“Miss Jenkins says she can hardly keep up with her.”
Bess turned back to the patient, making sure to keep her expression open and warm. She had a feeling she knew what Charlie might wish to speak with her about. “You and Miss Jenkins have seen each other a fair bit, since she’s been coming here with Lucy.”
Charlie ducked his head. “Miss Jenkins has been very kind to me. They both have.”
Choosing her words with some delicacy, in deference to a young man’s tender feelings, Bess said, “I’m certain Miss Jenkins would be glad to stay in touch with you after you leave Dr. Perry’s.”
To her surprise, Charlie peeked up with a raffish grin that suited his lean, young face. “I know. She’s already agreed to walk out with me when I’m able to get more than ten steps without wheezing like an old man.”
“Oh!” Bess blinked. “I thought perhaps you wanted some encouragement, but I see now you have the matter well in hand!”
“No—that is, I did want to speak with you, Miss, but not about Miss Jenkins. I hope I’m not talking out of turn, but it’s about The Nemesis.”
Bess’s pulse quickened. “Is that the boxing saloon Lucy mentioned?”
He looked mortified. “She told you. Lord. I should never have even mentioned it; it’s been worrying at me ever since I let it slip to Miss Lucy. You need to tell her not to go talking of it to any of her fancy friends. The Nemesis is no boxing saloon. It’s no place at all for a lady to be knowing of. I’m heartily sorry I said anything about it to her, that I am, Miss.”
But Bess was no lady, and this place was sounding more intriguing by the moment.
“So it’s more than a few bored gentlemen taking boxing lessons and sparring?”
“Much more.” He pressed his lips together tightly. “Truly, Miss. Don’t ask me anything else, please, the rest isn’t fit to speak.”
Leaning forward in her chair, Bess said, “Charlie, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I don’t need to be protected from the truth. I promise, I’m not the frail flower of English gentility you think me. And if you don’t tell me exactly why I should avoid The Nemesis, well…I’m afraid I’ll have to seek it out, if only to satisfy my curiosity.”
So, reluctantly and with a deal of stammering and blushing, he did.
Then Bess knew she had to see it for herself.
Maybe at The Nemesis, surrounded by people indulging in every sort of vice to satisfy every sort of lust, she’d finally be able to put the Duke of bloody Ashbourn out of her head.
Before she did something irrevocably foolish like allowing herself to care about him.
Bess wanted to ruin herself, not her entire life.
So that was it, then. Bess was going to The Nemesis.
The familiar smells and sounds of The Nemesis pulled at Nathaniel, roaring and scrabbling for his attention. The miasma of spilled ale, sweat-soaked straw, and over-applied cologne couldn’t completely hide the iron tang of blood.
Good. That’s what he was there for. Nothing focused the mind like seeing the red of his own blood ground into the bare knuckles of the man he faced in the ring.
Usually.
The noise in Nathaniel’s head threatened to deafen him, or maybe that was the noise from the crowd gathered in the other room. He sat in Leda Price’s office behind the bar and let it wash over him, elbows planted on his knees and head hanging heavy. The mask pressed against his face, and he shook his head from side to side, testing the limits of his peripheral vision.
Stupid to fight again tonight, after last night.
Every breath in pulled at the strip of fabric still tied around his ribs. Might as well paint a target on his body.
Hit me where it will hurt.
Still, his hand hesitated over the knot. He didn’t want to take it off. As though if he removed the makeshift bandage, he’d be stripping himself of the memory of Bess’s deft, capable hands. The care she’d taken with him.
He couldn’t look too closely at how that care had made him feel. It was like staring into the sun too long or holding his naked palm over a candle flame. It became unbearable very quickly.
And yet it was all he could think about.
Leda’s partner, Rufus, a whipcord-lean white man who was a veteran of many a fight—both at The Nemesis and aboard a ship in His Majesty’s Navy—rapped smartly on the door frame to bring Nathaniel’s head up.
