In the Dark with the Duke by Christi Caldwell Page 0,17
the stairway that emptied out onto Whitechapel—“I suggest you don’t waste your time with him.”
Instead of taking the very pointed directive, she returned to the window. Angling her head left and right, she surveyed the crowd on display in the fighting ring below. “Is he one of the fighters in there, then?” she asked, desperation underscoring her words.
“He doesn’t want your kind about,” he said, flatly ignoring her question.
With that, he stepped around her and started back toward the fight club.
In a startling display of temerity at odds with her earlier terror, the woman rushed over and blocked his path. “You can’t speak for what he wants or doesn’t want.”
“Trust me,” he said coolly. “I feel comfortable saying I can. Hugh Savage is a ruthless bastard.” A memory flashed across his mind’s eye. Flickers of passages. Moments. Spliced apart. Different fields. All running with blood. “He’s cut men down, for sport and not.” As he spoke, the color continued leaching from her high cheekbones. Pressing his advantage on her fear, he went on speaking. “As a rule, he doesn’t deal with women. And especially not polite ladies who’ve no place being where you are now.”
Instead of being driven back by the frost in his tone, the lady stepped closer. Her eyes lingered on his beard, and she peered intently at him. “It is you,” she whispered. “You’re him.”
Hugh silently cursed.
The crowd roared again as a winner was announced. Which meant it was also time for the next match to commence. “What do you want?”
The lady dampened her mouth, the pink flesh of her tongue darting out, tracing the seam; it was a display of unease that, at the same time, proved erotic, drawing his focus to that flesh disproportionate in size—a slightly fuller upper lip, a narrower bottom. Yet interesting enough to command notice. Much like the woman herself.
“I want to hire you.”
It took a moment to register her words. “You want . . .”
“To hire you,” she said on a rush, and then reaching inside her jacket, she tossed a heavy purse at his feet and took a hasty step away.
And a memory slipped in . . . of a masked woman on the arm of a patron at the fight society. From behind the black velvet strip concealing her identity, her eyes gleamed. Clink-Clink-Clink. Kill him, you filthy street bastard.
That husked voice of long ago would haunt him until he drew his last breath.
“Did you just throw money at me?” he asked on a steely whisper.
The lady troubled at her lower lip. “I . . . yes. I did.”
He stared down at that little velvet sack brimming with coin. Fury slithered around inside. “First, Flittermouse, don’t ever throw money at me, is that clear?” he asked, gliding toward her, and she continued retreating. “Ever.”
In her haste to get away from him, the damned lady didn’t reveal so much as a hint of awareness of her surroundings.
Hugh shot an arm out, and she released a cry, her arms coming up protectively about her head.
Cursing, Hugh caught her around the middle just as she would’ve toppled backward.
Horror wreathed her pale features.
He stuck his face close to hers. “Second, I don’t fight for pay.” These days, every bare-knuckle match was born of loyalty, each fight fought for the benefit of his partners, the pair who’d taken him in. Beyond that, he’d not an interest anymore in maiming or killing another soul. Turning them about, he directed her slight frame toward the street. “Now, get out.”
The woman stumbled a step, then caught herself.
Hugh headed for the door.
“You misunderstood,” she called back. “I don’t want to hire you as a fighter.” There was a pause.
“Good night, Flittermouse,” he said, not breaking his stride.
“Please!” Panic brought the young woman’s voice creeping up several notches. “I want you to teach me how to fight.”
Chapter 5
THE LONDON INQUISITOR
No one can beat Hugh Savage. In his history of fighting, no one did. As such, there’s not been a match worthy of mentioning since he left the ring.
M. Fairpoint
Lila had managed the seemingly impossible: to stop Hugh Savage in his tracks.
Only, with his broad back to her and the memory of his icy rage, it had all become jumbled in her mind as to whether she actually wanted Hugh Savage to remain.
Lila’s heart hammered a sickening rhythm in her breast.
She’d angered him. The bold slash of his lips, turned down at the corners in a scowl, had left no doubt as to his feelings. Everything inside her said