Bill pulled a face and helped Nathaniel to his feet as another fellow entered the curtained area—one of Arnold’s men, come to fetch the next combatants. Beyond the curtains, the crowd cheered and chanted for the victor, the sound filling Nathaniel with a peculiar sense of excitement. It always had, ever since he was eleven and thrown into the ring to battle through his first fight for the entertainment of his father’s friends.
“Remember, don’t be thinkin’ about this Leah lass,” Bill warned, rubbing in a patch of black paste that Nathaniel had missed. “She’ll not think you nearly so handsome if you end up with a broken nose or worse. It’s a miracle you haven’t had it punched out of place yet.”
Nathaniel pinched the bridge of his nose. “It is made of iron, Bill.”
“Aye, well, iron dents if you hit it hard enough,” Bill replied, chuckling as they headed out to the ring.
The moment the crowd set eyes upon Nathaniel, they erupted into a fresh fervor, howling and applauding and slapping one another on the back. This was the fight that could make a man rich or destitute, this was the fight they had all been waiting for, and considering Nathaniel had been late in leaving the dinner party, their patience had worn down to a nub of pure, rowdy vigor, like hunting dogs penned in while a fox ran back and forth past the fence, taunting them.
“The Highwayman! The Highwayman! The Highwayman!” they bellowed, but the noise would not draw any unwanted constables; they turned a blind eye to such things or watched and made a wager themselves.
Nathaniel ducked into the makeshift ring and sat on the stool in his corner, awaiting his opponent. As he sat there, he soaked up the cheers of the crowd and the nickname he had carried with him for years:The Highwayman.It was not merely because of the painted mask he wore, but also, it was because the men would say, “He can rob you blind in a night or give you a bevy of riches.” Despite his history as a rarely defeated fighter, men were still foolish enough to bet against him.
A few moments later, his opponent entered the ring—a younger man, perhaps twenty, with fiery red hair and skin so pale that Nathaniel needed to shield his eyes from the glare. He was skinny, too, with a hunger in his eyes that gave Nathaniel pause. The desperate ones were always the most dangerous, eager to make a fortune and a name for themselves and to pull their families out of poverty. In the boxing ring, it did not matter where a man came from; anyone could be king.
“For your hands,” Bill said, hurriedly wrapping Nathaniel’s hands in thin bandages.
In the opposite corner, the newcomer’s second did the same. It would be an interesting fight, and for a moment, Nathaniel thought about letting the skinny boy win. But then, Leah popped into his head and all the events that they were to experience together in the coming weeks. It would not serve him well if he had any visible bruises, for he had only just evaded suspicion surrounding the one on his temple.
I must fight my best,he knew, thinking of what he hoped to purchase with his winnings. Besides, the skinny redhead would win other fights, and there were plenty other men in the crowd who were relying upon Nathaniel winning that night so thattheycould feed their families.
“Gentlemen,” the referee said, beckoning for the two men to meet in the middle of the ring, “let us keep this clean and fair. No kicks, no blows below the belt, no biting, no scratching, no poking of the eyes. When your opponent surrenders, back to your corners.”
Nathaniel nodded as did his opponent.
“Let’s give them an exciting match,” Nathaniel proclaimed, speaking in a rougher voice than normal to add to his disguise while offering his fists to bump against those of his adversary.
“Aye, one they won’t soon forget.” The redheaded man bumped his fists back in return, and with a grin, they waited for the referee to start the match.
In that moment, the years of experience set to work, his mind ticking swiftly, taking in as much as possible about his opponent before the boxing began properly. The redhead could not stand still, shuffling from foot to foot, twisting his hips this way and that. He was going to be quick, Nathaniel guessed, using speed rather than brute force.
“Begin!” the referee shouted, jumping out of the way as the two fighters clashed like gladiators of old, transforming into a blur of fists and fury as the crowd cheered on.
And though Nathaniel had promised himself that he would not think of Leah—for this was no place for her, not even in his mind—he found her pushing her way to the forefront of his thoughts, replacing the anger that usually spurred him on. He saw her beautiful face, her worried eyes, felt the silky softness of her glove against his hand, squeezing reassurance, and fought as he had never fought before.
I cannot embarrass her,he repeated over and over, his fists flying.I will not embarrass her.
Soon enough, his thoughts turned to Jonathan instead and the shame he had brought down upon Leah. Nathaniel thought of Leah standing alone at an unknown altar, waiting for a man who was not coming. He thought of her head whipping around at every sound that went past the church, hoping her betrothed had merely been delayed. He thought of her tears as she was forced to leave the church, knowing she had been jilted, and her sorrow at seeing the awful tales that the scandal sheets must have written about her. Last of all, Nathaniel thought of Jonathan’s smug satisfaction and cruel taunts, even now, and let a different flavor of anger put power behind his fists and speed in his legs.
Your cruel victory ends here, Jonathan,he vowed, seeing that wretched fellow in the face of his opponent, wishing it really was Jonathan. For though he still barely knew Leah, Nathaniel could not abide bullies, and though he could never give due punishment to the greatest bully he had ever known, hecouldpunish a few others in their stead.
Indeed, he had a feeling that a new condition was about to be added to the contract that he and Leah had made. A secret condition that only he knew about. From that moment until the season ended, Nathaniel intended to make Jonathan so afraid of coming close to Leah that, even when the pair parted ways in the “romantic” sense, the cretin would never dare to say an unkind word to her, ever again.
He could spare Leah any further torment in a way no one had spared him.
CHAPTERTWELVE
Leah usually despised the winter, being away from the familiar comforts of Druidstone Abbey, forced into even closer quarters with her mother and father—her father, especially. She could not recall a single year where they had wintered in London and had not had an explosive argument that had led to father and daughter not talking to one another for weeks on end, but as she breezed into the parlor, humming to herself, she wondered if this year might be different.
“Cease that wretched noise,” her father snapped immediately, violently folding down one half of his newspaper, so he could scowl at his daughter. “Do you not know that it is eight o’clock in the morning, and some of us have had no rest thanks to the commotion of their wayward daughters?”
Leah halted, confused. “What commotion? I was as quiet as a mouse!”
“A mouse with iron boots and a penchant for stomping, perhaps!” her father retorted, his entire face puffy and red—more a symptom of too much fine brandy, rather than being awoken by any noise Leah could possibly have made when she returned to the apartments the previous evening.
Leah rolled her eyes. “You have been told on countless occasions that you should not imbibe liquor if you cannot be disciplined with it. Goodness, I can smell you from here.”
She could not, but she could not resist riling him when he was in one of his moods.
