Page 5

Elmbridge, Surrey

England

A lexander frowned as he surveyed the large clearing of grass where the bout would take place.

Clearly, a meadow, and at one end, a handful of cows grazing on the grasses and wildflowers, but they seemed uninterested in the gathering of men into the once-quiet countryside.

As the crowd of spectators swelled and formed a circle around the roped off section of ground that would serve as the boxing ring, his nerves crawled beneath his skin.

Why am I so damned anxious? It wasn’t as if this was his first time fighting.

Since bare-knuckle boxing, especially for profit, was illegal within the bounds of London proper, most bouts took place outside the limits in the country. The sites were often farm fields, or clearings—even better—for sometimes thousands of spectators would assemble.

Since it had only taken a couple of hours to travel from London to the area where the bout was being held, there had been little to no fatigue from sitting in the carriage.

Lewis had declined to accompany him and Duncan, and that was both a relief and an annoyance.

What sort of brother didn’t want to encourage another brother during a boxing match?

Especially when the winnings from the purse would be split between Alexander’s personal coffers and the other half invested into the salon.

Assuming he would come out the victor.

“You look as if you will cast up your accounts,” Duncan said to him as they stood by the carriage while assessing the area.

“Can you blame me? Look at the crowd,” he said to his brother as a couple of men—no doubt sponsors of the event—walked a space of the clearing.

One of the men checked the sturdiness of the posts that had been driven into the ground that secured the ropes of the ring.

“Not as large as the crowd as if Lewis were fighting.” His confidence wavered. “I’ll disappoint them, won’t I?”

“Indeed,” Duncan said with a nod as he glanced about, then chuckled when he glanced at Alexander.

“A few hundred here, which is not bad considering that it’s a Sunday afternoon.

If the wagering is frantic, all is not lost.” He frowned.

“Either way, you won’t be a disappointment for the simple fact you are a Stapleton.

How you measure your own performance is your business. ”

“Thanks for that,” he said with heavy sarcasm in his tone.

“Battling nerves?”

“A bit, but they’ll fade as soon as the bout starts.”

“Good.”

“Do you know who my opponent will be today?”

His brother shrugged. “I haven’t been told, but I can check with the organizer—that rotund fellow over there—and find out.

” Duncan would act as his knee man tonight in Lewis’ absence.

This was the first time all the Stapleton brothers wouldn’t be together for a bout, and that loss weighed heavily on Alexander’s shoulders.

“Thank you. I could do with a few moments alone.”

“Very well. I’ll also try and build up excitement for you.”

While Duncan was gone, Alexander leaned his back against the side of the carriage and closed his eyes.

He concentrated on regulating his breathing, for the panic at not having Lewis there in support and encouragement made his chest tight.

They had always been a team. What would he do without his older brother’s hints and tricks in defeating his opponent?

Then the anxiety in his chest turned to a wave of hot anger. Why the devil did his brother care more about some woman who’d upended his world a month or so ago, instead of his brother whom he’d been with all his damned life?

“Alexander?”

He startled at the sound of Duncan’s voice and popped his eyes open. “Yes? Is it time already?” Once more, his nerves crawled beneath his skin.

“Not yet, but I want you to come meet the doctor, the judge, and the referee.” His wide grin immediately put Alexander on guard.

“Also, I discovered who your opponent is. A Mr. Wilde from Liverpool. A big beast of a man, I’m afraid.

Works the docks during the day, and a few nights a week he walks the floor at a gaming hell and tosses out men who make a noisy fuss. ”

“I see.” It seemed luck wouldn’t shine on him this afternoon. He cleared his throat and straightened his spine. “Let’s have the introductions over with. The bout will start soon.”

“Either try to have a fierce expression or a confident one. It won’t do to portray such a gloomy persona in front of the crowd.” Exasperation rang in Duncan’s voice. “I am going to kick Lewis in the arse tomorrow for abandoning you.”

“Ha. You can do so after I’m done with him.” But Alexander allowed a tiny grin. “Newlywed aside, he should have been here.”

“Agreed.” Duncan led him over to a group of men standing inside the makeshift ring, talking to each other. “Gentlemen, this is Viscount Wexley, or rather Alexander Stapleton. He’s the middle son of the famous bare-knuckle boxer, George Stapleton.”

Interest lined the faces of the men assembled while the low buzz of conversation came from the gathering crowd. Each man introduced themselves, and Alex didn’t pay much attention until it came to the doctor.

“It is good to meet you, Lord Wexley,” the man said with an outstretched hand. “Dr. Tetford, and I very much enjoy bare-knuckle boxing, was a supporter of your father.”

“That is good to hear.” Alexander shook the man’s gloved hand.

“I attended a couple of bouts last year when your older brother fought. Great boxer, that one, and I’m sure your father would be proud if he could see you now.”

“Ah.” No pressure or anything, to not only live up to his father’s memory but also to Lewis. “Well, I appreciate your support. I hope I put on an entertaining show.” Even though his nerves were more restless than before.

“There is no doubt that you will, and I’ll be here if you need to be put back together.” With a wink, Dr. Tetford ducked beneath the rope. “Best of luck, my lord.”

Then Duncan came back to Alexander’s side. “Come. The match will begin in half an hour. Best get ready and do some warmup stretches.”

“Right.” He nodded. “At least having something to concentrate on will steady the nerves.”

Hopefully.

As they went beneath the ropes and headed to the corner that had been assigned to Alexander, the energy from the gathered crowd buzzed in his ears and filled his chest with confidence.

He knew his skill level, and though it might not match that of his brothers, it was his and it was nothing to sneeze at, but still, he wished for the fight to begin.

“Woolgathering will see you pummeled out there,” Duncan warned. The sound of his voice brought Alex back to the present. “You should be thinking about how to rout Pennyweather in as few rounds as possible.”

“I know how to prepare for a bout.” A hint of censure rang in his tone.

“I know that you do. Papa taught us well, but from what I’ve heard, this Pennyweather has some skill.”

“At least it’ll be a fair fight.” Not that it mattered. Alexander would need to use every scrap of his strength to get through to the end.

“Rumor has it that he’s been doing a stint in America, boxing in New York since his mother is from there.”

“I am not afraid of an American. Loud, crass, and lacking in manners. Why would his fighting style be any different? Men like that make mistakes.” Alexander shook his head to clear his thoughts.

“Just want the bout to start.” He stripped to the waist and handed his clothes to Duncan.

Then he toed off his boots and tugged off his socks.

There was a certain feeling of being grounded as he felt the coolness of the grass beneath the soles of his feet.

“Bloody Americans,” Duncan whispered as he pulled a face. “A scrouge, to my way of thinking.” As the knee man, it was Duncan’s responsibility to see to his mindset, wellbeing, and water intake, to say nothing of offering him a knee like a footstool to provide a modicum of rest between rounds.

“Still, better than the French, I’ll wager.” Alexander shrugged as he wound strips of linen about his hands, which would help to cushion the blows. Duncan tied off the ends. “I’m as ready as I can ever be.”

“Good to know. I hope since I haven’t seen you in the salon to train much this week, all will be well.”

Alexander looked at him with narrowed eyes. “I’ve trained. Mostly after public hours, for I don’t like having anyone around.”

“I can understand that. Sometimes, the extra noise is too much of a distraction.” Duncan nodded, then peered at the opposite side of the makeshift ring where Alex’s opponent and team were setting up. “Pennyweather is lean, but you’ve got more meat, and I assume power.”

“Let us hope.”

A shrill whistle blast pierced the air and scattered his thoughts.

Duncan blew out a breath. “Time to go.”

A short, stout man stood in the middle of the boxing square and held up a hand.

“We’re about to begin.” When the noise from the crowd died down somewhat, he continued, “Today’s match is between a favorite boxer from London, the Viscount Wexley, but you know him as Alexander Stapleton.

” A roar erupted from the spectators. “And his opponent for this bout, the man who’s worked his way through the American boxing circuit, Mr. Daniel Pennyweather. ” Another cheer rose from the crowd.

Clearly, they recognized the other man’s name.

As the stout man gave a bit of a speech to thank sponsors as well as the boxers, Alexander moved his gaze over the crowd. At the edge, watching the proceedings, was a young man with a slouch-style cap and overly bright eyes. A hint of fiery red hair peeked out from beneath the cap.

“Look there, Duncan,” he ordered in a whisper. “See that boy there? Does he seem too feminine for a male?”

“Put your head in the game, man,” Duncan answered as he shoved at Alex’s shoulder, but he followed his brother’s line of sight. “What does it matter? Many women wish to attend boxing bouts, but they do so in disguise. Isn’t that how Lewis met his wife?”