“I’ll see ye over at the ring. We’ll warm up and then have a go.”
“Brilliant.”
Soon Emerson was wrapping his fists with ripped fabric strips to keep his knuckles from getting too bloody. His heart pounded an excited rhythm, and as he faced off with Wallace, a grin that spread through his whole body warmed him from the inside out.
They sparred for a half hour, taking turns in holding pads for the other’s attack. Emerson’s shoulders ached with a welcome soreness that came from deep fatigue of the best kind. Sweat poured down his face, trailed down his back, and soaked his undershirt.
Wallace grinned as he counted down for them to spar.
He ducked below what would have been a painful jab and gave an uppercut to Wallace, earning a grunt. He wasn’t playing bollocks out, but it wasn’t child’s play either. If Wallace’s hits made purchase, it was going to hurt like hell.
Emerson kept on his toes, moving from side to side and training his eyes on his opponent. Wallace made a move to swing, and Emerson anticipated, or so he thought. It was a fake, and Wallace smashed the side of his left jaw with a blow that left him tasting the salty sweetness of his own blood.
“Good one,” he conceded.
Wallace shrugged. “It was a lucky shot.”
“You’re too modest. I’m glad you’re going on easy on me.”
“No need to re-arrange your pretty face.”
“My face thanks you.”
Wallace laughed and took another swing, one that Emerson easily dodged. He rolled to the side and rose, placing a quick jab to the man’s side.
“Ach, that move always works. Damn it all. Most aren’t as fast as you. I forget you’re quick devil.”
“Well, now I lost the element of surprise.”
“Indeed, you have.” Wallace rounded on him and sent a stiff breeze that crossed his face as Emerson only barely missed the roundhouse.
They continued for an hour, maybe two. By the time Emerson was finished, he was soaked through, the effects of a near sleepless night catching up quickly.
“Are you done, then?” Wallace asked, panting as well.
“Indeed. It was a brilliant match. You’re always a bugger.”
Wallace gave a loud chuckle. “Aye, you’re not an easy one yourself.”
Emerson gave a wave and walked back to his discarded coat. He sighed heavily as he patted his face down with a spare cloth he’d brought. Glancing to the door, he mentally prepared himself for what lay behind it.
Not the alleyway, but the events of the day, rather the night. They had work to do, and now that he’d properly beaten his body into submission, maybe his heart would follow suit and keep him out of trouble with Jaxsen.
Because she was nothing but trouble for both heart and mind.
He left the building and found his carriage in the drizzling rain. It was a welcome chill to his fevered body. He gave a quick nod to his coachman and quickly found his seat then rode home.
What he truly needed was a bath, a long bath and perhaps some comfrey in a compress for his surely bleeding brow and the scrape on his jaw where Wallace had hit him soundly. It would serve as a brilliant conversation starter tonight at the party.
People didn’t expect gentlemen to have wounds — at least the ones who can been seen with the naked eye. There was always a story or scandal that accompanied the obvious wounds, and the Londontonwere raving mad for those types of stories.
Maybe it would help their cause.
Maybe it wouldn’t.
But it was too late to change it now.
He strode up to his room and began to disrobe slightly before he’d even made it down the hall. He pulled up his shirt tucked in his breeches and his soaked undershirt, then started to unbutton it. As he opened the door to his room, he was just unfastening his breeches, then started to pull his shirt over his head. He tossed it onto the chair beside the bed and froze.
