Chapter 22 #2
“My pleasure, I assure you.” He eyed the bag once more. She pulled it closer as if to hide it in her skirts. “May I ask what you brought?”
“Of course, you may.”
He waited, but she said nothing further. “What is in the bag, Sam?”
“My boxing gloves—err, Garrett’s boxing gloves.”
“What do you plan to do with them?” Something told him he did not want to know the answer, especially if it had anything to do with Eli donning the gloves and entering the ring.
“Step into the ring, of course.” As if to punctuate her words, his carriage jerked into motion.
“Absolutely not.” Eli vehemently shook his head.
He would put his own person at risk before allowing her to participate.
“I made a promise; however, I cannot, in good conscience, keep that promise if it will put you at risk. I will not do it. A woman entering a gentleman’s boxing club is outlandish and unheard of. But entering the ring? Preposterous.”
“Humpf.” She turned and pulled the curtain aside to watch their progress. “If you insist, I shall leave my gloves in the carriage.”
“That is very gracious of you,” Eli said, rubbing his palms down the velvet seat at his sides to dispel the nervous sweat that had gathered.
If she’d persisted with her foolish plan, would he have given in to her demands?
He’d had a difficult time as it was securing a way into Jackson’s without anyone noting Sam’s attendance.
Thankfully, it seemed the proprietor was not completely shocked by his written request, and had actually hinted at the fact that Eli’s bid was quite commonplace.
“May I ask why you are interested in Gentleman Jackson’s? ”
Her face brightened, and a mischievous grin settled on her lips.
Lips he would relish kissing when their afternoon was complete, and he had fulfilled her first wish.
“I suspected you would never agree to accompany me to White’s. The next best thing is Jackson’s.” Her smile only intensified, as he finally understood the brilliance of her plan. “Though it is only a boxing club, I will gain a rare sight of what it would be like to live the life of a gentleman.”
The late-morning traffic was light, and his carriage sped through town without much delay, swinging around to the back of the large building housing the boxing club.
On any other day, Eli would have enjoyed attending the establishment, watching two men in a bout of fisticuffs, and the thrill of donning the gloves himself. But not this day.
“Where are we?” she asked, allowing the curtain to fall back into place as she turned to face him. She bit her lower lip, hard-pressed to keep her skepticism from showing. “This is not Gentleman Jackson’s.”
It was Elijah’s turn to look smug, knowing he’d be able to keep his promise but also keep her reputation intact—for at least another day. “It certainly is.”
“B-but...” she stuttered. “We are in an alley.”
“Directly behind the boxing club.” His bravado soared, even as she narrowed her eyes.
Mathers opened the door and set the steps, just as the back door of the club swung open to reveal a broad-shouldered man with a neck as thick as an ox.
He must be the owner—and an avid boxer. “Your private entrance to debauchery awaits.”
Eli stepped from the carriage and reached his hand out to help Sam.
One glance at the man holding the door, and her eyes rounded as big as saucers.
“Lord Ridgefeld.” Their host bowed to Eli and turned to Sam. “Miss Samantha Pengarden. I am Mr. John Jackson. It is a pleasure to have you both at my esteemed establishment. Your private ring awaits. Right this way.”
Jackson stood back and allowed them entrance before bustling inside to lead the way down a well-lit corridor.
“I asked to witness a boxing match, not”—Sam paused, motioning to the vacant hall before them—“this.”
“It was a surprise to receive your request, my lord,” Jackson threw over his shoulder as they turned a corner and stopped before a closed door. “I had occasion to meet your grandfather several times, and even your father once or twice, though he was only a lad.”
Eli clasped his hands behind his back and turned his eyes to the floor as his pace slowed. The last thing he wanted either Sam or Jackson to see were the tears threatening to escape at the mention of his sire and grandsire.
“I have readied my own private ring for your viewing.” Jackson pushed the door wide and allowed Sam and Eli to enter.
A large, square boxing ring stood in the center of the room.
Several rough benches had been pushed against the walls to allow room for two overstuffed armchairs, precisely positioned to gain a full view of the ring.
Several men huddled in the far corner. “I have two of my prized purse fighters preparing to spar for you.”
The proprietor waved them to their seats.
Eli guided Sam to their place as she took in every detail of the room, from the cream-colored walls, to the hanging gloves, to the large hand-drawn posters of men dressed for sport, to the telltale signs of dried blood on the wood floor—stains either forgotten or incapable of being scrubbed clean.
“This sport is not one for delicate eyes, Sam,” Eli leaned close and whispered. “We can leave whenever you say the word.”
She bit her lower lip, pulling her arms and legs close as a smooth, expressionless look overtook her normally lively face. “I requested this outing and know the sights in store for me.” She tucked her ankles below her chair and folded her hands primly in her lap.
Never once had Eli witnessed this reserved side of her.
Was she nervous of the display to come?
Jackson had assured Eli in his note that he’d instructed his fighters to spar lightly: no blood was to be drawn from either party.
“I need speak with Mr. Jackson. May I retrieve anything for you? A drink perhaps?”
“No, Elijah,” Sam said. “Thank you.”
“Very well.” He stood and moved toward Jackson to offer his thanks for seeing to his outlandish request. “Mr. Jackson, thank you for organizing this, especially on such short notice.”
The man chuckled softly, the sound a few notes too high for a man of his immense size.
“You may not believe this, my lord, but female members of the aristocracy—from elderly matrons to young debutantes—routinely set up private fights. It is only right I allow them entrance, so long as they do not interfere with my male membership.”
“Their husbands and guardians do not find issue with this?”
“I have learned that men and women of the ton do not always question how the others spend their time.” Jackson glanced toward the men donning their gloves.
“However, business is business. If it keeps food on my table and my doors open, ladies may request private gatherings here.” He looked to the ring. “The men are ready.”
Eli would have never imagined that women’s delicate sensibilities could endure the flying of fists and knuckles meeting flesh. Had Sam attended a private gathering at Jackson’s before? From the stiff set of her shoulders and her gaping mouth as she watched the men enter the ring, he suspected not.
Sliding into his seat, he patted her clenched hands. “Are you ready?”
“I believe I am, my lord.” She gave him a tight-lipped smile. “I have long wanted to see what my brother does when he says he is off to his boxing club.”
“Jackson is certain to have a show for you.” Eli relaxed in his chair. Only time would tell if he’d made a grand mistake by agreeing to bring Sam to such a violent affair.