The ink was fresh and the first word made her wince and roll her eyes.
Sorceress,
I will not pretend I understand your abrupt departure, nor will I pretend I have not thought of it. However, I write for another reason entirely.
Tomorrow evening, I will be fighting at The Iron Pit. It is not a place for the faint-hearted, nor is it a place where I would normally invite a lady. But you are not a typical lady.
Theo scoffed. “And what does he mean by that?” She continued reading.
I am sure that you are cursing me by now. What I truly meant was that you are curious. You are bold. You are far braver than you allow yourself to believe. And I find myself wanting to help you in your search to denounce the existence of true love.
Her fingers tightened around the parchment.
I know you may choose not to come, and I know you have reasons staying far away from such an establishment. But if you wish to observe something real, something unpolished, and something honest about me and men in general, then come.
Her stomach twisted.
I am certain a little sorceress like you will find a way to make it possible.
Be brave.
— The Scarlet Duke
Theo stared at the letter; her pulse pounded in her ears.
“The Iron Pit?” she muttered.
She’d heard about it housing a brutal underground boxing ring. A place where men left bloodied and broken. And some never returned at all. Theodora felt her frustration rise. How could she have felt guilty about snapping at him? The man was ridiculous. She suddenly knew how he’d hurt himself and why that blooming bruise had spread wide across his ribcage.
Are all men like him?
She convinced herself that she was upset at him for Rosalind’s sake but something else unsettled her.
“What the hell is he thinking?” she hissed, slamming the letter onto her desk. “He is already injured!”
CHAPTER 16
She did not come.
Smoke curled through the rafters of the Iron Pit, men shouted wagers, coins clinked all around him, and the stench of sweat and ale hung thick in the air.
But all Alexander could concentrate on was finding Theodora in the thick of it.
“Stop lookin’ for her,” Rowan muttered beside him, arms crossed over his barrel chest. “Ye’ll break yer own damn neck before the lad even swings.”
“I amnotlooking for anyone,” Alexander snapped.
Rowan snorted and shook his head. “Aye. And I am the Queen of England.”
“You look a bit butch to be the Queen.” Alexander smirked at his mentor and walked towards the ring.
“There’s that sense of humor.” Rowan followed closely behind him. “As I told ye, yer opponent tonight is Gareth Doyle.”
“Have you seen him fight before?” Alexander rolled his shoulders, preparing his already battered body for the fight.
“Aye. He is a towerin’ Irish bruiser who likes to talk a lot. Disorients his opponent that way.”
“That is what weak men do,” Alexander said disapprovingly just as his opponent entered the ring.
