The road to Dunbury
She was going to have to drag Roberta back by the lobes of her ears, Sera decided. She’d failed to persuade Christian to withdraw his fighter, and she’d barely kept her composure when they’d spoken for five minutes. What would happen with an entire four days of forced interactions with him? Or when she saw him fight?
Sera had never seen Christian box before, although Bridget had admitted that she had. Benjamin had once dressed her in boy’s clothing and snuck her into a ring. Their marriage was profoundly strange to Sera, but they seemed happy, so she harbored no complaints. Sera knew of Christian’s fights, of course. He was a member of the Abernathy circle. They frequently spoke and boasted of his athletic prowess. Often, Graham and Lord Damon would jokingly reenact the fight, much to Christian’s feigned annoyance and mirthful grin.
The friends more often than not ended up in headlocks, a maneuver she knew could not be allowed in a boxing match, so she doubted the veracity of their accounts. It never stopped her from imagining him in a fight, though. Tall, magnificent, utterly compelling. She would feel a quake in her belly—in her center.
She certainly had no time for that nonsense today. Roberta must have left in such a hurry that she was ahead of the object of her pursuit, perhaps not realizing how much he would have to prepare. Sera could tell from the top of Christian’s coach that he must have packed all his training equipment atop it.
Once she found Roberta, she was going to pull her on to this mare with her (although she did not want to imagine Lord Damon’s annoyance) and convey her straight back to London to find a suitable match. She understood Peter’s appeal. He had the dark, brooding looks of a poet hidden beneath the veneer of a fighter. But even with good connections, he had chosen to make a life of sport, of uncertainty, of violence.
She made her way through the procession, but progress was slow. She was recognized by several peers, and forced to make stops for greetings along the way. With increasing despondency, she had not found Roberta yet, and she wondered if she had made a grave mistake.
Perhaps Roberta had been alluding to another boy entirely?
But it wasn’t possible. Her affection for Peter was plain as day.
Although Sera was the first to know that one did not always pursue the man for whom she had the most affection.
“Your grace,” they whispered as she passed. “Fancy that, a dowager duchess at the Dunbury fight.”
She came upon Dunbury before she even realized it. The town’s dusty roads were clearly not equipped for a crowd of this magnitude. Makeshift stables had sprung up at most street corners and the taverns were filled to capacity with travelers weary and wanting for early suppers. It was getting dark, and she supposed she would have to rely on Lord Damon to find her and her maid lodgings while she continued to search for Roberta. The more she considered it, the more she was convinced the girl must have found a friend in a respectable family to take her in. She could not be foolhardy enough to have traveled this distance without having made arrangements.
Unlike herself, she realized with a sigh. And now she was left with little recourse. Too many had seen her on the road, and for her to turn back to London would create more questions than she had answers for.
By the time she found Lord Damon, though, he had eyes only for his mare.
“I am quite well trained to ride,” she said.
This did not reassure him; he was utterly distracted by checking his horse’s mouth and whispering soothing words to her while he ran his hands down her flanks. Really, the man was a brat sometimes. Thank goodness for his pretty face.
“Might I trouble you to find us some accommodation?” she asked, rubbing her neck.
He shot up in surprise. “Accommodation? At the last minute? On the day before a fight?”
“Is that a problem?”
“Do you see the lot bedding down in the street?”
She had assumed they were urchins, and some were, but now she saw grown men were also making do with blankets and their meager belongings anywhere they could.
“But…”
“I would help you if I could, my lady,” he said. “But this is just how fights work. The location is only set the week before, and accommodations are full within the hour. I only have one room myself, and my man will need to sleep on the floor at my feet.”
She couldn’t imagine Roberta in such conditions! “I’ll request accommodations at the inn. There must be something.”
“You can’t mean to stay. I wouldn’t have let you come if I’d known. It’s not responsible,” he said. “I thought you were merely to attend to a matter of honor.”
“It appears it is still ongoing,” she muttered.
“Well, it is fortunate then that you have an advantage,” he said.
“What is that?”
“You are acquainted with one of the two individuals who might have enough sway to find you lodgings—Hughes and Jackson.”
“They?” she asked. “Even more so than you and I?”
“We aren’t in the House of Lords,” he said with an amused glint to his eye. “Those two men have brought nearly two hundred thousand pounds in wagers with them, not to mention the commerce to such a town. If anyone can get you a room, it’s Hughes.”
Just her luck.
After settling into their accommodations at the Dunbury Inn, Christian dragged Peter and their knee man and bottle man who carried their gear, farther afield. The sun was setting, but they still had time to get the lay of the land. Peter was still proving unsettlingly quiet and despite his dismissal of Sera, Christian was beginning to wonder if there was more to the affair with this girl than Peter had let on.
“We’ll walk,” Christian said, cutting through town. It wasn’t an inconsiderable walk, but given the town at capacity, it would be quicker than trying to ready a cart or horses. Besides, he wasn’t sure if he could handle any more time in the confined, rocking space.
Town gave way to homes and then a green field. In the distance, just behind a cluster of oak trees, he could make out a group of men—the officials, a banker, and several gambling den representatives—likewise getting the lay of the land.
“Who are they?” Peter asked.
“The money,” Christian explained. “And therefore not your concern. Do you see the four stakes in the ground? They were freshly placed here, probably before our arrival. Leather hide will be strung between them to form a square, your boxing ring. What can you tell me about that space?”
They’d arrived, attracting the notice of the money men. He could tell they were assessing Peter and even Christian himself. Looking for signs of weakness. Or particular signs of strength. He wondered if Jackson and his boy had been by yet.
“There’s some shade,” Peter said. “From the trees, in that one corner of the ring.”
Christian nodded encouragingly. “What does that mean?”
He shrugged. “Relief from the heat?”
“No. Think on it. The fight will start at noon, the sun overhead. If you have enough bouts, as the sun begins to fall, it will be blinding in the west. You need to think about your foot placement. Where you’re driving the other fighter. You’ll want to seek relief in the shade, but that’s the wrong thing to do, because it’ll put the sun in your eyes. What else do you notice?”
Peter squinted harder at the scene and began to walk the perimeter of what would become his ring, around the posts. “There’s a slight slope.”
“Yes, and the ground itself? It’s springy. Not like the warehouse. There’s give.”
With a bouncy step, the boy shifted his weight from side to side and then back and forth.
“That’s right, get used to it,” he said. “Now picture ten thousand people around you.”
Peter’s arms dropped, as did his mouth. “How many?”
“You heard correctly. Maybe even twenty thousand. A sea of people. The chanting. The screams. The smells. The sun overhead. The wind. The ground. It will all be new. You can’t be distracted.”
“Is that why you agreed to the exhibition fight tomorrow?” Peter asked. “To give me a chance to get used to things?”
No point in letting the boy think he was coddling him. “I do my own business for my own reasons. Come, let’s have a drink.”
Back at the tavern, he ordered a lean meal for each of them and two tankards of ale.
“Everyone’s looking at me,” Peter said.
“That will happen.”
“Except for the people who are looking at her.”
Christian willed himself not to turn around because he knew to whom Peter referred. There was only one woman in society whom people looked at so much, and it was Sera. Still, there was enough commotion, enough turned chairs, that he allowed himself the simple pleasure. He’d wondered if she would head back to London after their encounter, and was now wickedly pleased that she had not.
Again, possibly because he was a glutton for punishment.
She was quite a sight, especially with Damon Savage at her side. Their beauty was enough to make his teeth ache. Damon had once sworn he had no interest in Sera. When she had been widowed, there had been a question of it Benjamin needed to marry her, and Christian had been privy to several conversations among the Abernathys as to the best course of action. He had held his tongue at the time, not sharing to share what he knew to be true: Sera wanted no knight in shining armor.
Damon was his own man, elegant and titled. As desirable to a young lady in status as Tom had been, but with all the physical trappings to make women swoon. Added to that, he was no knight. He may have been Sera’s perfect match.
“Um, sir?” Peter nudged Christian’s shoulder gently.
He started and glanced back where Peter was eyeing Christian’s fork—the one that he’d bent clean in half. He set it down and straightened it. By the time he was done, Sera and Damon had approached their table.
“Might we?” Damon asked, pulling out a seat for Sera before Christian could answer.
“By all means.”
The two sat and food was ordered. They were all aware that every movie at their table was being watched. Every word overheard. A strange hush had fallen over the rest of the crowd.
“You seem fit,” Damon said to Peter. “I trust my investment in you will see a return ten times over.”
“That would be quite the miracle,” Sera noted. “The current odds against Peter are merely four to one.”
Christian stifled a laugh and noticed Peter trying to do the same. Damn, but she was likable.
“A man of my station doesn’t have to bother with the intricacies of mathematics,” Damon said dryly.
“The perfect man to work for,” Christian said.
“Regardless, we should not speak of odds in front of the young fighter,” Damon said smoothly. “It may have an effect on the outcome of the match. Unforgivable.”
Having been dismissed, Peter stood, bid everyone good night, and retired upstairs. Christian shot Damon a hard look. “I’ll thank you to leave my fighter’s psyche to me.”
Damon held up his hands defensively. “I’m just trying to be discreet. The dowager duchess requires accommodations, and given that her trip was only planned as late as this afternoon, she is unlikely to meet with success.”
“I see,” Christian said. “Would you say, your grace, that you are in need of rescue?”
Her eyes flashed fire.
Even Damon seemed appalled by his comment. “Come, man. I know you’ve more than enough accommodation for your team.”
“Of course,” he said smoothly, watching her irate face. “But discomfiting my team might have an effect on the fight. On Peter.”
“What, if his bottle man is unable to hold up the water and oranges?” Damon said.
With a screech of her seat, Sera stood up. “Thank you, gentlemen, I’ll leave you to the remains of your dinner.”
She stalked off, head held high, magnificent enough to draw every eye to her.
Damon sighed. “I suppose she’ll be bedding down with my horses. Not that those accommodations are to be sniffed at. You know how I treat my horses. At any rate, I’ve placed a pretty coin on Peter, although Jackson’s man has the better odds—what, oh, am I to finish dinner by myself?”
Christian ignored him and rose on an curse, then followed her. Why was she so stubborn? So unnecessarily committed to martyrdom? Did she think it made any difference? The cold wind on his face was a welcome distraction as he entered the street. But that reminded him that she’d hardly been dressed for the chill. What was she thinking, walking down the street with only her lady’s maid in tow?
The fights brought any number of pickpockets and criminals with them. She’d be set upon before she knew it. He guessed at her destination—the Spotted Dog Inn a few buildings down the way. Rat- and vermin-infested as far as he knew. Why had he been so determined to rile her up? For his own vanity? There was no benefit to it, or to him, at any rate.
The streets were rather crowded for the time of day, likely because there were not enough tables for dinner, forcing some of the hungry to wander until seats came available.
A few rabble rousers were among their number, but only a handful whom he didn’t trust. Unfortunately, one of those was looking quite intensely at Sera. After a moment, the boy, with his ragged shirt and shoes, kicked off the wall, dropped the toothpick from his mouth on the ground, and went after her.
Tension leached into every ounce of his body and he quickened his steps. But then Sera, instead of walking into the Spotted Dog, turned a corner before it. And the ruffian turned after her. Christian exploded into a run, arms pumping at his sides. He was going to rip that boy apart if he thought of harming a single hair on her head. He rounded the corner and skidded to a stop.
The boy was saying something to Sera—probably demanding her money, while her maid stood beside her. The moment the boy saw him, he drew a knife on Christian and said, “Don’t make trouble, sir. There’s nothing of this lady’s that I’ll let you take.”
“Step aside, boy,” Christian growled.
“What are you doing?” Sera asked, annoyed.
“Saving you,” he said. Really, was she daft?
“From someone in my own employ?” She looked at the boy. “Put the knife away. You’re only agitating him.”
The boy flicked the knife closed and it disappeared into his pants in an instant.
“This boy works for you?” Christian asked with scorn.
“As of an hour ago, yes. He has been making inquiries, discreetly, to see if there are any rooms available, and it appears he has found a possible vacancy among a peerage party. One of the wives took sick and is returning to town, so he believes I might be accommodated in her room.”
So not only was Sera perfectly well, not only was she not in need of rescue, but she had somehow also procured her own room. He threw up his hands in defeat and stalked away.
He had nothing to offer her.