“I’ll tell my coachman to hurry,” Eoin said.
The trip to Championess Quick’s was starkly different from the journey to the Black Sheep. However, given Hannah’s resolve not to further pursue a romantic relationship with Eoin until he knew the truth, the change in atmosphere was a very good thing… even if she might have yearned to return to that intimate ride.
The other major difference was the presence of Lord Percy, who Hannah discovered was an absolute prattle basket. The man never stopped chattering about the most inane things—the best wig maker in London, last week’s horse race, the best of shoe buckle fashion, and countless other subjects that Hannah simply blocked out.
It was as if the man could not abide any silence, and since neither she nor Eoin seemed inclined to fill it, Percy clearly took it upon himself to prevent any gaps. Hannah knew she should be grateful. His presence prevented her from telling Eoin about the Aucourte mystery, and that, in turn, gave her a reprieve from revealing her own duplicity in agreeing to help Eoin search for his mother and his sister.
But the constant stream of stories never ended! Hannah’s head was nearly pounding. Although Percy had always beenon the glib side, Hannah didn’t recall him being quite this loquacious.
“Oh, we’re here!” Percy called out with more joviality than the situation merited. “I thought we’d never arrive.”
Hannah—who was not exactly reticent herself—only managed a nod. Poor Eoin seemed poleaxed.
Percy practically bounced from the carriage. Hannah noticed that Eoin followed much more sedately, but there was a suppressed eagerness about his motions. It was as if he wanted to bolt at any moment but kept checking himself.
Hannah wished she could grab Eoin’s hand, but she still wore male clothing. With her breasts rebound, she looked like a lad. But even if she were wearing female garb, she wouldn’t have linked fingers with Eoin—no matter how badly the man needed the reassurance. She did not want Lord Percy detecting her and Eoin’s mutual attraction. In the nob’s current chattering state, Percy would likely reveal their nascent feelings to all and sundry, and that would be the opposite of comforting for Eoin.
“Is that Championess Quick’s?” Eoin pointed his gloved thumb in the direction of a round Palladian building made of white-gray Portland stone. Doric columns arose around the entire structure, and Hannah had heard from Alexander that it was reminiscent of a small, modern version of the Colosseum.
The arched windows glowed a warm, welcoming yellow against the black sky. Such illumination would require a scandalous amount of candles—as much as would be burned during the grandest balls. The fact that Mistress Quick could afford to light so many spoke to her success.
Her amphitheater’s preeminence was also made obvious by the throng gathered outside the massive doors. Like at the Horse and Hen, the men’s clothing represented varyingdegrees of wealth. But at Championess Quick’s, there were significantly more finely tailored silk coats and powdered wigs. Despite the different classes, they all mingled on the street as they waited their turn to file into the massive structure.
“This is a crush!” Percy said as he bounced on the balls of his feet. The jewels embedded in his gold shoe buckles glinted in the light pouring from the windows. “At least with this crowd, we have something interesting to discuss while we wait. Did you see Lord Polcenby’s waistcoat? There must be an entire mine’s worth of silver covering it!”
“It is, uh, very noticeable,” Eoin said, clearly much less enthusiastic about the peer’s choice of attire than Percy. His lackluster response, however, didn’t prevent Percy from babbling about the quality of another man’s wig.
Hannah was suddenly glad for Percy’s constant stream of observations as she sidled closer to Eoin. He’d snapped his emotionless mask into place, but Hannah knew he was currently anything but stoic.
“Anxious?” Hannah asked Eoin softly when Percy turned his head to study more of the crowd.
“Yes.”
It touched her that Eoin trusted her enough not to prevaricate. Yet it also triggered a fresh stab of guilt.
“I wish I could squeeze your hand,” Hannah admitted.
Eoin glanced down at her, the slightest of smiles gracing his lips. “Just knowing that is a comfort.”
Hannah swallowed against the lump now occupying her throat. She wanted to assure Eoin that everything would be all right. But they both understood that his search could lead to nothing but pain.
“I realize decades have passed since my mother worked at the Horse and Hen, but I cannot help wondering if she everencountered the Purveyor.” Eoin held himself stiffly, but Hannah noticed that he was discreetly rubbing his thumb and his forefinger against each other. “During our first visit, I did mention to the tavern maid that I was looking for her. Mayhap you are right, and the Purveyor had another purpose behind ordering me to fight. I also haven’t forgotten that older chap who stopped me in the street to warn me. Could everything be linked?”
Hannah glanced over at Percy to see if he was listening. But Percy had begun nattering to a gentleman nearby, so the fellow wouldn’t hear Hannah and Eoin over Percy’s commentary. Other nearby groups of young bucks were likewise engrossed in their own conversations.
Perhaps now was the time to confess—or at least partially reveal what Hannah suspected about Eoin’s family. It was not ideal, but there never would be the perfect time to reveal the truth to him.
“Eoin, I should tell you that—”
“Lord Percy! What brings you to the bout tonight?” A woman’s deep, throaty voice interrupted Hannah’s statement.
Hannah turned to find Championess Quick warmly greeting their companion. Although the fifty-year-old no longer boxed competitively, she’d retained her athletic build. She was a tall woman who towered several inches above the average man, and she always wore clothing that showed off her muscular legs and arms. It was not salacious attire, though, and nothing like the bare-breasted women at the Horse and Hen. Championess Quick’s freshly laundered Holland trousers and tightly laced navy blue corset bestowed upon her a neat, officious appearance. She always wore her brown and silver hair in a braided crown about her head, which Hannah found to be a clever nod to her legendary status in the ring. Standing bathedin the light pouring from the establishment that she had single-handedly built, Championess Quick seemed like an ancient Amazon warrior standing guard over her domain.
“And you have come, too, Mr. Wick.” Championess Quick winked at Hannah as she was well aware that she was a miss, not a mister. It was the woman’s usual greeting to her as Hannah occasionally frequented the establishment with Alexander.
But her prior visits weren’t the reason why Championess Quick’s blue-green gaze was so agonizingly familiar. It was because Hannah had spent a good portion of the afternoon staring into irises of the same tropical azure hue.
“And who is your companion…” Championess Quick’s husky voice trailed off, and the woman—known for taking a male prizefighter’s blow to the stomach with nary a blink—visibly flinched. Her bronzed cheeks drained of color, and those lagoon-colored eyes went hazy.
