The room went instantly silent. Coventry and Richardson both looked as though they suddenly found the floor and ceiling remarkably interesting, while Amelia and Juliette stared at Gabriella with unfeigned interest, as though they’d never witnessed anything as extraordinary as a woman intent on thwarting their brother’s wishes.
“I—” He ran his hand through his hair, sending the dark locks into disarray.
Gabriella’s heart rate increased, in spite of her momentary annoyance with him. Apparently, her attraction to him was directly proportional to the degree of dishevelment he happened to be portraying.
“I just want to ensure your safety,” he said.
“I know that,” she said, taking his hand in hers and lacing their fingers together in a most inappropriate gesture of affection. “But I am tired of being ordered about, of being told what I can and cannot do and of being coddled. What I long for is the freedom to make my own decisions. What I ask is that you trust me to make the right ones, and that I’ll know once I’m there if it’s safe or not for me to stand closer to you, or if I ought to remain at the back.”
He didn’t say anything for a long moment, his hand simply clenching hers as he gazed back into her eyes with a slew of warring emotions that threatened to break her heart. But she couldn’t allow herself to concede on this point. Not if they were going to have the sort of relationship they both longed for—the sort built on faith and honesty.
“Very well,” he eventually said. “As long as you promise to stay with Coventry and Richardson.”
“I promise.”
It was almost one o’clock by the time they reached Hackney Meadows. A large gathering of people had already formed around the raised platform on which the fight would take place. A variety of vendors set up along the periphery of the field offering food and drink, likening the place to a country fair Gabriella had once visited as a child.
“Can we get some roasted almonds?” she asked, unable to hide her excitement at the sight of two men walking about on stilts, each carrying a sign that advertised the fighters. Insisting on coming had definitely been an excellent decision!
“Go ahead,” Raphe said. “I’m off to find Guthrie.”
They parted ways, leaving Gabriella to enjoy the next half hour in Coventry and Richardson’s company while the crowd of spectators around the platform continued to grow. “I can’t believe how many people there are,” Gabriella said. She was starting to worry that she would have to stay at the back after all, which presently meant a good twenty yards away from the action.
“Huntley’s taking on the world champion,” Coventry said. “I’m not the least bit surprised by the turnout.”
“Especially not when considering all the bets placed in various Mayfair clubs. I’m sure half the men here were sent by their employers,” Richardson said.
“Are either of you familiar with the Bull?” Gabriella asked.
“I read about him in Boxania when he took the title last year,” Coventry said. “According to the reporter, his opponent didn’t stand a chance.”
Gabriella winced. “That doesn’t sound good.”
“Not to worry,” Coventry told her cheerfully. “Huntley’s been doing this for years, and if this Guthrie fellow insists that he’s the only man capable of besting the Bull, then I’m sure there’s got to be something to it.”
“His Grace is pretty tough,” Richardson said. “I’ve been helping him train for the past two weeks. Gentleman Jackson’s looks like a playground for little girls when compared with what I’ve seen him do.”
As grateful as she was for their attempt to appease her, Gabriella couldn’t help but worry about the outcome of the fight. The rules were few, protecting neither man from serious injury, and if Raphe’s opponent was bigger and stronger . . .
Nauseated by the thought of him getting hurt, she handed her bag of remaining almonds to Richardson, who put it in his jacket pocket. “Looks like they might be starting soon,” he said as a showy man wearing scarlet silk coattails and a matching top hat stepped onto the platform. “Shall we move a bit closer so we can hear what he’s saying?”
Glancing about, Coventry nodded. “I don’t see why not. Looks pretty civil to me.”
“Some people even brought their children along,” Gabriella noted, spotting a man with a small boy on his shoulders. “Surely they wouldn’t do so if there was any risk of trouble.”
“I doubt Huntley would approve of us basing our threat assessment on other people’s choices,” Richardson said. “But, I have to admit that I’ve never heard of anyone getting hurt at these events, besides the fighters themselves.”
“How reassuring,” Gabriella told him dryly.
He gave her a bland look. “You know what I mean.”
“Neither have I,” Coventry said, “and I’ve been following the fight reports for years.”
“Then you must have read about Huntley’s previous fights.” When he didn’t respond, Gabriella prodded: “As Mr. Matthews?”
“I’m afraid not,” Coventry said.
Gabriella’s heart deflated. “Oh.”
