Coming for the Champion (The King’s Book Club #2)
Chapter 1
November 1830
Rory was at his wit’s end, disillusioned by the lack of progress on his plan. His feet were sore from the hard cobbled surfaces, and the London air clogged his lungs with its heavy coal smoke, a reminder of why he was here. Everyone needed coal and he had plenty of it.
Why was it proving so hard to coordinate the simple sale of his coal? He hugged his great coat tighter around his chest. Wasn’t it supposed to be warmer down south here in London? It wouldn’t likely snow at home until after Christmas and he was hoping he’d have his business sorted by then. But he’d spent over a week traipsing around London and now The King’s Book Club was his last option. Every other gentleman’s club in London had decided that a mere Laird from Scotland wasn’t worthy of their esteemed establishments, and it was becoming increasingly obvious he wasn’t going to find an investor who had the means and inclination to get his coal mines operational again until he gained an introduction from someone who had access to the peerage. The idea that he could naively walk into a club because he was a landowner seemed misplaced now, after so many rejections.
Stepping into the King’s Book Club had been different, almost immediately. The butler had given him the usual cursory glance, but then something in his desperate demeanour must have changed the butler’s mind, and he’d been invited to follow the butler upstairs to meet the manager.
As the butler knocked on the door, neatly labelled Manager, Rory heard a curse and the butler chuckled lightly under his breath, so softly Rory wondered if he’d imagined it.
“Best give them a moment.”
Rory swallowed, then tried to slow his breathing just like he would before a bout. He’d never made it this far before and now he was to meet the manager of the club. If he could become a member of this club, he would have a chance to meet potential investors. His plan to save his estate might not fail. Would they hear his Scottish burr and toss him out again? He’d deliberately not worn his kilt after the first club had been so disdainful. Would they sense the desperation slicking his palms? Never had he been in a fight where he was so outmatched, but his superior reach wasn’t going to help him now.
Then suddenly, the door opened, and Rory tried not to flinch. In the ring, he’d learned never to show fear, to contain his emotions and never give his opponent any hint of weakness, but all that training fled him now. This mattered too much. One fight was only one fight. This battle for his land affected the entire community in his region, going beyond his own land to the villages and people who needed the work his mines could create.
“Yes, Heider?” A broadly built man, who was tall but not as tall as Rory, with dark brown hair and piercing amber brown eyes half-opened the door with a frustrated expression and certainly didn’t sound pleased at the interruption.
“My lord.” The butler’s use of a title created a fleeting rush of hope in Rory’s chest. Maybe he’d stumbled onto the one person who could get him the introductions he needed.
“There is a man here to see you.”
“I’m busy.” The lord’s response crushed that glimmer of hope into dust. Everyone was too busy for him.
“Not too busy for this. It’s the Long Laird.”
Rory had barely a second to register that the butler had recognised him—despite it being years since his last bout—before the door was flung open and the lord, dressed in only his shirtsleeves and trousers with tussled hair, welcomed him in.
“Oscar. We have a guest and he’s perfect.”
“Perfect for what?” Rory had been wrong-footed before, but never like this. What was he perfect for? The room wasn’t an office. It was too sumptuous for that with a dark green velvet chaise lounge in the corner covered in pillows, several of which were on the floor, located in exactly the way Rory would put them if he were to kneel for someone on the chaise lounge. He swallowed. Rory had heard clubs like this existed—for men like him—but it seemed too fanciful, even for his vivid imagination, to have stumbled into one.
A dark-haired man of short statue stood beside a large office desk with his hip cocked jauntily, in a similar state of undress to the man who the butler had called ‘my lord’. It was obvious to Rory what he’d interrupted and the very audacity of the two men to be so open about it, and that their butler knew too, shocked him like an upper cut to the jaw. And now, he’d been admitted to this room by someone who recognised him. What did they want with a boxer who would never fight again?
“Perhaps it is time for some introductions, my lord?” Heider, the butler, broke the tension in the room.
“I am Lord Bennington—”
A proper English Lord, just like Rory had been chasing all week. Had he lucked onto exactly what he needed? In the ring, he wouldn’t trust this sense of hope. He’d watch carefully for clues to the next sequence of punches so that he’d know what to anticipate, so he could defend and find the gaps to attack. Why was that name so familiar? Bennington...
“—and this is Mr Mardin, owner of the King’s Book Club. And you are?”
“Laird Rory Cockburn.” He emphasised the Scottish pronunciation of his surname; Koh-Buhrn. It referred to birds beside a river, but the English liked to make jest with euphemisms.
“The Long Laird.” Lord Bennington didn’t ask, so much as announce it, which seemed fitting for someone with such societal power, and so Rory merely nodded. It was true, but how did they know?
The shorter man, Mr Mardin, pushed himself away from the desk. “This is him?”
“I’m sorry, but I appear to be missing something.”
The two men smiled in unison, causing Rory to gulp. He wasn’t going to like this, was he? And when was he going to mention why he was here?
“We are planning to hold a charity boxing match on the day prior to Christmas Eve to raise funds for the Duke Street Orphanage and a few other causes close to our hearts. And we need a headline act.”
Rory had no intention of coming out of retirement but perhaps he could negotiate given this was his last chance to mingle with society’s wealth. “I have some conditions.”
“Everyone has conditions.” Bennington’s smile broadened. “Perhaps you’d like some introductions in society. A young Laird like yourself must be in town to find a bride.”
An investor. He had no space in his life for a bride, but Bennington’s offer would—finally—get him into the parts of society which had eluded him thus far this week. Eagerness flooded his chest and he had to tamp down the urge to bounce on his toes, instead breathing slowly to gather his thoughts.
“Perhaps you will accompany me to some society gatherings.” He could work out the rest for himself, but this last week had taught him that he definitely needed someone to get him in the door.
“Perhaps I could.”
“Heider, please send a note to Mr Milson.”
Rory didn’t think anything else could shock him, but that one name did. “Mr Milson? You don’t mean Malcolm, The Colossus, Milson?”
“Oh, you’ve heard of him?” Everyone who boxed had heard of The Colossus. Lord Bennington’s smirk triggered a memory, but it disappeared as quickly as it came because ... The Colossus.
“He is retired.” The man must be nearly fifty by now; the stuff of legends. The Colossus had been long retired before Rory had his first match, and yet, Rory had read every account of every one of his matches. He knew them all by heart. Sixteen fights. Unbeaten. Rory might have attempted to beat The Colossus’s record if it hadn’t been for ... He swallowed.
“And yet he said he would fight in our charity event on one condition.”
Rory knew what it would be, and admiration for The Colossus filled his chest, threatening to bubble out. How bloody clever ... and incredibly troublesome.
“Let me guess. He said he would only come out of retirement for one boxer.” Rory would’ve said the same, if he could’ve been certain that the other boxer was also guaranteed to never want to step back into the ring. The three other men nodded excitedly.
“Me.” In other words, The Colossus had no interest in a fight at all, because anyone who’d read about the Long Laird’s last fight knew that he would never get in a ring again. He’d said so often enough in the gory aftermath and he was a man of his word. But now Rory had inadvertently walked both himself and The Colossus into a trap, and with Lord Bennington’s promise hovering, he knew he wasn’t going to walk away easily. Damn it. Now he would have to disappoint his hero to gain access to society and resolve the problems on his land. His breath hitched, sticking in his throat like paste.
“Only one boxer has the talent to be worthy of a bout with him, that’s what he said, wasn’t it?” Mr Mardin winked as if he’d won a prize, but Rory wasn’t flattered.
“Introduce me to society and then I’ll meet with The Colossus to discuss a fight.” He didn’t want a bout, not for himself, not even for charity, and especially not with someone who also didn’t want it. But maybe he could use Bennington’s need for this match to give him the chance to avenge his father, because he’d suddenly remembered who Lord Bennington was, and even though the man in front of him would be that man’s son, he owed it to his father. What could be better than getting an investor, but to get the one who’d ruined his father? How deliciously ironic.
“So you’ll do it?”
Rory paused, because no ... He wasn’t about to lie or make his previous statement a lie, and he was going to have to play this very carefully. “I am curious about one thing. How did you know it was me?”
The butler, Heider, grinned. “I was there at your fight with Mr Ardberg in twenty-four, when he split your lip.”
Rory nearly reached up to touch the scar at the corner of his mouth, forcing himself to stay still. He’d fought on for five more rounds with blood filling his mouth, and now the same metallic taste painted his tongue.
“The final upper cut to end the match was so good. I thought the crowd was going to riot. The Scotsman had beaten the German and it felt like no one knew if they should cheer or jeer.”
It had been an electric atmosphere, and he’d felt like a king as he stood in the ring victorious with thousands of people screaming his nickname. It was the highlight of his career but came with such mixed feelings given what happened in two matches later. He gulped, not wanting to talk about that.
“Do we have a gentleman’s agreement?”
Bennington glanced at Mr Mardin, then nodded. “I will squire you around town for a week and then we will have a meeting with Milson to finalise the details. Leave your directions with Heider and I’ll arrange an invitation for Lord Hedwick’s soiree tonight.”
“My lord.” Rory nodded, then quickly followed Heider out of the room, leaving Bennington and his lover to continue with the pleasurable pursuits that his presence had interrupted. His focus needed to be on tonight, on his goals, and not listen to the flare of jealousy that two men had not only found each other but found a safe way to be together.
He had several hours to ensure that he was dressed for a soiree at a Lord’s house tonight, and he didn’t want to come across as too desperate. Gaining an investor was obviously a longer game than he’d initially expected and now Bennington’s offer was exactly what he needed to save his land. But it came with such a troublesome condition that he wasn’t sure if the immediate rush of relief was going to be worth the headaches that were bound to come soon when Bennington discovered that neither of his famous fighters wanted to comply with his request to fight. Could he balance the two competing factors, or was this doomed before he’d started?