Once they were out of earshot, Fleur asked, “How did you know it would be so easy to convince him to stand down?”
He looked at her in a tolerant manner. “Once you have played this game long enough it starts to become familiar.” He grasped her hand and pulled her behind him and Fleur realized that the man she was with was not as dangerous as the others she would soon meet. She was glad that Mr. Porter was her escort if she had to become a patron of such a place.
The surroundings were similar to any other pub that Fleur had frequented around England with one marked difference. She walked over dried blood stains on the floor. The kind that had seeped into the wood and would never come clean again. Drink flowed heavily and the raucous carousing was almost deafening. From gaming to whores, it was the sort of den of iniquity that put the gentleman’s club she’d been subjected to shame. That had been a place to practice money and power.
This was a place to practice all the rest.
Fleur noticed that Drake kept his baker boy cap down low, almost over his brow. She wondered if he was trying to conceal his identity and why that might be. No doubt he’d had trouble here in the past as it didn’t seem to encourage newcomers.
That point was proven a moment later when someone grabbed her arm a bit roughly. “Whot’s wit’ th’ disguise?”
“They are with me.” It was all Mr. Porter offered for an explanation as he clamped his hand around the offender’s wrist. She had a moment of panic thinking that they might start a brawl in front of her but the man must have decided she wasn’t worth the effort and released her.
Again, Mr. Porter grasped her hand as he led her toward the rear of the establishment. She thought they might be leaving but then he pushed back a wall to reveal a set of stairs that led down to another section of the pub that was even louder than above. She swallowed down her rising fear as the shouts and screams reached her ears and caused them to ring.
When they reached the ground floor, Fleur realized what all the excitement was about. There was a pit set up in the middle of the commotion and two men faced off with nothing on but a pair of ragged trousers. Sweat dripped from the hair that was plastered to their head and mixed with the rivulets of blood that ran down their bare chests.
Both men’s bare knuckles were mangled as well as their faces. It was obvious they had engaged in a battle. And as one of them drew back and made contact, Fleur had to look away but she couldn’t escape the sickening crunch that followed.
“Why are we here?” She spoke urgently to Mr. Porter but he either didn’t hear her or he ignored her as he continued to glance about the crowd, as if looking for someone.
He finally led her to a corner of the room that was deserted. At least, as much as it could be with a high stakes boxing match taking place. A dark-skinned man approached them and Fleur’s eyes widened behind her shroud. He was muscular and wearing a patch over one eye, his persona just as intimidating as the rest of him. But it was the single eye that was revealed that caused her to become speechless. It was bright blue.
“Drake.” He clapped Mr. Porter on the shoulder in a friendly fashion, for which she was grateful. However, it was the name he uttered that caught her attention. Was that Mr. Porter’s given name?
Drake. She sounded it out in her mind and tried to decide if it suited him.
“Amos.”
She tilted her head slightly to the side, attempting to picture the other man in the same fashion.
They bent their heads together and spoke too quietly for her to hear so Fleur decided that she would inspect the rest of the room.
Finally, their conversation appeared to conclude. At the same time, a great roar of applause and equal amount of upset, came from the direction of the pit and the fight that had recently concluded.
To her surprise, Mr. Porter handed her his dagger. “In case things don’t go the way they should.”
After that, he began to remove his jacket and shirt and she realized what he was about to do. Before he could remove the fine lawn shirt, she grasped his arm. “Please tell me you aren’t going in that… that…”
“Pit?” he finished for her since she seemed incapable of uttering the word. “I am.”
“Why?”
“I have my reasons.”
She exhaled sharply. “That you want to limp out of here? I’m not sure I approve.”
He snorted. “You don’t have a choice. You are beholden to me. It’s not the other way around.”
“But what if?—”
He reached out and grasped her chin through the shroud. Even through the concealing fabric, she was able to see clearly and his eyes were like twin daggers shining out of his face. “If that occurs, Amos will lead you to safety. From there you can return to your brother. But I can assure you that won’t be necessary. This is not my first fight in the pit.”
Fleur released her grip out of shock more than anything else. “You have?”
Instead of replying, he removed his shirt and handed it to Amos.
That’s when she saw the scars.
