“His fights would not have been reported,” Richardson muttered. He gave her a meaningful look before returning his attention to the platform, where the scarlet-clad man was already speaking.
“—So ye’re in fer a real treat, ladies ’n’ gents!” With a grin, he raised his hands, hushing the crowd. “T’ain’t every day we see one of our own take on a brawny Scotsman!”
The crowd cheered, their eagerness for the fight to commence sending them into an excited frenzy.
“Shall I bring the fighters on stage now?”
A roar of approval rippled the air. Nudged from behind, Gabriella shifted. So did the man in front of her, stepping straight back onto her foot. “Ow!”
Coventry caught her by the arm and pulled her back, past the people who’d closed in around them until they were once again standing on the outside of it all. Richardson followed, reclaiming his spot on her right. “Are you all right?” Coventry asked.
Wincing, she gave him a nod. “I’m fine.” She would not give either man reason to make her leave, even if her toes were now throbbing with pain.
“Are you sure about that?” Richardson asked. He did not look the least bit convinced. “I saw your expression when that brute stepped back into you.”
Gabriella forced a smile. “It barely hurts at all.”
Both men gave her a disbelieving frown just as the hulking figure of a long-haired man thudded onto the platform. Gabriella’s mouth dropped open. This was no mere mortal, but a veritable Goliath.
“Defending the world champion title, I give you—the Bull!”
The response was a cacophonous blend of chanting and booing, depending on who people had wagered on. Pumping his fists in the air, The Bull expelled a beastly roar that would send any sane man running in the opposite direction. Not Raphe, though, Gabriella thought with an odd mixture of pride and fear.
“And now, to challenge his title,” the announcer was saying, “straight from the heart of St. Giles—Misterrrr Matthews!”
Shouts, mingling with piercing whistles, burst through the air, increasing in volume as Raphe stepped forward, arms raised as though he’d already been declared the champion. The crowd went wild, chanting his name in a deafening chorus: “Matthews, Matthews, Matthews . . .”
Gabriella didn’t even try to speak. What would be the point? Her words would just be lost in all the noise. Craning her neck, she tried to get a better look at what was happening on the platform. The Bull appeared to be one head taller than Raphe, which was quite something, since Raphe was without a doubt one of the tallest men she’d ever met.
Gabriella watched as the announcer spoke to each man in turn, too low for anyone to hear. Both seemed to listen closely before nodding and removing their shirts. Gabriella could not help but stare at the indecency.
“I’ll ‘ave some of that, please,” a bawdy woman a few feet further ahead of Gabriella shouted. Laughter broke out, followed by an onslaught of lewd remarks that made Gabriella feel most uncomfortable.
“Do ye suppose they’re just as fit below the waistline?” someone else hollered.
Gabriella clenched her jaw.
“Relax,” Richardson spoke close enough to her ear for her to hear him above the shouting. “They are just words.”
“I know,” she told him sharply. Lord help her, her toes were still killing her.
“Then perhaps you’ll be kind enough to stop digging your nails into my arm?”
It wasn’t until then that she realized she’d grabbed hold of him. She instantly dropped her hand. “Sorry.”
“It’s quite all right,” he told her kindly before straightening once more and turning back to face the platform.
Gabriella did so too, just in time to watch the Bull land the first blow of the fight—a left-handed punch to Raphe’s chest. Gabriella gasped, her hands clenched together as she struggled to see, the pain in her foot completely forgotten. It didn’t look too severe. Raphe barely appeared shaken as he circled around, blocking another punch before landing a solid one of his own right under the Bull’s left eye. Shouts and chants grew to a thunderous roar, not unlike a wave, urging the fighters onward. They exchanged two more blows before going into a clinch, their bodies pushing and shoving until Raphe suddenly stepped aside, throwing the Bull off balance and ending the round.
“How many rounds are there?” Gabriella asked with a shout directed at both her companions.
“As many as it takes,” Coventry replied. “They’ll fight until one of them either gives up or gets knocked unconscious.”
Drawing a staggering breath, she returned her attention to the fight, which had started once more. The Bull charged forward with another left-handed punch that made poor contact, due to Raphe’s swifter movement. Shifting sideways, Raphe turned about quickly and attacked with a hit to the Bull’s right eyebrow. Gabriella watched in amazement as the larger man staggered backward and Raphe moved in, taking the opportunity to land several more blows until the Bull suddenly pushed back and drove his fist into Raphe’s mouth. A spray of scarlet painted the air.
“Oh God!” Gabriella closed her eyes.
“My Lady?” it was Coventry speaking. “Do you wish to leave?”
