Chapter 10
Sweat dripped from Lucas’s browinto his left eye, but he ignored it, his gaze on his opponent. The man was favoring his left side after four rounds of boxing, and Lucas was determined that this would be the last of them. His weight shifted slightly. Hardly at all but enough to make the man believe he was about to move.
At once, the man swung. Lucas parried the blow to his stomach, returning with a strike of his own. His chest constricted with another quick breath before landing a second, flush hit to the man’s side. His left side.
The man lashed out with an unsteady swing, but Lucas grasped his wrist and pulled it up, hitting him on the left flank again. Not so hard this time. Just enough to force the man down.
He crumpled to a knee and did not rise. Nor did he come up to scratch for the next round.
Shouts of mingled triumph and frustration rippled through the crowded, dimly lit room as Lucas’s posture relaxed from the tightly wound stance and he crossed to his opponent, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. With a shake of his head, he told his knee man that he didn’t need assistance, and he similarly waved off his bottle man, though Jack hadn’t actually come to his feet—still lounging in his seat, apparently guessing that Lucas wouldn’t need his assistance.
Ignoring the continued shouts and jeers around them, Lucas took a knee in front of his downed opponent. He stuck out his hand, and the man begrudgingly took it and shook, though he looked as if he’d rather spit at Lucas.
“Blast ye,” the orange-haired man muttered in a strained voice. “I thought I had ye that time.”
Lucas smiled at his friend’s pretended bitterness. “Nearly did.”
His friend scowled. “Och. We both know I hadn’t a chance. Ye dinnae need ta make me look so weak in my own club though,ye ken. What sorta friendship is this?” Colin shook his head ruefully.
“A gainful one, I should say.”
Colin conceded that point with a tip of his head and slight grin, then allowed Lucas to pull him to his feet, his bottle man not far behind with a towel and strong drink. The crowd bellowed forth a cheer as Colin raised his hand to show he might have lost but wasn’t brutally beaten.
They cleared the square for the next fight, blending to the back of the crowd without much trouble. A handful of men slapped Lucas on the back in congratulations, doing the same for Colin in a show of commiseration. By the time they had made it to the outer wall of the boxing club, another fight had begun, and they were left to themselves.
Lucas rolled back his shoulder. It would be stiff come morning.
“Got you there good, din’ I?” Colin grinned at his friend’s shoulder.
“Indeed. I appreciate you leaving my face alone, though.”
“Cannae have yer mother knowing of yer nighttime activities. It certainly dinnae have ta do with not being able ta get a good hit there.”
“My mother might not know, but Charlie discovered that I leave the house on occasion.”
Colin raised a brow at that, creasing the freckled, weather-worn skin on his forehead. He might have been about Lucas’s age of twenty-six years, but his time at sea had aged his appearance. “Yer brother? Are ye worried?”
Lucas thought a moment. “No.” Truthfully, Charlie probably would not exert himself to discover just what Lucas was doing. And if he did, he was not the sort to squeal.
Another patron pulled Colin aside, and Lucas leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms. His breath still pulled tightly at his chest, and he reveled in the feeling of exertion. He didn’tbox nearly as often as he once had. Largely because it was no longer necessary—the club was doing well enough now that Colin didn’t need a “prizefighter” to pull in men wishing to knock the man from his pedestal.
Also, his mother truly had become suspicious over the telltale signs of his fighting in the early days of the club.
Heirs to a marquessate didn’t often wake with unexplainable bruising.
Colin bid the man farewell and turned back to Lucas. He cocked his head to the figure retreating into the crowd. “I ’spect he’ll be paying ye a visit soon. The real ye. I’ve nearly convinced him... His wife an’ kids cannae live as they are any longer.”
Lucas nodded solemnly. “What else did you need to talk to me regarding? That is the true reason I came tonight, you know, not because I wanted a beating to my head.”
“Again, I will remind ye that I dinnae hit ye on the head. Come here.” Ignoring the shouts that indicated another round had been won, he led Lucas along the rough wall until they reached a door that led to Colin’s office-of-sorts. Really it was a small, dingy room with a desk under a single, murky window and a padlock on the door.
Colin clicked the lock, crossing to sit on the top of the desk.
“Tha Heatherdown Canal Committee is growing . . . irritated.”
“With you?” Did his friend need him to smooth over feathers with a few lords? Colin did not generally come to Lucas with his problems, so it must be a serious offense he had committed.
“Technically, with ye.”
