Chapter 9
Watching Malcolm struggle to undo his own buttons broke Rory’s heart in a way that hurt more than standing outside the boxing shed inhaling the familiar scents of his glory days while being assaulted with the memories of his final match. He understood pride and if Malcolm didn’t want help, then he certainly wasn’t going to override what he’d said. He hadn’t wanted help when he couldn’t walk inside that building either, but here he was... naked and satisfied and ... Rory breathed out slowly as a rising heat flushed terribly through his veins. He had let his desperation not to be seen, to avoid his fears, take over and now he was naked in front of his idol.
“I should go.” He needed to get away from here now. He grabbed his clothes, shoving them onto his body, ignoring the aches that should be pleasant but now only reminded him of his failings.
“Where?”
Somewhere, anywhere that wasn’t here. He couldn’t look at The Colossus, couldn’t allow Malcolm to see his shame. He was, like his rival, too proud.
“Gloria has invited us to dine.” It was unsaid that neither of them could avoid their host, who’d so graciously given them this room.
Rory nodded. He was a Laird, a Champion boxer, strong. He could make it through one dinner with Malcolm’s friends. He sucked in a deep breath, taking the cool winter air deep into his lungs and centred himself in his body, just like the old days.
“Then we will dine.” Belatedly, Rory remembered that he was here for a reason. He needed what Lord Bennington was offering, and he needed to stop this fight for Malcolm and for himself. He couldn’t let himself get to a place where he had this reaction in public with people’s expectations weighing on him. He needed to get a grip on all these unseemly emotions and focus on the reason he was here; to create a future for his land and the people who relied on him.
“Thank you.”
He should be the one thanking Malcolm. The hot prickles of shame threatened to rise again. No, he had his pride. Besides, it was hardly as troubling as being rejected by all the Lords in London who thought they were above helping a Scottish Laird with too much coal and not the means to extract it. He shook his head, at the lie he’d just told himself. Dinner with Malcolm’s friends was going to be much more difficult than talking to Lords who sneered at him. These were people who understood his craft, his sport, his glory. They knew what it meant for him to stand outside that building unable to breathe. They knew why he couldn’t go in.
“What is the problem?”
He didn’t want to admit it, not even to himself, but he was frightened. Scared of what all of this might mean. “There is no problem.” He found his jacket and shook it out before putting it on.
Soon enough, they were all seated around a table laden with food. Rory ate quietly, enjoying the fare which was tastier than anything he’d had since his arrival in London. Conversation flowed around him and he let it as he came to terms with his actions. Being here reminded him of the worst day of his life—it’d sent all his reasons for being here flashing through his eyes, from the fight to the trial and then running away to the Continent, only to coming home because his father died. Apoplexy, the doctor had said.
“Rory.” Malcolm’s stern tone broke through, and he blinked.
“Yes?”
“Tommy asked you a question.”
Rory breathed out slowly. “My apologies. Would you mind repeating it?”
“I said it sounds like you’ve got yourself into an impossible situation and you’ve dragged my friend into it. What are you going to do?”
Rory had never felt so inadequate in his life. He didn’t know. He had come to London to ... He swallowed. "I came to London to solve one problem and a chance meeting with Lord Bennington promised to solve that problem, if I fought The Colossus.”
“You can’t.”
“I know. It would not be safe for Malcolm.” It was the easiest of excuses, a lie really, since he couldn’t even smell a boxing ring without collapsing.
Malcolm growled, and it was wrong of Rory to enjoy the way the noise rolled over his skin. “I can decide what is safe for myself.”
Tommy’s frown deepened. “The Duke would never allow it.”
Rory stared. What Duke? He expected Malcolm to argue against such a notion, but instead he sagged.
“You are correct. Another fight would defy his wishes, but what am I to do? Lord Bennington expects this.”
“Doesn’t a Duke over-ride a Lord? Just get this Duke of yours to tell Bennington no.” Rory wasn’t sure why he said that. Telling Bennington no didn’t help him in any way.
“Galforth is dead.” Malcolm whispered and Tommy jumped in almost of the top of him.
“He can’t protect you anymore, Malcolm. It’s time to stop bowing to these Lords and stop always putting their wishes ahead of your own needs.”
“And you wonder why I haven’t visited,” Malcolm mumbled.
“Oh you know that’s not fair. I just want the best for you, and maybe this time, the best isn’t doing what the Lords tell you. What has that even gotten you? A dull job that you don’t care about?”
Rory wanted to hide under the table. This wasn’t a conversation that he should be listening to.
“Boys.” Gloria’s quiet admonishment did nothing to ease the tension.
“That’s not fair. I care deeply about my job.”
“Watches? You never cared for them when we were young.”
Malcolm shook his head slowly and Rory pretended to cut the crust on his pie so he wouldn’t appear too curious about Malcolms’s life.
“I’ve spent twenty years as an expert horologist, of course I care.”
“But it wasn’t your first choice.”
“No. But you know how this world works, Tommy. The other interns got the first choices. They specialised in the arts and literature, and I ended up with the branch at Sothebys that no one else wanted. The sales of antique time pieces. And I was grateful for the work. I might not have the same enthusiasm as collectors like Lord Lawndry, but it’s not fair to say that I don’t care about my life’s work, Tommy. Not fair.”
“I just don’t understand it.”
“We’ve both been formed by Galforth. Would you be training the next generation of boxers without his encouragement to help you understand that you are a better coach than you ever were a boxer? This is the same. He saw my talents and he gave me an outlet and I’ll always be grateful for that.”
Tommy frowned. “And this gratitude extends to all the ton?”
“They are my life, Tommy. Who do you think owns the watches and clocks that I assess and prepare for auction? My job, no, more than that, my very existence relies on their good opinion on me. We grew up in that world, Tommy, how do you not understand?”
Rory’s breath was hot on his lips as it dawned on him how similar Malcolm’s life was to his own, and also how incredibly different. For the moment, Rory needed the ton—well one of them—to invest in his land, and he was learning how much effort it took to get the people with money and power to listen to him; a mere Scottish Laird. If Malcolm worked for the ton, he understood them better than Rory could but there was also a similarity in that he approached them without the power they wielded.
“You could walk away.” Tommy’s simple statement befuddled Rory. If it was that simple, neither of them would be here.
“And do what? I didn’t marry someone who owned an inn. I need my job to pay for my rooms. And my job needs Bennington to like me. I know it’s not ideal, but what would you have me do?”
Rory would always have his land, even if he just farmed it himself and never opened his coal mines. He wouldn’t support the people who needed it, but he could support himself. No, he couldn’t be so selfish, he’d grown up being taught that he had a responsibility to his community.
“I don’t know. I just know that you can’t fight, and neither can your friend here.”
Malcolm shook his head. “I’ve made a commitment. I can’t shirk that.”
Rory cleared his throat. “At the risk of sounding na?ve, why don’t we just explain the situation to Bennington?” He could sacrifice more of his selfish pride and be humble, couldn’t he?
“You’d tell him, a Lord and a stranger, that you tricked him into this deal and have no intention of following through?” Malcolm asked.
When it was put like that... “I was merely thinking that you’d already told him that you couldn’t fight, and we could start there.” Keeping Malcolm safe, from his own fists, was more important than his own desires.