“It’s a warm place.” He shrugged, and Alice knew then that he either lived on the streets or in a house that was small and cold. Her heart ached for the boy, but he was like many she saw every day.
Dare she ask him about Jackson? Would he tell anyone she was here?
“I am looking for a man, and his name is Kenneth Jackson,” Alice said, deciding to take a chance. “I need to find him urgently.”
The boy nodded, his eyes big in his thin face as they studied her. His clothes were worn, and she doubted they offered much protection against the colder weather that gripped London in the winter months.
“If I give you his description and some money, would you come to me if you locate him?”
“I can find out where he is,” the boy said solemnly.
She wanted to ask how he could do that when he was just a child, but knew that many had to grow up fast if they lived in poverty. Alice pulled money out of her reticule and handed it to him. More money than he had likely ever seen.
“This man is dangerous and mean, so do not approach him as he likes to hurt people, but if you find out where he is then come to the rear door of my townhouse and say you have information for Lady Alice.”
He nodded, his eyes on the money clutched in his hand. She gave him her address and then he fled out the door she’d just entered and disappeared into the night.
It was a risk, but one she’d been willing to take.
Exhaling slowly, Alice headed right to a staircase. The deeper she descended, the colder the air grew, until the walls sweated with damp. Then came the sound—a muffled roar.
Alice tugged her hood lower over her face and then pressed a hand to the final door and pushed.
The stench of sweat and ale hit her as she stepped into a cavernous room thick with smoke. Men were pressed shoulder to shoulder, their voices raised in cheers. She moved to the wall, heart pounding, and tried blending into the shadows.
“Lord Stafford is holding his own!”
Her head turned toward the voice.Lord Stafford?No. It couldn’t be. She moved, slipping between men, all of whom were focused on the ring and thankfully not her, until she found a crate and climbed upon it. The breath caught in Alice’s throat as she looked to the ring. Stripped to the waist, and glistening with sweat, was Lord Stafford.
His muscles flexed as he dodged his massive, bearded opponent. Fists swung, as their bodies collided. The crowd roared, but Alice heard nothing except the furious hammer of her own heart.
What in God’s name was he doing here?
And why did she feel as though fate had brought her here to find him in the last place she could ever have imagined?
Lord Stafford’s opponent swung again, a meaty fist that would have felled most men. He ducked, the movement swift, almost graceful. His counterpunch cracked against the man’s ribs. The crowd erupted, stamping their boots, and howling for more.
Alice’s stomach twisted. This was no gentleman’s sport. This was brutality disguised as entertainment.
She pressed to the wall behind her to steady herself. Part of her wanted to look away, yet Alice could not.
Stafford took a blow to the jaw, his head snapping to the side. For one terrible instant she thought he would fall. But he straightened, spat blood, and gave a grim smile that sent the crowd into fresh cheers.
Why was he here?
Her heart pounded harder then, not from the spectacle but from the sudden realization that this man, so composed in the ballroom, was likely as broken as her brother had been. Did he seek a release from what he’d suffered through violence here with his fists?
Charles…
A memory hit her hard then. Her brother’s broken voice whispering, “I can’t stop the hell inside my head, Alice…” She knew it was likely the same hell burning in Stafford’s eyes now as he drove his fist into his opponent’s gut.
The larger man staggered and bellowed. He then charged at Stafford like a bull. He met him head-on. They grappled, bodies straining as the crowd pressed closer, the roar now deafening. Men cursed and cheered, as wagers were shouted into the smoky air. Someone bumped Alice’s crate and she nearly toppled, but pressed harder into the wall at her back, determined not to miss a second.
And then Lord Stafford broke free. Alice watched as, with ruthless precision, he landed a final, devastating blow. His opponent collapsed, hitting the ground with a dull thud. Silence struck for half a heartbeat before the room exploded into chaos.
The victor’s name was bellowed again and again. Coins exchanged hands as shouts rang out.
“Stafford! Stafford! Stafford!”
