Chapter One
Josephine Martin ducked to evade the fist headed toward her nose, earning a round of jeers from the blood-thirsty audience. Well, they could bugger off. She’d been giving this fight her all, and she’d win the dashed thing, but first, she needed a moment to scan the crowd.
Her gaze drifted to the titled members of the Fancy, lounging in the corner on an elevated platform that was the same height as the eight-foot ring.
The Duke of Griffendale was easy to spot since his bright ginger hair practically glowed, and because he was one of the largest men in the room.
To Josie’s horror, Ruth the Jewel, resplendent in sapphire, ruby, and emerald face paint, sat beside the duke pressing her bosom against him.
Most likely, she was whispering indecent suggestions in his ear.
True to her reputation, Josie’s nemesis had displayed a tit to the crowd when she’d peeled down to her chemise during the opening fight.
This hungry lot had gone wild as a grinning Ruth had taken her time tucking said tit beneath the flimsy fabric.
And now, the cheating strumpet was homing in on Josie’s duke.
The past few years, the Duke of Griffendale and the Duke of Paulsgrove had hosted the match of the season.
They’d each chosen a female pugilist to be their champion in the highly anticipated Duke’s and Dame’s Mill.
The prior year, the secret location had been announced at the last moment.
Thousands of people had left the city to converge on an old mill in Bromley to wager and cheer for their favorite female.
Paulsgrove’s wife, “Lady P.” to her fans, had won the title and the substantial purse once again, not that she required the prize money.
Therefore, she’d generously presented it to a foundling home.
Paulsgrove had again chosen his wife for the upcoming fight, but Griffendale had yet to choose his champion, and since Josie desperately required the blunt, she needed Griffendale to choose her. But first, she had to get his attention.
“Focus, Josie,” Coach Calder Valentine yelled.
But she was focused. Perhaps more on the man whose patronage she desperately required than the woman she needed to knock out. But, if the duke made an offer to Ruth while Josie was catering to the crowd, her dreams would die hard and fast.
With the twist of her hip, Josie clobbered Sweet Clementine O’Reilly’s button nose. Not that it would be cute and perfect, or even in the center of Clem’s face by the end of the night.
It wasn’t personal. Clem was likable enough and trained hard, but Josie needed to end this quickly, even if it made Coach and Bessie Dove-Lyon unhappy.
“Draw it out to keep the wagers coming in,” Coach reminded her every time she fought. Tonight, his directive also included, “The Black Widow of Whitehall wants this to be a night her patrons never forget. So do not knock your opponent out too soon, Jojo.”
Too bad, because Clem was going down early. The money Josie earned tonight would be nothing compared to the purse she’d earn as the duke’s prizefighter.
Josie threw three quick jabs followed by an uppercut that knocked Clem backward. Clem ricocheted off the rope and tumbled to her knees.
The bell dinged as the crowd cheered, “Jabbing Josie! Jabbing Josie!”
Please let Clem stay down. Because then Josie could leap from the ring and dash to the duke. She wasn’t above begging just this once.
Unfortunately, Clem climbed onto her feet. Josie huffed in frustration as she marched to the corner and plopped her arse onto Coach’s knee.
“Hell’s bells. What is wrong with you?” he asked. “Block, don’t dodge. You want a white feather shower?”
Josie was no coward. She’d simply needed a second to scan the crowd.
Franny, her bottle woman, training partner, and best friend, shoved a small cup of protein beer under Josie’s nose. “Drink.”
“Jewel, me arse. Ruth threw her fight,” Josie said.
“How do you know that?” Franny asked. “Never mind. Drink now. Tell me later.”
Josie’s mouth was still full of beer when Coach waggled his finger in her face. “Worry about yourself.”
Josie swallowed. “But she’s with His Grace, and she’s a fraud, she is.”
“If he watches you make a hash of this fight, he won’t choose you,” Coach said.
True. And without his sponsorship, Josie would never earn her share of the blunt to open a respectable boxing gymnasium.
Usually, thirty seconds passed quickly, but tonight, it felt like an eternity.
As Josie approached the scratch line, she couldn’t help but peer out over the crowd again.
The Duke of Griffendale sat with two other men.
All three were dressed as toffish as they came.
Ruth might as well climb onto the duke’s lap as close as she was to him.
If Josie wasn’t mistaken, another of the toffs had his hand on Ruth’s lap.
Disgusting!
Not that Josie gave a shite about the indecent things that went on between men and women. But she absolutely cared about the purity of the sweet science and being taken seriously as a female pugilist, which would never happen if fighters allowed aristocratic men to grope them in public.
Josie’s skin prickled. She cut her gaze to the third man at the table. His intense stare sent tingles up the back of her neck.
What the blazes was wrong with her? Coach was correct. She needed to get her head out of her arse and concentrate.
She placed her toe on the line, lifted her fists, and waited for the bell.