promised, as he weaved through the throngs of riled-up men in pursuit of the exit.
However, as the bookkeeper made the final, final call for bets, the crowd surged toward the roped edges of the ring, carrying Mark with them. Losing his footing, he careened into the ropes and toppled through into the ring itself. He lay there, flat on his back, panting up at the rafters of the warehouse, listening to the boos and laughter of the spectators.
“Looks like you need some help there,” a voice said, as a hand came into his periphery.
Mark tilted his head back to find The Mastiff standing over him. “Right… thank you.” He took the fighter’s calloused hand and let him pull him to his feet. “Sorry about that. I will let you continue.”
“Aye, you wouldn’t want to be getting on the wrong end of my fists, let me tell you.” The fighter grinned, but there was a coldness in his eyes that prompted Mark to stagger backward.
“My money is on you,” he said, as he clambered back through the ropes.
The fighter raised a fist. “Aye, as it should be.”
Deciding he no longer had a taste for pugilism—at least, not tonight—Mark managed to push his way through the rabble-rousers and out into the cool night air. There, he leaned up against the warped wood of the warehouse and patted his pocket, in search of Johanna’s letter. He needed something to lift his spirits after that embarrassment.
