Luke looked his rival straight in the eyes. More often than not, amateurs such as the earl revealed themselves by blinking, or by taking their eyes off their opponents, rather than by lightning-fast blows and… A noise came from Luke’s left and distracted him for the shortest of moments. He searched for the source of the sound.
For a second, his mind refused to comprehend who the woman was who turned her face towards him, her cognac-coloured eyes wide open, and a small, gloved hand held in front of her mouth. His heart skipped a beat. It was Lady Felicity who was being held back by his brother from pushing past the men in the front row. He just about registered that she wore a simple dark dress and no make-up, when it was too late.
The earl’s fist hit him straight on the chin and Luke saw stars.
John Langleigh’s presence was an unpleasant surprise. Felicity had anticipated almost anything, but not that she would meet someone she knew here in the smoked-out, stinking and overfilled Black Heart. To make matters worse, in all this pushing and shoving, her bonnet had slid from her head and she had forgotten to readjust it. It was no wonder that Sir John recognised her a moment sooner than she had seen him, which prevented every attempt of an undetected retreat. The only option she had was to take the bull by the horns and to admit to her scandalous presence in this place. He did not seem to be the kind of man who enjoyed spreading gossip, but she did not know him well enough to be certain. On the other hand, she remembered with a shock, that he knew for sure that his father and her parents were seeking to merge the two families! Undoubtedly, he would tell Lord Layton about seeing her here in this dump, and the lord would surely have nothing better to do than inform her parents about her night-time outing to Whitechapel.
Everything was lost – unless she was able to distract Sir John somehow. If he were to insist on bringing her home immediately, she would have to return home without getting what she came for. She simply had to succeed in asking ‘the priest’ for her letter!
“Lady Felicity,” Sir John greeted her as he stepped closer.
Instinctively, she raised her hands up to her bonnet, but it was already too late to hide her face. Felicity tried to read in his expression what he was thinking, without success. She was being constantly shoved around, almost like a ball, back and forth, and she barely managed to stay on her feet. It was hot and too many people crowded the small space. Had it not been for the ropes that separated the fighters from the spectators, then surely this area would have long been occupied by spectators.
“Come with me. Let us step back a bit. Maybe we can find a space where we will be protected from the excitement of the fight.” He spoke loudly and leaned closely towards her.
She could barely understand her own words, so she contented herself with a nod and clung to the arm he held out to her. Felicity kept an eye on ‘the priest,’ or at least she tried to. It had taken her a lot of courage to come back here, and she did not want to do it a third time. Either she found an opportunity to ask the gentleman boxer for help tonight, or… she sighed.
“May I ask what has brought you here, Lady Felicity?” Beyond the tumult, Sir John did not have to raise his voice to make himself understood. Felicity appreciated his inquiring about her reasons for being there, instead of assuming that her lust for scandal had driven her to the Black Heart.
“A private matter,” she replied evasively. “I would be incredibly grateful if you did not mention to your brother about our encounter here. He would just get me into more trouble and…” She bit her lower lip.
“Without wanting to offend you, I think it would be best if you were to confide in Luke. He is sometimes, how shall I say…” Sir John looked back over to the two men fighting and mildly shook his head.
“Forgive me,” he mumbled. “I feel that we should leave this rather unpleasant locality as quickly as possible. May I escort you back home?”
“No!” Her nerves gave way. “No,” she repeated softly, suppressing the urge to hide behind Sir John’s back from the intrusive glances that turned her way. “It… I… I have to talk to somebody, urgently. The parley does not tolerate any delay.”
“Please calm down,” he whispered. “I swear to you that nobody will ever hear anything from me that could damage your reputation in any way. However, I do think that you should talk openly to my brother. Not because our families wish to see you both married” – He glanced at her with a scrutinising look – “but because he can be a smart and loyal friend.”
She noticed that he had said “can be,” but when Sir John saw her sceptical expression, he added in a softer tone, “Give him your trust. I do not know what the quarrels between you two are about, but you should know that he is a good man. The best, to be exact.”
Once again, something in the boxing ring captured his attention, and this time, Felicity followed his gaze. The mask of the mysterious fighter had been pushed up and revealed the chin of the man who now stood out of reach of his opponent. She had to admit that she liked the way the man was moving: powerful, but not brutal, also elegant, as well as precise, as if he knew exactly what he was doing. Now he raised his bandaged right hand and ran it across his chin.
Felicity startled.
She knew that particular gesture. Where had she seen that movement last? When? It had not been long ago, certainly not. She closed her eyes and ignored the noise around her, including Sir John’s presence. Felicity did not know why she felt it was important for her to remember, but she felt that she was on the trail of something important. Think, she ordered herself. It had almost been dark, except for a few dimly lit candles. Hesitantly, she took a step forward, ignoring Sir John’s protests behind her. If only she could get a closer look at ‘the priest,’ then she would remember where she knew him from. Or was she deceiving herself?
She eluded a drunkard, who attempted to put his arm around her waist and pull her towards him. Felicity was surprised at her own nimbleness as she pushed past the next man, creating the necessary distance between her and the intrusive fool. As she pushed forward, she admired the speed of her boxer, and she could hear two men behind her getting louder as they started to curse at each other. That was not important to her now.
She watched how ‘the priest’ fixed his gaze on the man standing before him. The intensity in his eyes, which was not even aimed at her, sent a shiver down her spine. How could she have believed that a man who paraded himself around like this, who beat others up and hurt them in such a way, would help her? Felicity meant to turn around and leave the Black Heart, but she stopped one last time and glanced at the man in the ring. As if he had felt that she was staring at him, ‘the priest’ turned his head ever so slightly and looked her straight in the eyes.
An eternity seemed to pass as they stared at each other. He knows who I am, shot through Felicity’s mind, before she decided to retreat as hastily as she could. However, it was too late. His opponent’s fist hit him hard on his chin.
‘The priest’ froze. In a movement that almost seemed comical, the other fighter stared at his fist, as if he were in disbelief over what he had just done.
Then ‘the priest’ fell to the floor.
Chapter 10
The first thing Luke saw once he regained consciousness, was Felicity’s face hovering over him. Immediately, his hands reached for his mask to check if the fabric was still in place, but Felicity reassured him. “Everything is all right,” she said, much to his relief, as Luke found his mask in the right position. “Well, almost everything.” She sighed and briefly touched his chin, where his opponent had hit him. Her words were accompanied by a worried smile that did not calm Luke, but instead caused him to sit up.
For a moment, the whole world turned, and when his sight became clear again, the view of his surroundings gave him the next shock. He was laid up in Marlowe’s private chambers and Felicity, ignoring the dirt, was kneeling beside him on the rough wooden boards. To gain time, Luke carefully moved his jaw. No, nothing was broken, even though the pain felt intense and
he needed a cold cloth to keep the swelling down.
He rubbed his forehead in the hope that he had just been the victim of an optical illusion, but the image remained. Obviously, somebody had brought him here after he had been knocked out, and that person had clearly had nothing better to do than to bring Lady Felicity with them. Not only had she attended the boxing match, but she had also witnessed his rather embarrassing blackout.
She was studying him with an unreadable expression on her face. His eyes found hers and tried to fathom what was going on in her head. Was there a trace of mockery in her brown eyes? He did not think that she had recognised him, because the way she had looked at ‘the priest’ was entirely different to the way she had looked at Lord Layton. She would never have looked at the lord, whom she detested so much, with the warmth in her eyes that she was now giving his alter ego. The realisation was not pleasant, but then again Lord Layton had not helped her out of an unfortunate situation as the boxer had.
This was his chance. “I suppose I should give you a sermon and then send you straight back home.” When she heard his sentence, a small angry crease appeared between her eyebrows, and it deepened with his following words. “But I do have something that belongs to you, Lady Felicity.”
“That is the reason I am here. Give me my letter,” Felicity demanded. Then her eyes widened, and she instantly turned pale and began to tremble. Luke jumped to his feet and ignored etiquette (which demanded a certain distance between them), but instead took her by the waist to support her.
“Stay calm,” he whispered, as he felt the shaking that took over her body. “You are in no danger with me. I swear on everything that is holy to me.” Did he imagine it, or did she calm down somewhat? “Do you have any smelling salts?” he asked. She nodded and looked down at her wrist, where a small bag was attached with a loop. Luke wrapped his right arm tighter around her middle and opened the pouch with his left hand. With trembling fingers, she reached for it, loosened the lid, and held it under her nose. A strong smell of vinegar reached his nose and dispelled the scent of her perfume.
“Thank you,” she said quietly and unwound herself from his arm. Her cheeks were blushed and even under her coat, the movement of her breasts was clearly visible.
“So… you know who I am,” Felicity gasped and seemed to come to a decision, as she straightened her shoulders and raised her chin. “Where is my letter? Give it back to me!”
“I cannot do that,” he replied and added, “... at least not now, I mean. The letter is safely kept in my secretaire.” Luke watched the blush on her cheeks deepen and her eyes take on a suspicious glimmer. “I had no way of knowing that you would be here tonight.”
Felicity pressed her lips into a tight line. “All right. I can accept that.” Silence spread between them, and he observed her, whilst she counted her heartbeats. Once Felicity reached twelve, he finally broke the silence.
“Is there someone you trust, to whom I can give the letter? A maid perhaps?”
Whilst she was pondering her answer, the crease between her eyebrows returned. Then her face lit up. “Do you know Pater O’Donnell?”
“Are you talking about the man who runs the shelter for fallen women in Whitechapel?” Luke had heard good things about the man, who seemed rather unconventional for a Catholic priest.
“Take the letter there. There is usually a boy sitting in front of the door. His name is Joseph. Give him the letter and tell him that the lady who will come to pick it up shall reward him handsomely.”
“You trust a street urchin?”
“Joseph is a good boy,” Felicity said determinedly.
“All right then, that is how we will do it. You can count on me, my Lady.”
“Thank you,” Felicity replied. She hesitated, took a deep breath, and then she continued, “I have not yet thanked you for your help last night.” She raised her head and attempted a smile. “I do not know what I would have done without your swift intervention.”
“Why will you not allow me to help you a second time?” He stepped towards her and made to take her hand, but she crossed her arms in front of her chest and took a step backwards. He lowered his hand again. “You are being blackmailed, that much is obvious. Please allow me to find the man and deal with him.”
“Why would you want to do that? You do not even know me.” She bit her lips.
“Must there be a reason for wanting to help?” He suppressed the urge to remove his mask and show her to whom she was talking.
“Not always,” she replied calmly. Her hands had stopped shaking and she suddenly seemed calmer. Almost too calm, Luke thought. “I would have to be insane, if I were to give my life into the hands of a man who fights with other men purely for pleasure and who does not show his face to me.”
He slowly reached his hand out and took her gloved fingers into his. “And are you not? At least a little bit?” He laced his questions with just enough challenge, so she would not feel threatened.
She acknowledged his words with a smile that found its way straight into his heart. Her eyes sparkled when she relinquished her hand to him. “Just suppose that I would forget all of my concerns and agree to your offer – how would you stop the man from harassing me further?”
“I will make him understand,” Luke replied slowly.
He had a very clear idea of what to do with a cowardly, lousy individual like a blackmailer. Felicity looked at him intently, as if she were weighing the pros and cons of his rather curious offer.
“And, suppose you succeed…” she said contemplating. “What kind of reward would you expect from me?”
“None,” Luke replied. The single word hung like a weight of lead between them.
“All right,” she said, emitting a sigh that sounded like a capitulation in his ears. It was not the reaction he had wanted, but it was a start. “How do we proceed?” she asked.
“Do you know who wrote this letter?” Luke asked and immediately read the negative answer in her face. “That makes things a bit more complicated, but not impossible. We are going to wait for a second letter to arrive, mentioning a second meeting place. I will go there instead of you and take care of this man.” Luke felt a grim satisfaction with his thought. She seemed to want to object, but when she did not speak, Luke continued: “There is one thing that troubles me. Why…”
“… why was there no demand for money,” she finished his sentence. For a moment, her brown eyes looked directly into his, before she averted her gaze. Luke let go of her hand and gestured towards a rickety chair, but she rejected the offer and remained standing.
He lowered his voice. “Do you not want to tell me what this man is holding over you?” Just as he had anticipated, her answer consisted of a vehement shaking of her head.
“I understand.” He picked up the conversation where it had ended before his last question. “Notify me via your friend Joseph, as soon as you hear anything from the despicable… subject.”
“Good, that is how we will do it,” Felicity agreed. Then she seemed to gather all her courage. “Why don’t you show me your face? If I knew who you were, I could send my maid to you.” Even though he knew her face and her name, he was not able to do the same for her – at the present moment, that was impossible.
“Do not…” Luke said. “Let us keep things as they are for the time being, that I am a stranger to you.”
“Are you afraid that your fine friends might shun you, once they hear about your hobby?” Challengingly, she looked at his bandaged hands, still showing bruised and bloody knuckles.
“No,” he replied, but was unable to suppress a smile at the thought of how the lords and ladies gossiped about him behind closed doors. It was not the boxing that would arouse their appal – many gentlemen indulged in the sport – but rather the fact that he was getting paid to fight.
She seemed to be waiting for him to elaborate on his one-syllable reply, and when nothing else followed, she sighed.
“I acknowledge defeat, Sir.” The sparks
in her deep-brown eyes warned him that it was less of a surrender and more of a challenge that she had in mind. “For now.”
She had no reason to trust him. Why did she do it, regardless?
Maybe he was right. She must be insane – there was no doubt about that. Her recklessness in roaming around a vicious environment in the middle of the night, was perhaps understandable, as it resulted from sheer despair. However, what was hard to understand, was that she had decided to trust a man like him more than her own parents.
As she walked through the back door into the alley on his arm, where Brigid was waiting at the other end, she stole a furtive glance up at him. The few facts she knew about him, she could count on one hand. Firstly, he had good manners. In no case was he a nobleman. A lord would never swing his fists in a rundown area for the amusement of others, let alone for money. However, he was a gentleman, for he had intervened when she had been threatened, and he demanded nothing in return. The way he spoke revealed that he had enjoyed a good education. Perhaps he was the son of a wealthy merchant? Secondly, he was someone who was not afraid of getting into a physical altercation. Thirdly, he… the point was drowned out by an excited, although suppressed, scream that Brigid gave when she caught sight of her mistress on ‘the priest’s’ arm. The woman had been talking to two other women mere seconds ago, and now she held her hand in front of her mouth, barely able to contain her excitement, and staring up at him with big round eyes.
The Three Evesham Daughters: Books 1-3: A Regency Romance Trilogy Page 30