Lizzie nodded and led Hannah down a short hallway that seemingly terminated at a wall lined with two bookcases. Lizzie moved in front of the tomes and curios, using her tall body to shield her motions from Hannah’s view. Within a few seconds, the shelves shifted, revealing a hidden door. Clearly, Championess Quick had retained a few tricks from her dissident past.
Hannah followed Lizzie into a narrow room that ran parallel to an intriguing wall containing four deeply recessed arrow slits shaped into tulips. They reminded Hannah of illustrations of medieval towers, but the windows were not perchesfor archers. Each had a comfortable cushion, roomy enough for one person to sit comfortably upon. Lizzie waved for Hannah to slide onto one, and she eagerly complied. She found herself staring down into the boxing ring.
“I never knew this place existed!” Hannah cried out excitedly.
“That is the point,” Lizzie said without any attempt to temper the bluntness of her words. Hannah, who also had a reputation for frankness, found that she didn’t mind Lizzie’s.
“It is a fabulous view.” Hannah peered down at the two female prizefighters. They were not boxing with their fists but instead were using quarterstaffs. The weapon was both Championess Quick’s and her daughter’s specialty. The wooden rods whistled through the air until they cracked together, the sound echoing around the roof of the circular amphitheater despite competition from the crowd’s roar. The women dodged and spun, always staying on the balls of their feet like expert dancers. Each strike came with swift precision. There was no flailing and wild strikes at Championess Quick’s. All of her contestants—male or female—possessed a keen, practiced edge.
“Impressive. Is it not?” Lizzie asked as she stood behind Hannah, rather than sitting in her own arrow slit to watch the action.
“Yes. It is always a grand spectacle when I come to Championess Quick’s.” Hannah pressed closer to the opening as she watched the action below her. Although her focus primarily remained on Jane and Anne, she could see most of the gathered throng. She even spotted Lord Percy cheering from one of the higher seats. Nearer to the stage, the poorer folks stood in a pit, gesticulating enthusiastically with each clunk of the staffs.
Energy crackled through the air, but it felt remarkably different from the danger-tinged frenzy at the Horse and Hen. This crowd wanted skill, not blood.
“You have been to our establishment before?” Lizzie asked. Unlike her mother, she didn’t greet their patrons, and perhaps she also hadn’t inherited the Championess’s uncanny ability to recognize and name each and every customer.
“Yes.” Hannah nodded. “I am a cousin to one of your most ardent patrons, Alex—I mean the new Duke of Falcondale.”
“You are a nob, then.”
Hannah’s neck began to tingle, and she turned to discover Lizzie regarding her with extreme intensity. Although Hannah generally didn’t mind scrutiny after spending her childhood in a crowded coffeehouse, a sense of awkward unease slipped through her. She felt judged.
“Hardly. My mother was the daughter of a peer, but she ran off with a pirate—my father. I’m a proprietress of a coffeehouse along with my cousin Sophia Wick,” Hannah explained, feeling a deep-set need to defend herself.
“Oh. I have heard about you. Your story reminded me of my own family’s.” Although Lizzie was pointing out their similarities, Hannah still felt that the woman was purposely maintaining a distance. Perhaps it was just a trait of a prizefighter—always sizing up opponents.
“Yes, our pasts do bear a resemblance to each other,” Hannah agreed, deciding that it was best not to point out the significant difference between their tales. Lizzie, as the lawful issue of a man holding the courtesy title of marquess, was rightfully Lady Elizabeth. Although Hannah was also legitimate, she was the child of a disgraced gentlewoman and therefore not considered part of the nobility at all. Given that Lizzie did notappear particularly enamored of her rightful position in Society, Hannah didn’t think that the prizefighter would appreciate being told that she was actually a nob herself.
“Have you watched me spar?” Lizzie asked, her voice deceptively casual, but Hannah sensed an underlying tension.
“I have,” Hannah admitted cautiously as she hung on to the last syllable perhaps a beat too long.
Lizzie, however, continued to plow through the conversation the same way she boldly strode across the ring at the start of a match. “You are aware of my talent, then?”
“I am,” Hannah admitted as the unsettled feeling inside her began to churn. It almost sounded as if Lizzie wished to challenge Hannah to a fight. Although Hannah had been taught to defend herself, she could never hold her own against someone of Lizzie’s caliber—no matter if they fought with their fists, quarterstaffs, or another weapon.
“What is your relationship with my brother?” Lizzie crossed her arms, and Hannah could see her biceps flex under her shirt’s pristine white linen. Hannah sucked in a breath, and the air tickled her suddenly dry throat.
“We are—” Hannah began and then paused. She had no idea how to define her relationship with Eoin. It was not as if they’d discussed it. Something was developing between them, an affection and comradeship that Hannah would never deny. But she should be having this conversation with Eoin instead of his sister.
“We are friends,” Hannah finally concluded, pleased by how confident she sounded.
Lizzie, however, was clearly not impressed.
“I would not categorize what I have witnessed between you and my brother to be merely comradeship.”
Lizzie’s brow drew downward, and Hannah suppressed ashiver. Is this what the prizefighter’s opponents experienced before a match? Hannah suddenly felt very trapped, wedged inside the recessed alcove with Lizzie glowering over her.
“Eoin and I grew close during our search for you and your mother.” Hannah nearly squeaked out the excuse, and Lizzie’s mouth twitched.
“Why did you agree to help my brother?”
Because I want to destroy your paternal family.The truth was probably not the best answer. Although Hannah doubted that Lizzie cared about her aunts and uncles, she certainly treasured her long-lost sibling.
“Eoin came to the Black Sheep for assistance.”
“Why would he do that?” Lizzie asked.
