Delightfully Dangerous (Knights Without Armor Book 1)

by Marly Mathews

  “Oh, aye, look at me, I’m the village idiot. Really, Richard. How daft do you think I am?” There was an uneasy silence between them, and then she started to giggle. Her laughter grew until she had tears welling in her eyes. “I can’t believe it. Lord Eden thought he knew my imaginary uncle.”

  “He never was too swift of wit.”

  “Is my outfit really that bad?”

  “It’s not that good.”

  She sighed. “Fine. I suppose I’ll have to do something about it.”

  “You can’t go to a tailor.”

  “Of course I can’t, silly.”

  “I know what you can do.”

  “What?” she asked, her eyes bright with hope.

  “You can cease these foolish excursions of yours. If you continue, I fear you might give me a few white hairs before my time.”

  “Only a few?” She laughed. “Clearly, I’m not trying hard enough.”

  “Cheeky. I’ll see what I can do about a more…fashionable garment for you. As for your little adventures, something tells me what you’ll never be swayed away from them. So you’ll certainly have me as your constant companion from now on. Perhaps we should go and make our wagers.”

  “Oh, aye.”

  They found the banker and made their bets. Richard bet the same way that Lydia did. If she believed in one of the fighters then he did as well. He probably should have seen the fighters for himself, but it seemed easier to go along with Lydia than to try to fight her, and she was adamant that Phillip ‘Pip’ Bird was the man to bet on. Mandeville was more than capable in a hand-to-hand combat, and he didn’t suppose the man would support someone who couldn’t handle himself in the ring. After all, he’d trained Mandeville to be the fighter he was. Richard regretted so much concerning Mandeville. He regretted the fact that their past friendship had been tarnished. Now their correspondence with each other was purely professional and he missed the old days. Not that he missed the wars, no, he missed their chumminess. The bond they’d all shared, the bond that had been forged in war.

  After they settled their bets with the banker, Richard waited while Lydia fetched herself some jellied eels and a cider. He watched in silence as she gobbled it up as if she hadn’t eaten in days. Once she was finished, she regarded him steadily for a few moments. Her gaze was intense. He felt as if she was looking right into his heart.

  “As long as you don’t put a halt to my excursions, I suppose you may accompany me whenever I decide to go on an adventure.”

  He shook his head. “You are too used to having everything your own way.”

  “One could say the same thing about you, sir. When has life not given you what you wanted?”

  “You haven’t agreed to marry me yet.”

  “Don’t be like that,” she said softly.

  “Be like what?”

  “You know what you’re doing to me, and you walk on dangerous ground. If someone were to overhear you…why it wouldn’t end well for either of us.”

  “We are alone.”

  “Alone in a crowd? You, sir, shall remain alone. I am needed back at Pip’s side. He looks a little wobbly. And he’ll need all of his confidence to win this match. His opponent is hardened—and merciless. He’s…beaten many to a pulp before.” She handed him the tankard that had held her cider, and the bowl from her jellied eels. Without another word, she disappeared into the crowd.

  “Damnation. That woman will be the death of me, but ah, at least I’ll die happy.”

  ydia couldn’t quite figure out what to make of Richard.

  He was changing before her eyes. Becoming more like the way she remembered him. Shaking off the fog of her infatuation, she looked over at Pip, who stood pacing the length of the tent.

  “I don’t even know how I ever had pluck enough to come to the scratch. I…I just don’t think I can do it this time. Did you see him out there? He’s strutting like a peacock in front of his tent. His chest is puffed out, his head held high. He’s going to finish me, I know it. I’ll be the laughingstock of the Fancy. I can’t think to stand against a monster like that. He’s like a bloody giant from the stories my granny used to tell me. He’ll break my bones and crush them into dust.” Pip was having his prefight panic. She had to find a way to calm him down and make him ready for the ring.

  Lydia ducked out of the tent, to see if she could catch a glimpse at the performer that was his opponent. His opponent looked to be in fine fettle, whereas Pip was already sweating profusely and shaking like a leaf. Jack ‘The Butcher’ Reeves was composed and looked like a man who held the world in the palm of his hand. He had an overtly dramatic flair to him, and the crowd would love that. Pip had a point, he was built like a ghastly beast from a Gothic horror story. His arrogance was not becoming of the Fancy, as most of them behaved in a quiet gentlemanly manner, and didn’t like drawing attention to themselves the way that Reeves did. He was better fitted for the stage than the ring the way that he performed. But then, the best fighters—the ones who became undefeated champions—had more than a little bit of thespian ability.

  Sighing, she stepped back into the tent, and tried to hide her own despair. She found Pip nervously shuffling a deck of cards. What was wrong with her? She couldn’t fall into the same pit Pip occupied at the moment. She believed in her young friend. They couldn’t falter now, not when he was so close to claiming victory over a man who clearly needed to be taken down a peg or two. “You have the skill. Moreover, you were born with the talent to dodge and feint out of the way. You are quicker on your feet than anyone else I know.”

  “You might be quicker than me, you dance about so quickly, your feet become a blur.” Pip pointed out sullenly.

  “Perhaps, but just think about how many fights you won outside of this ring, and no one ever expected you to get this far. You lived on the streets, surviving by relying on your brains and your brawn. If you can endure all of that, then, you can survive that blockhead. From what I can see, he’s all show. He should be performing at the Theatre Royal, they’d have a packed house with him on the stage.”

  “Do you, do you really think so?” Pip asked, stuttering slightly. He was a sweet kid, and deserved the money he won from each fight. He was, as he’d willingly confessed, the son of a harlot and had been cast out into the world at a tender age to live—or die. He’d thrived, and made the harrowing streets of London his own. He was about the same build as Lydia though slightly more stout than she was, not built like a beast as Reeves was, but large enough to make a formidable opponent in the ring.

  “I do.” She didn’t have to muster the conviction for Pip—she’d wavered there for a moment, but she’d always believed in his ability. Pip could handle himself, and she had a fair wager that he would put Reeves down. She checked her pocket watch. The fight was set to start in five minutes. “Did you want any last minute tips?”

  “Huh?” Pip muttered, still intently studying his cards. “Oh, no. I just wanted to see you. You’re a calming influence for me, Jamie. I don’t know what I’ll do when you go back to the country. Our paths aren’t exactly meant to cross away from these matches—we aren’t…we aren’t exactly from the same worlds, are we? I’m of lowly origins and you…well, you are not.”

  A sinking feeling hit her stomach. She hadn’t given any of it much thought until now. Pip was right. Her time as Jamie would eventually have to come to an end. Her life as Lady Lydia would recommence and she would either have to resign herself to a life on the shelf—or marry a man whom she didn’t love. Richard’s sudden interest in her couldn’t be trusted. He would have to do more to show her that his feelings for her were real and not just a passing infatuation that he’d tire of easily.

  “You know where to find me in London, aye? If I decide to make this my last fight, Alex said I can stay with him at his townhouse, and help him give lessons to the fancy toffee nosed gentlemen of the ton. He makes a good wage on doing that, or so he says. But he doesn’t have to worry. He’ll always have Lord Ravensbourne as h
is patron. So will you come and call upon us?”

  Lydia remained silent while she gathered her thoughts. He was looking at her expectantly, waiting for a reply.

  “I think…I think that’s an absolutely splendid idea.”

  “Maybe when you drop by you might be inclined to…take a few lessons?”

  Her balance shifted beneath her, and she nearly lost her footing. Feeling slightly faint, she looked away, and prayed that her thoughts were not etched proudly across her face. “I…just might.” The words almost caused her physical pain. “I hope that your life turns out the way you want it to, Pip.” Closing her eyes, she tried to stem the flood of pain welling inside her. She’d have no such luck. Her life was already spiraling out of control. Richard was an idiot, and she was the biggest fool of all for thinking that there was hope for them both. Even with the way he was behaving tonight—her hopes were still dashed. He couldn’t change his spots that quickly. No man could change that drastically. She’d heard her mother gossiping with a friend earlier that week, and they’d both been lamenting the fact that men were so stubborn and so set in their ways.

  “Jamie?” Pip asked, concern in his voice. She snapped herself out of her reverie.

  “Aye?”

  “I thought I’d lost you there. You had gone off to another time and place by the look on your face.”

  She sighed heavily. “I should get back to…my companion for the evening.”

  “Aye,” he agreed, looking crestfallen. “The fight will start in a few short moments. My gut is twisting and turning but there’s no going back now, is there?”

  “You will do just fine. You shall emerge the triumphant party, because you’re tough and you’re stubborn. No one on God’s green earth can keep you down.”

  “I wish I was as confident as you, Jamie.”

  “Trust me, Pip, in most areas of my life, I’m not nearly as confident as I should be, but here, right in this moment, I’m as confident as I’ll ever be. You are miles ahead of that other fighter…whatever his name might be.” She winked at him, paused. “Oh, and Pip, don’t forget the oranges. You know Reeves always makes a big to do about sucking on his to the absolute delight of the crowd. He knows how to work the crowd, you’d do well to take a few pointers from his lead.”

  “Oh, aye,” he muttered.

  She nodded and left the tent. Looking through the mob of spectators, she caught Richard’s eye. As their gazes met, for one blissful moment everything was right in her world. He was here with her, and she knew no matter the outcome of the fight—even if she was wrong—he’d be there beside her side. Inhaling a nice lungful of cool air, she pushed her way through people and he managed to part the throngs with just one look. He was transforming before her eyes, becoming even more impressive than she’d remembered him.

  “The fight will start in a few minutes,” she announced, watching as Alex, and the other men who helped Pip with the fights went into the tent. The ring was ready. The umpires, seconds and referee were waiting. The stage had been set.

  “It’s going to be a bloody brutal affair.”

  “Oh, yes, there will be blood. Lots of it. Hopefully, most of it will be Pip’s opponent.”

  “What makes them do it, I wonder?”

  “What makes any man fight? Love, money, and sometimes, there are those of your sex who just like to fight. They don’t care if they have a reason for it, they just like a good old fashioned brawl.”

  “Most of them find that sort of entertainment outside a public house.”

  “Some of them go into the army for it. Not anyone I know, mind. But Micah told me plenty of stories of men who enlisted just so they could take some of their aggression out on the world.”

  The crowd was starting to become quite raucous. The cheers would soon go up as the fighters took to the ring. She couldn’t help it. No matter how much she willed herself to be calm, she was getting caught up in the excitement of it all. Trepidation for Pip lingered in the back of her mind, and yet, she was confident in his skill as a fighter. Somehow, she knew that everything would turn out the way that she’d envisioned it would.

  “I never realized how theatrical these events were,” Richard commented. She looked up and studied him as the fighters took the ring. “They’re rather like gladiators of ancient Rome, aren’t they?” Pip had his orange to suck on, and he threw it away without using his hands. “He’s trying to be as vainglorious as his opponent, but I fear it’s just not in him.” Reeves was strutting about like he owned the world. He reminded him of one of the rather annoying peacocks on his estate. “Bit of a cock-of-the-walk, isn’t he?”

  “He hasn’t ever been defeated, and this is the first time Pip is fighting him. He’s a fighter for the glory and the fame—Pip…Pip fights for much different reasons.”

  “Your Pip has guts if he’s willing to face off against this sort. Doesn’t he realize that his opponent is much more than just a brawler? He’s been trained, and trained well.”

  “So has Pip.”

  “Has he been trained to kill?”

  “No, of course not. There’s rules now with boxing. It’s not supposed to end in the death of one of the combatants.”

  “Tell that to Reeves. He has murder in his eyes, and with his sort of training, he’s going to be hard pressed not to crush that dainty fellow—Pip is only slightly bigger than you, Jamie, the poor chap looks like he’ll crumple after the first blow Reeves serves him. His sting must be as inconsequential as a bee. As for Reeves, well, he’s going to hit him with the force of a cannon.” Alex was an idiot for sending Pip to fight Reeves. He of all people should know what Reeves could do to an opponent. The man was brutal—and when it came to fighting he was a professional.

  “Oh, do stop, Richard. You sound quite frightening. We mustn’t fret. They are evenly matched.”

  “You might think they’re evenly matched, but I see another story. Reeves is a brute, and knows exactly how to execute his strength to the detriment of anyone who seeks to stand against him. His skills far surpass your Pip’s, he’s a man not used to losing. In fact, he’s been trained to win, you can see it when you look at him. You said yourself that this behemoth Reeves hasn’t ever been defeated and you’re putting poor Pip up against him? Look at Pip…the poor chap is…well, it looks like a mouse standing next to a lion and I’m pretty certain that lion is going to eat that mouse. In this David and Goliath fight, I fear David won’t win. It won’t be pretty. You might have to plug your ears, and close your eyes to keep from fainting dead away. Your feminine wits might not be able to take it. Perhaps we should take our leave before it even begins.”

  “We are not going anywhere. And I should advise you not to underestimate the mouse,” she said fiercely. “I know Pip. He has a lot of bottom, and the science to back it up. He shan’t go down without a good fight.”

  “Oh, I can see that. He’s going to give the spectators one hell of a spectacle. No matter how this turns out, everyone shall get their money’s worth. He must be an absolute glutton for punishment. I honestly feel sorry for the poor lad. He’s about to have a very bad time of it.”

  “Oh, aye, his gluttony is strong. He can take a hit like no one else, and keep on going.”

  “As in going right into his freshly dug grave? Because I think that brute Reeves is carrying the shovel.”

  Reeves regarded the crowd, and made Lydia’s heart skip another beat. She couldn’t bear hearing what was about to come out of the pugnacious man’s mouth. Richard was right. Reeves did look rather intimidating when matched up against Pip. “Oh, do hush, Richard. You know nothing about these affairs. You don’t know what Pip is made of.”

  “Nothing but bone and feathers by the looks of it,” Richard cracked. “With a name like Bird, I do hope he can fly—fly away home so he doesn’t get the stuffing beat out of him.”

  “You really do like to be droll, don’t you? Uh, oh, here we go,” she muttered. “Reeves is about to wind the crowd up with one of his boastful sp
eeches, he’ll probably take your bone and feathers joke one further by saying he’s going to crush the little bird in front of him, pluck his feathers, and have him for dinner.” She watched closely as Reeves’s eyes swept through the crowd. They lingered on someone close to Richard. He looked ready to spew out the speech that would stir the crowd into believing he was the hero of the fight. Instead, his eyes narrowed to thin slits, and he remained silent. This caused a curious hush to fall over the crowd. They were all caught off guard by this drastic change within the normally bombastic Reeves. Without further ado, the fight commenced.

  ichard didn’t know who was more entertaining, the fighters who were currently hugging it out in a bruising sort of way, or the damsel in disguise—who was currently distressed—next to him. Lydia kept furtively closing her eyes and opening them again. He could see how frightened she was for Pip, and he had to admit she had good reason to be scared. Pip was no match for Reeves, and Reeves had no business going into the ring with amateurs turned fighters, like Pip.

  Pip hadn’t seen war. He hadn’t seen combat. And he certainly hadn’t been trained the way Reeves had been. From the looks of the poor chap, he came from the streets, and Mandeville had probably found him while Pip was attempting to pick the gentleman’s pocket. Pip was a fine specimen for a fight. He would win the hearts of the crowd by his pluck and courage alone, and he had the courage and modesty befitting the Fancy, but he couldn’t be put into the ring with a dragon of Reeves’s might. No. It wouldn’t do. There was going to be many a disappointed bettor tonight.

  Finally, they came out of the body lock, and Reeves started pummeling Pip. His fists were flying at such a speed, they almost blurred together. The kid couldn’t seem to block any of his punches, which Richard had expected. The lad looked a little frantic, but he was remaining upright. Perhaps Pip was just the little upstart that was needed to stand up against the great big bastard. Blood flew through the air, and all of the blood was Pip’s. Christ’s teeth, the lad was starting to look like a lump of red meat. Reeves knocked Pip down, but Pip popped back up like he was a bloody puppet that had just been slugged. He’d keep going down, and on one of his hits, Reeves would make certain that Pip stayed down. The man didn’t know his own strength, and had killed before without meaning to. This time, however, Richard suspected that Reeves meant to. Pip was challenging him, and if he knew Reeves well, the man would view Pip as someone who should have stayed on the streets, and out of the ring. He would say that he wasn’t made of the stuff that was needed for a fighter, that he was certainly no James Figg.