Chapter Four
June 20, 1817
Dawson’s Imports
Robinhood Lane
East India Dock
London, England
C ecilia glanced this way and that as she trod over the boardwalk. Of course, it just had to rain today, when she was already running late getting into her father’s office. Ever since her introductory boxing lesson two days ago, she’d been exhausted from the unaccustomed exercise, and some of her muscles ached where she didn’t expect, but at least it was a step in the right direction.
Oddly enough, she couldn’t wait for her next lesson, which was scheduled for later this afternoon.
Of course, part of that excitement could be to see the earl again. She couldn’t be certain, but he might already know that she’d been a woman in disguise. Though he hadn’t let on that he knew, he’d treated her with kindness and respect. Would he have done the same with a man? Since she didn’t know him at all, it was difficult to tell, but he possessed the most beautiful pair of eyes she’d ever seen. At the outset, the depths were hazel, but in the sunlight which had streamed through the rear window in his office, they had changed to a rich brown with golden flecks. And he’d smelled so good! Cedarwood, orange, with a slight hint of leather that she could still discern in her nose two days later.
Stop daydreaming, Ceci. It’s unbecoming, and you’re not looking for romance besides.
Not that anything would ever happen between them. He was an earl for goodness sake, and she was naught but a captain’s daughter, and him a merchant at that. Titled men didn’t dally with the daughters of cits. Everyone knew that. However, he’d been the first man to treat her with respect instead of a potential bed partner.
Of course, she’d been disguised as a young man, so there was that.
So lost in thought was she that when Mr. Derrickson approached her not far from her father’s shipping office, she wasn’t aware that he’d crept up on her. By the time she realized the danger she was in, it was too late.
With a gasp, Cecilia came to a halt just before she would have run bodily into the mountain of a man. “I am running late and not inclined to entertain your idiotic notions today,” she told him as a warning and tried to look as menacing as she could.
“Don’t be like that, Miss Dawson. I only bother you because I fancy you.” With a crooked grin, he stepped into her path.
“That is all well and good, but I do not return your feelings.” Though she had to tip her head up in order to peer into his face—he was a good foot taller than she—she was forced to put a hand to shield her face from the rain, for the shallow brim of her bonnet didn’t help. “Now, let me pass.” Could she remember all she’d learned from that one brief boxing lesson?
“Not until you promise to be my wife.”
She snorted. “I would need to be dead for several days before that would ever happen.”
“Then you haven’t thought hard enough about being with me.” He had the audacity to wrap a beefy hand around her upper arm. “One night in my bed will have you begging me to marry you.”
Good lord. What a nodcock.
“I rather doubt that.” When she made a move to go around him, he propelled her backward and into the shadows from one of the warehouses. “Unhand me.”
“Not till I get that kiss.” And his big face came toward hers.
Why were men so annoying, and beyond that, dangerous? Well, she was tired of being treated like an object, as if she had no other value in this world beyond being someone’s bedmate or a way to stem frustration.
“Let me go.” When the man forced one of her arms behind her back, pain skittered down that limb. Fear twisted down her spine, and as she tried to jam a knee between his legs, he dodged away from her.
“None of that this time.”
Remembering what Mr. Stapleton had taught her about forming a fist, she curled her fingers into one like he’d instructed. She didn’t hold much confidence in her ability to take down an attacker right now, but she had to try something. Then she pulled back her fist, let it fly into what she thought was a weak uppercut—wasn’t that what he’d called it?—and then bit back a crow of victory when Mr. Derrickson stumbled back after her fist connected with his jaw. However, connecting a fist with anything that solid meant there was a bit of pain in her hand.
“That is no way to treat your future husband.” The man retaliated by swinging out a meaty hand and slapped her across the cheek. “I’ll beat that spirit out of you.”
Pain exploded at the side of her head. From the force of a blow, she fell to the boardwalk while he towered over her. As she cowered and steeled herself for the next contact—for she well remembered what came next from her failed engagement—her father ran over to them at that point.
“How dare you lay hands on my daughter.” Immediately, he laid into Mr. Derrickson, grabbed him by the collar, and spun him around. He landed a punch to the man’s jaw. “If I see you around here again, you’ll get worse than this.” Once more taking hold of the back of the bigger man’s jacket, he shuttled him across the boardwalk, then pitched him into the harbor.
Masculine laughter followed the incident, for workers around the dock had born witness to the debacle. They scattered when her father glanced their way, though.
“Are you hurt?” he asked as he helped Cecilia to her feet.
“I have been through worse.” Though tears stung her eyes, she blinked away the urge to cry because it could have gone much more drastically. “Every time I am out here, Mr. Derrickson thinks to bother me, and after today, I don’t know how I’m going to survive it.”
“You shouldn’t come out there any longer,” her father said as he escorted her into the shipping office. “I let you do the books against my better judgment, but obviously, it is too dangerous for you here.”
She shook her head. “What would I do at home? Sit around and work embroidery? You know I am not skilled at that.”
“Something must be done.” After he’d guided her to one of the chairs in front of his desk, he leaned a hip against that piece of furniture and crossed his arms at his chest. A fierce frown followed. “I had no idea you were being harassed. How long?”
Cecilia shrugged. “At least a few months.” She touched the fingertips of one hand to the side of her face where she’d been hit. The skin was tender but not broken. Perhaps it was time for her to confess all to him. “In fact, being bothered on a regular basis, I made the decision to take boxing lessons.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I paid for a lesson in fisticuffs and had it two days ago. It was brief and I was dressed as a boy, but though I was a bit frightened, I think it will prove helpful.”
Her father’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “You are taking boxing lessons.” It wasn’t a question. “And you were disguised as a boy?”
“I borrowed some of James’ clothes. The sleeves of the shirt and jacket were too long and the boots slightly too big, but it did the job.” She sighed. “I rather doubt I would have been allowed into the boxing salon otherwise. To be fair, the owner of the establishment took me into his office where it was more private, and that was where we had our first lesson.”
For the first time, she gave thought to the consequences of what she’d done. She had been alone with a man, and if he had known she was a woman, did that constitute being compromised? It was too difficult to tell. Did it matter so much since she wasn’t part of the beau monde ? Again, the line was blurry.
“You visited a boxing salon of your own accord.”
“Yes.”
He nodded. Admiration shone in his eyes. “I’m proud of you, but going in disguise was a mistake. I mean, I understand why; you needed to protect your reputation, but it was still a mistake.”
“Why?” She frowned, not following his logic.
“Because, when you are accosted by the dock workers or fishermen, you are in skirts. You need to learn how to move and dart about while in your ordinary clothing instead of breeches. You’ll never be dressed like a boy when molested.”
“Oh!” That made sense. “Thank you for that. I’d never thought of it in such a way before.” Slowly, she nodded. “I’ll tell Lord Lethbridge today of my real identity when I go for my second lesson.”
“What?” He gawked at her. “The Earl of Lethbridge is your boxing instructor?” Incredulity rang in his voice.
“Yes.” One of her eyebrows rose. “Do you know him?”
“I knew his father. He was a premier bare-knuckle boxer. Won several bouts in his time as well as brought in big prize purses.” He shrugged. “A pity he died from the sport.”
“I didn’t know that.” For long moments, she stared at her parent. “No wonder the earl was so standoffish outside of giving me instructions regarding the lesson.”
“Well, according to gossip, the earl’s father’s death was abrupt and unexpected. The oldest son wasn’t expecting to take the title yet. Been about two years or so since he did.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. He must be devastated.” Cecilia frowned, for she would always carry the grief of losing her mother with her. “I’ll give him my condolences this afternoon.”
“You will still attend the lesson after what happened?”
“Why not? It’s even more needed now.” A long-suffering breath escaped her. “I grow weary of always needing to stay aware, of never having the freedom to walk to this office without being harassed, never being taken seriously because I’m a woman.”
He unbent enough to lean over and buss her cheek. “I can’t guess how difficult this is for you, but I will ask that you not come here alone. Bring a footman or wait until I’m available. Otherwise, I can bring the paperwork and books home for you to work on there.”
“Perhaps that is best until I have built up confidence and skill in boxing.” When her father didn’t appear convinced, she sighed and gained her feet. “I can do this, Papa. I can. What’s more, the whole sport of boxing is interesting. I’d like to learn more.” She kept her thoughts regarding the earl to herself. “And if I can learn how to successfully defend myself, where is the harm?”
“I want to keep you safe, Ceci. If your reputation is damaged because of this, there will be nothing I can do. You won’t be able to make a good match.” Concern creased his brow. “While I’ll let you have a bit of independence, you must understand that I will do everything I can to keep you safe.”
“I know.” She took his hand, squeezed his fingers. “Thank you, but I also need to do this on my own.”
I refuse to be one of those women who becomes a victim because she thinks she should take the abuse.
*
Once more she found herself inside the private office of Lewis Stapleton, and for the past half hour, she’d been punching his raised hands, but it was awkward to gauge distance, for he’d encouraged her to wear a pair of padded leather mittens to avoid busting up her knuckles. Now, he was instructing how to block blows as he struck out with his hands, also in mittens.
And she was failing at this simple task, for all she could see in her mind’s eye was Mr. Derrickson coming at her, swinging his beefy hand.
“Hold.” With a huff, he held up a hand. “You are distracted.” It wasn’t a question.
“I am. Sorry.” She frowned and rested her mitten-covered hands on her hips. As of yet, she hadn’t told him of her true gender.
He yanked off a mitten. “Because of this?” When he brushed his fingertips along the slope of the cheek that had been slapped two days ago, she trembled.
“Yes.” She could scarcely breathe with him in such close proximity. His hands, so rough and powerful enough to throw punches, were also gentle and as delicate as angel’s wings when he caressed her cheek. Yet he remained reticent, focused. “It isn’t as bad as it looks. Faint bruising.”
“Who did this to you?” He snapped his teeth together. When she shook his head, he sighed. “What aren’t you telling me?”
It was now or never. “I have come here under false pretenses, which rolls right into the reason I’m here at all.” Watching him the whole time, Cecilia removed her slouch-style cap. As his gaze went to her tightly bound hair, she said, “I am a woman. My name is Miss Cecilia Dawson, not Mr. Feathers, but when I said I was being bullied at the docks, that was true. One of the men there hit me two days ago.”
The earl’s nod was curt. “I’m glad you told me the truth, for I suspected you weren’t a young man almost immediately.”
“Oh.” That sapped at her newly built confidence. “The man trapped me, wrenched one of my arms behind my back. I attempted to fight him like you’ve showed me during our first lesson, but then my father came and intervened. Pitched the man into the harbor.”
A muscle in the earl’s cheek ticced. “Men who hit women are the worst sort of scum.” The deceptively quiet, warning rumble in his voice sent gooseflesh sailing over her arms.
Cecilia ignored his response, for if she didn’t, she would break into tears, and she wanted to appear strong in Mr. Stapleton’s eyes. “He is a brute, but he’s stubborn and will try again. That or—”
“Or?” He looked sharply at her.
“Or I’m not a good enough student. I should have been able to rout him.”
Mr. Stapleton jerked on the padded glove he’d just removed, yanked the ties with his teeth. “Or I’m a miserable teacher.” The annoyance had grown in his tone, but this time it was directed at himself.
The tautness across her hands from the mittens’ laces reminded her why she was here. “You are a brilliant teacher. I wish we had more time together than one hour for lessons.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “To talk?”
He snorted. “I am not much for talking.” The despair in his eyes was genuine. What demons did he wrestle with? “I’d like to hope our lessons are helping you.”
“It is early days, and there is still much I need to learn.” Cecilia cut the air with a padded mitten. She stared at him. “You’ve said yourself that going against better opponents helps you grow. Here’s your chance. Show me.”
A grudging grin tipped the corners of his lips. Flutters moved through her belly. “Are you trying to boost my ego, Miss Dawson?”
“Either that or move your arse into fighting with me.” She smacked her gloved hands together. “After all, I have paid for this lesson.”
“Fair enough. And direct. I appreciate that.” He chuckled. “Let me show you a choke hold for those times your tormentor is persistent.”
“How—” Before she could finish the question, he darted behind her, wrapped one arm about her middle, which rendered her arm immobile, while his other arm went around her neck with her throat in the vee of the bent elbow. “Mr. Stapleton?” A trace of fear climbed her spine, but she knew he wouldn’t hurt her. He wasn’t that sort of man.
But men were also liars.
“The trick is to squeeze just enough to cut off the airflow, but only as a last resort, for it’s all too easy to kill.” His voice in her ear was both comforting and alarming. “Once you cross over into that territory, you’ll be forever changed.”
She clawed at his arm, but her mittens made that ineffective. Her pulse increased into a frantic rhythm. “Let me go.” Panic filled her chest. Had she put her trust in the wrong man?
“I know it’s uncomfortable, but this can save your life,” he said into her ear, breaking through the haze of anxiety. “You can either apply pressure like this.” He tightened his arm for a fraction of a second but then relaxed his hold. “Or move your forearm to his throat, Lia. Like so.” He demonstrated the technique. “Secure that arm with your other one. It’s your choice how you go about it, but surprise is the key. If you must jump upon his back in order to do this since you are petite, do it.”
When he released her, Cecilia gulped in a breath, and then annoyance roared into her chest. She rounded on him, getting off a punch that landed square into his shoulder. “Never do that to me again without warning, lesson or not.” It didn’t matter that she rather liked the shortened version of her name he’d used.
“My apologies.” Mr. Stapleton stepped backward, his hands raised. “I want you to be fully prepared.”
“Noted.” She threw another punch but missed him. His return volley bussed her cheek. “Arse.” Another one of her swings connected with his glove, but the rest missed. She blew out a frustrated breath. “It’s not working.”
“Because you are still distracted.” Mr. Stapleton dropped his hands. “What makes you angry, sad, frustrated? Use those emotions. Channel them and let them fuel you. At times of crisis, they might be the only things that help you focus.”
“Is that what you do during a prize fight?”
“At times.”
How fascinating. “Does it help after the match is over?”
“Not always, but that’s where your power lies. Take it back. Stop letting men steal it. Use your power and fight for what you want.” The encouragement in his voice soothed the tangle of her emotions.
“Right.” Cecilia launched herself at him. She got off an uppercut to his chin but missed the second time. He returned with punches of his own, tagging both her cheeks.
“Damn your eyes, Mr. Stapleton,” she hissed, as her ire with herself grew.
“Keep going.” He circled her. Sweat trickled from one temple. “Flow into the rhythm of the fight. This is only your second lesson.”
She threw a punch again. This time she connected with his flat abdomen. Part of her mind wondered what he looked like sans shirt.
He retreated with a faint grin. “Impressive.” As blows were exchanged and the slap of leather on leather blended with their grunts and throaty utterances, he talked to her. “Has your attacker come after your brother?”
“Not that I know of.” One of her gloves slid over his cheek.
“Good. If he is ever accosted, feel free to bring him here.” He ducked her next punch. “No one should feel threatened.”
“Agreed, but when one doesn’t have a title behind them, one is often the prey.” The exercise left her panting with sweat sticking the shirt to her back.
“Sometimes that is the reason, but it is also strength, how you carry yourself. Predators are naught but bullies who will usually back down if you fight back.” Mr. Stapleton tagged a glove into her midsection. He grunted when she gasped. “But you are a quick study, and you are short. That gives you an advantage. You decide if you are prey.”
Cecilia gave him a tight grin. “It is difficult.”
“Indeed, but you can do this. Get mean if you must, and throw the rules away if it helps. When survival is in the offing, nothing else matters.”
Truly, he was so different than other men that it was laughable. “I’ll remember that.” Her footwork was nearly as good as Mr. Stapleton’s—or he was humoring her—for now it was he who struggled to match her movements.
“Keep going.” A muscle ticced in his jaw.
“It is more work than I anticipated.”
“Anything worth having is.”
Cecilia tried an uppercut, but Mr. Stapleton bounded away, and the tip of her glove glanced along his jaw. “Your father taught you how to box.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.”
“Were you bullied at school?”
Shock lined his face and reflected in his eyes. “How could you know that? Not even my brothers know.”
Well, good for me. Her next swing caught him square on the jaw. Cecilia snickered at the surprise in his expression. “I have listened to what you won’t tell me. And no doubt you wanted to impress your father, the prize fighter, gain his attention… for you felt you failed at training to be his heir.”
Was her guess correct?
Mr. Stapleton rolled his shoulders. “I thought I was better at keeping things close.” He drilled a fist into one of her palms.
That connection and the power behind it sent her back a step. It also had awareness of him flaring into every nerve ending. “We are all broken in some way, and some of us just pay more attention to the silences… because we’ve had to.” She shrugged. If she had listened more to her fiancé, perhaps things would have been different for her now.
“Meaning?” Frown lines creased his forehead.
“Second guessing what men really mean grows more annoying each year.” A trace of bitterness clung to her words. She used that emotion to throw her next punch, which connected soundly with his glove. “I detest being seen as only a bedmate, something to be used and then discarded.”
“Understandable, and the punch was impressive.”
“Thank you.” She threw another punch. The satisfying slap of leather met her ears. “I’m enjoying this lesson more than the first.”
“You’ve a natural talent.” Mr. Stapleton’s stance relaxed slightly.
Cecilia took the opportunity to swing again. This time, her punch connected solidly to his cheek with enough force to spin him about. She giggled. “I guess I did need to channel that anger.”
“You’ve done well.” Pride reflected in his eyes.
She beamed. “See? You are a great teacher.”
“But remember, there are times when going blindly, led by emotion, will hurt rather than help.” But the corners of his mouth tipped in a grin.
“I’ll bear that in mind.” Cecilia’s spirits and confidence soared. It was an extraordinary feeling. “Boxing has changed everything. Thank you!” So exuberant was she that Cecilia threw herself into his arms.
“Argh!” The force of her movement sent him off-balance, and he staggered backward but never recovered. They tumbled to the floor and onto a straw-filled pallet. “Oomph.” He landed heavily on his back and she on top of him, more or less straddling his waist, one padded mitten resting on his heaving chest.
“Oh.” Her attitude subtly changed as she stared down into his face from her new perch. He was so solid; the heat of him seeped through her thin breeches to warm her legs. And she felt… powerful in this position. Her pulse accelerated.
Mr. Stapleton watched her. Slowly, he tugged off one of his padded mittens and then the other, tossing them toward his desk. “Cecilia?” Unnamed emotion graveled that one word.
“Hmm?” Her throat went dry. Never in the whole of her engaged life had she been given the chance to straddle a man, let alone ride him during the one coupling she’d had.
His body tensed. “This is highly scandalous. If we’re caught…”
“I care not for that.” She rid herself of her padded mittens merely to run her palms up his chest. Tingles played up and down her spine. Slowly, she leaned down as warning bells clanged in her head and kept going until their lips almost touched. “Much.” The risk to them both was great.
“What are you doing?” Gently, he held onto her forearms. His eyes darkened into a smoky green shade filled with the same need pulsing through her veins.
“I’m not sure,” she whispered. Oh, he smelled so good. She breathed in at the same time he expelled breath. Literally, they shared the same air as she held his gaze. “Mr. Stapleton?”
“Yes?”
“May I kiss you?” Surely, she had gone mad.
“God, yes.”
Cecilia stroked her fingers along his cheek. As her heart pounded, she closed the final few inches and kissed his lips.
A shuddering sigh escaped him, but he made no other sound. Nor did he move. Instead, he waited and watched her, letting her decide.
She appreciated the fact he gave her the lead, for it went a long way into building back her trust. While smoothing the hair back from his brow, she explored every inch of his lips. Oh, he was heavenly, both hard and soft at the same time, and the faint bitterness of brandy clung to his mouth. Perhaps he’d indulged in a glass before their lesson.
Eventually, she pulled a bit away but continued to peer at him while her heart trembled as if on the verge of flight, and need throbbed between her thighs. That reaction was something she’d not gotten from her fiancé. Was that odd? “That was…”
“Exactly.” Mr. Stapleton slipped his palms up her arms, then the sides of her neck until he finally cupped her face between his hands. When she sighed, he kissed her back with more finesse and vigor than she’d given him. When he finished, he said, “Yes, it was that, exactly.”
“I want you to know that I don’t go around kissing strange men.”
“I’ll take your word for it; I don’t know you that well. However, boxing is an intimate sport at times.”
She smiled. “Should I let you up?”
Mischief sparkled in his eyes. “Unless you would like to continue kissing me.”
Should she?
“We’re already in a heap of scandal.”
“There is that.”
“Good.” His whole body tensed as he wrapped his arms around her. Then he flipped them both over and pressed her into the pallet with his weight on top of her. “I suppose this is as good a way as any to know you better.”
As he claimed her lips, Cecilia gave herself over to the experience. With her fingers buried in the hair at his nape, she encouraged him to kiss her soundly. Mr. Stapleton was an intelligent man, for he’d understood her message and teased the seam of her lips with the tip of his tongue. Oh, how utterly delicious that was! She gasped from the wonder of it, and when he slid that organ into her mouth to tangle with hers, she was lost on the heated sensations crashing into her.
For the first time in a long while, fear and worry had no hold over her. She held him in her arms and enjoyed each nuance of their embrace. When he shifted slightly, the insistent bulge of his arousal pressed into her thigh that was between his legs. She shivered in anticipation. What would coupling with this man of a hundred mysteries be like? Surely different than it had been with her fiancé. Mr. Stapleton respected her, supported her, encouraged her, and he certainly would never beat her. He genuinely wanted the best for her, and that meant… everything.
The heat filling her body was bigger than the obvious desire she had for him. As he kissed her, he held her closer, and in his arms she knew peace and protection… and she wanted it to continue.
But he wasn’t hers; he was an earl as well as her boxing instructor, and this had been a temporary bout of insanity. In the process of trying to slide out from beneath him, Cecilia managed to dig her knee into the soft flesh between his legs.
“Damn.” Immediately, he rolled off her, clutching his privates with one hand as she scrambled to her feet.
“I’m sorry.” What a silly goose she was. “Are you hurt badly?” Seconds later, she kneeled beside him. “Can I call for assistance?” Truly, she didn’t understand what to do if a man’s member was injured.
“That was a mistake, Lia.” He easily took hold of her and flipped them both over until he leaned over her, holding his weight off her body with his forearms.
“What?” Once more, her heart pounded, but not from fear.
“Never show compassion or concern for your opponent in the ring. It can prove deadly.”
“But that is what makes a person human.”
“When you are in the fight of your life, none of that matters. Your first and only responsibility is survival. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” For long moments, she shared a stare with him, then he lifted off her, got to his feet, and helped her to stand. “Good. I’d say this second lesson has been quite successful.”