Chapter 16
She did not come.
Smoke curled through the rafters of the Iron Pit, men shouted wagers, coins clinked all around him, and the stench of sweat and ale hung thick in the air.
But all Alexander could concentrate on was finding Theodora in the thick of it.
“Stop lookin’ for her,” Rowan muttered beside him, arms crossed over his barrel chest. “Ye’ll break yer own damn neck before the lad even swings.”
“I am not looking for anyone,” Alexander snapped.
Rowan snorted and shook his head. “Aye. And I am the Queen of England.”
“You look a bit butch to be the Queen.” Alexander smirked at his mentor and walked towards the ring.
“There’s that sense of humor.” Rowan followed closely behind him. “As I told ye, yer opponent tonight is Gareth Doyle.”
“Have you seen him fight before?” Alexander rolled his shoulders, preparing his already battered body for the fight.
“Aye. He is a towerin’ Irish bruiser who likes to talk a lot. Disorients his opponent that way.”
“That is what weak men do,” Alexander said disapprovingly just as his opponent entered the ring.
He was a slight man with a permanent smirk on his sharp face. Alexander sized him up.
I can take him.
Doyle spat to the side. “Ready to get flattened, Your Grace?”
Alexander chuckled. “The only flattening happening tonight is that of your ego, Doyle.”
The referee stepped between them. “Keep it clean, lads. No elbows, no headbutts and hitting a man while he is down is forbidden.”
CLANG! The bell rang and the crowd erupted.
Alexander moved first, hitting Doyle with some quick jabs, and circling him like a predator. His footwork was quick and he stayed light on his feet. Doyle swung wide and grunted but Alexander ducked under his heavy hook with ease.
“Good!” Rowan shouted from the ropes.
Alexander landed a clean shot to Doyle’s ribs.
“You hit like a bloody mosquito,” Doyle taunted but winced.
Alexander hit him again. He swung and uppercut the Irishman’s chin. Doyle fell to the ground with a heavy thud.
The crowd screamed and chanted, “Scarlet Duke! Scarlet Duke!”
Alexander felt the familiar rush of energy as he won the first round.
Focus, breathe, impact, and repeat.
He felt another win coming his way as he studied his opponent’s steps. Alexander almost had him when Doyle changed direction and slammed a fist into his injured side. Pain exploded through him and he staggered backwards.
Doyle grinned maniacally. “Found the weak spot, have I?”
“Fight, damn ye!” Rowan barked.
Alexander managed to steady himself when Doyle landed another punch on his injured ribs causing him to fall against the rope of the ring.
I must get up!
Alexander groaned and pushed himself off the rope, but when he heard the gasp of a woman he stopped suddenly. The sound was soft and he realized that whether it was a sigh, a whisper, or a scream, he would recognize her voice over the roar of a thousand men.
Theodora.
His head snapped towards the crowd.
In the midst of the bustle, she stood, half-hidden beneath a hood, and tucked between two burly spectators. She was disguised and cloaked, but he knew the color of her hair and the shape of her mouth even half-covered. She lifted her head slightly and he noticed that she looked upset.
His chest tightened.
She came. She actually—
CRACK.
Doyle’s fist collided with Alexander’s jaw.
His vision burst white.
“Eyes on me, Your Grace!” Doyle barked, slamming another punch into him.
Alexander stumbled to his knees. The referee shouted but his voice was drowned beneath the roar of the crowd. Alexander tilted his head towards Theodora; she was still staring at him. He hit the ground hard and the floor was cold against his back.
“One!” the referee shouted. “Two! Three!”
Rowan leaned over the ropes, red-faced with frustration. “Get up, lad! Get up!”
Alexander blinked. He was completely dazed as he searched for Theodora. A slight movement caught his eye.
“Theo!” he roared.
She turned back and frowned at him before she pushed through the crowd and hurried towards the exit.
“Ten! He’s out!” the referee declared.
The crowd groaned disappointedly but Alexander couldn’t care less.
He watched helplessly as Theodora walked out of the Iron Pit.
Why is she so upset?
Rowan climbed into the ring and held out a hand; Alexander did not hesitate. He reached out, grabbed onto his sweaty palms and got up. Pain shot through his ribs, but he ignored it. When he let go of Rowan’s hand he grabbed a shirt and pulled it on before he bolted through the ropes.
“Lad!” Rowan shouted behind him. “Where are ye goin’? Ye cannae run after—”
But Alexander was already gone. He passed the screaming crowd and ignored their insults. Outside, the cool, silent air enveloped him but there was no trace of Theodora around.
Perhaps I imagined her.
“Theodora!” He called her name and his voice echoed in the silence of the night.
He turned just in time to catch the ends of a familiar cloak disappearing into a narrow alley beside the building. He ran and skidded to a halt when he found her.
“You came!” Alexander exclaimed breathlessly and grinned.
Theodora whirled around. Her hood fell back slightly and revealed her blazing green eyes. She pointed an accusing finger in his direction.
“What,” she hissed, “is wrong with you?”
Alexander was taken aback by her fury. “I—pardon?”
“You should not be fighting!” she snapped, stepping closer. “You are injured. You could—” Her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard. “You could have been seriously hurt.”
“But I am fine.” He spun around to prove that he was all right.
Theodora shook her head, reached into her reticule, and pulled out an envelope which she handed to him hastily.
“What is this?” he asked curiously.
“It is an invitation for Rosalind… from the Corset Chronicles,” she said without looking at him.
He stared at her, completely stunned. Alexander tucked the letter into his pocket; he would deal with that later.
“Is that the only reason why you came?”
“Yes,” she responded stubbornly.
“You are… angry?”
“Of course I am angry!” she burst out. “You are reckless and stubborn and—” She gestured wildly at his jaw which he assumed had already started to bruise. “And clearly incapable of basic self-preservation! Did you not think about Rosalind at all?”
He had never seen her like this. She was flushed, breathless, and utterly furious. But there was a certain kind of anxiousness she displayed that made him feel, oddly, warm inside.
“You are worried about me,” he whispered and he could not hide the gleefulness in his tone.
Theodora froze then huffed. “I most certainly am not!”
An unfamiliar feeling flickered in his chest. It was foreign, and disarming.
No one worries about me. Not like this. Not ever.
He smothered the feeling with a crooked smile.
“You know,” he drawled, “I lost my first fight because of you.”
Her eyes widened. “You are blaming these injuries on me?”
“You gasped,” he said pointedly. “And that was very distracting.”
“You…you cannot blame me for your lack of focus!” She sputtered.
“I expected a warmer reaction,” he teased. “Perhaps some applause. A swoon or something flattering.”
“Alexander,” she warned.
She opened her mouth to argue again but her eyes flicked down to his lips just for a second. Alexander noticed and reached for her, but Theodora immediately spun away, nearly tripping over her own cloak as she rushed towards the street.
“You must stop running away from me,” he said lightly as he followed her, and easily caught up.
“I am not running away from you! I am simply leaving.”
“She says as she picks up the pace,” he muttered under his breath.
Theodora stopped in her tracks and shot him a murderous look.
“Let me take you home, Theo. It is the least I can do for you,” Alexander said softly.
“No,” she retorted stubbornly and continued walking.
Alexander refused to let her go. He needed more time with her, and she was not making it easy. But that was what intrigued him. Theodora challenged him more than any fight he endured, and he was not ashamed to admit that he enjoyed every second of it.
“Theo, it is late,” he said more sternly.
“I can manage.”
Alexander exhaled loudly. “It is not safe.”
She hesitated and looked around the dark alley. Alexander noticed the slight tension in her back before she turned to face him again. Her lips were parted and her cheeks were red from her effort to escape him.
How I would love to rip that cloak off her.
“Theo…” His voice sounded rougher than expected. “I am taking you home, whether you like it or not.”
* * *
“You are unreasonable,” Theodora muttered as Alexander bowed and offered her his arm.
It felt as though they were leaving a prestigious ball and not the darkened alley opposite the bloody fighting ring.
Alexander ignored her remark, but his expression bordered on arrogance and his tempting lips curled at the corners, triumphantly.
Theodora hesitated for a second before placing her hand on his sleeve.
Even through the fabric, she felt the solid warmth of him and the coiled strength beneath his old bruises.
She wondered how he remained so steady after that horrendous fight.
“And you are beautiful, even in that disguise.” Alexander grinned down at her.
Her pulse jumped when his fingers brushed against her hand. She ignored the sudden rush of heat that flowed through her entire body.
“Do not flatter me. I am still upset with you.”
They strolled out of the alley together and Alexander’s low laugh echoed around her.
Theodora was grateful for the night air that cooled her flushed skin.
The Iron Pit’s raucous din slowly faded behind them and was replaced by the intimate rhythm of their footsteps on cobblestone.
Alexander stayed close to her, closer than any gentleman should.
Every time his shoulder brushed hers, or his hip grazed her side, her breath snagged in her throat.