The Bareknuckle Groom - Holly Bush Page 0,44

he walked down an aisle created by shouting men, waving their hats and pumping their fists. His skin glistened in the glow of the gas lamps, his hair pushed back from his head, and the sash around his waist swaying as he walked. He went to the ring’s stake closest to his corner and tied the strip of red-and-black plaid silk to the post.

“Both men have tied their colors! To your corners!” Chambliss shouted.

Thompson walked briskly to the man holding a jar of water beside Billy Pettigrew and took a drink. He turned with a flourish, making the crowd shout their approval, and stalked to the scratch, meeting Jackson in the middle of the ring. Chambliss rang a bell, and James threw a powerful punch into the chin of his opponent. But Jackson did not hesitate in his reply, knocking James back with punches to his midsection.

“You will wait here for me, Michael?” Lucinda asked the tall, heavy-set man helping her from the carriage near the warehouse where James was to fight. She’d been concerned she’d have to supply an address, but Laurent had assured her that Michael would know where the fight would be held. Every man in the city knew where the fight would be held, according to her butler.

“I’ll be right here, miss. Unless you’ll allow me to escort you inside. These matches attract a rowdy crowd.”

“No. But thank you, Michael. If I’m uncomfortable, I’ll come back out and get you.”

“Just come out the door and wave my way. I’ll keep an eye out for you. The whole thing shouldn’t have you inside more than an hour.”

“They fight for an hour?” she asked.

“No. But the fellow that runs these matches, Chambliss, he likes to build up the crowd to get them betting and liking the entertainment enough to come back. Usually, the fight itself only lasts but a quarter of an hour, but with Thompson fighting, sometimes it’s over in minutes!”

“He is that good?”

“His fists fly so fast you can barely see them. It’s a sight, miss, a real sight.”

Lucinda held her bag against her waist and walked to the entrance of the warehouse. She’d dressed in dark blue, a plain dress with the same color satin belt, a dark blue cloak—the only one she had without a fur collar—and a small hat covering her coiled blond hair with dark netting attached in the front, which she pulled down as she approached a huge man at the door.

“Fight’s gonna be done soon, miss. You sure you want in? There be no returning any gate money.”

Lucinda paid what he asked for and entered the room. It was like nothing she’d ever seen before, and she was glad she was dressed as she was, hoping to blend into the throng of men ahead of her. The room was warm and smelled of liquor and sweat; the noise was overwhelming and the crowd chaotic. She inched her way through men who were not paying any attention to her in the least. In fact, even when shouting and guzzling from a bottle, they pulled on the brims of their hats and caps as she maneuvered toward the ring. She could hear the sounds of flesh cracking against flesh and smell the sawdust, but she still could not see the fighting.

Lucinda tapped on a man’s shoulder, hemmed in as she was on all sides by the surging crowd, and waited until he glanced at her. As he turned, she slipped in front of him and found herself at the end of long rows of benches. She looked up just in time to see James take a cruel blow from his opponent, sending blood and sweat from his mouth raining on the men in the front row. James returned the punches to the other man, drawing blood over his eye. The violence took her breath away. But there was something else that she could not draw her eyes from. It was James Thompson’s bare chest, flexing as his fist flew at his opponent, his arms thick with roped, bulging muscle. His hands had blood on them, and she did not know if it was from the other man’s nose or cuts on his knuckles. She glanced across the ring and saw MacAvoy pointing at her and nudging Alexander Pendergast beside him.

“Is that Miss Vermeal?” MacAvoy said and pointed.

“Good God! It is her! What is she doing here? We’ve got to get to her and escort her out of here. This is not a