Page 8

Stapleton Boxing Salon

Mayfair, London

L ydia frowned at the front window of what appeared to be a shoe seller, but above that shop was the Stapleton Boxing Salon.

What am I doing?

Yesterday, she’d attended an illegal boxing match in Surrey with her father, and even though she didn’t enjoy bare-knuckle fighting or the crowds of bloodthirsty people only there to see two men pummel the stuffing out of each other, she appreciated parts of the aesthetic of it, but only when it came to Viscount Wexley.

Seeing him shirtless, which allowed his torso to show at full advantage as he moved, and his muscles working beneath the skin had caught her by surprise.

She’d been breathless more than a few times even while silently berating him when he’d received blows and punches.

Though he’d lost the bout and had ended it being temporarily unconscious, she came away impressed enough to kiss him.

Apparently, I went a bit insane yesterday. That is the only explanation.

Her views on having a man in her life hadn’t changed, and she still couldn’t figure out why she’d felt compelled to kiss a stranger—briefly though it had been—but there was a bit of curiosity about the world he occupied, and that brought her here this afternoon, standing on the pavement in front of a shoe seller, staring at the windows of a boxing salon.

“Miss Tetford?”

Drat.

Lydia whirled around and frowned when she spied the younger Mr. Stapleton coming toward her.

“Ah, Lord Frampton.” At the last second, she recalled the title he’d used yesterday during introductions, when his brother had been unconscious and they’d met over his prone body.

“How lovely to see you.” With a bit of nervousness, she gripped the shoulder strap of her leather doctor’s bag with more force than necessary.

He touched the brim of his beaver felt top hat that sat at a rakish angle over his left eye. As soon as he closed the distance, he asked, “What are you doing here? Frankly, you seem a bit lost.” With a glance about the area, he frowned again. “Where is your carriage?”

“Oh.” A bit of heat went through her cheeks. “I sent the driver home since I didn’t know how long I’d be here or if I wanted to browse the shops after this visit.”

“A visit to… the boxing salon? In skirts?” He sent his gaze up and down her person.

“Um, yes?” She ignored the continuing heat in her cheeks, for she hadn’t thought about her attire.

The day dress of striped cream and turquoise lawn wasn’t exactly inconspicuous here, nor was the straw bonnet with matching ribbons.

There was nothing for it, so she cleared her throat.

“I thought to call on Lord Wexley and see how he’s faring after yesterday’s disastrous bout.

He did take a rather hard hit to the head. ”

“There is that.” With a faint grin flirting about his lips, Lord Frampton gestured with a hand.

“Come. The rear door to the salon is in the alley. While our clients access the upper floor through a door inside the shoe seller, my brothers and I use the rear door, which accesses the office without needing to walk through the salon itself.”

“Ah, and makes it more clandestine.”

“Indeed.”

In silence, she followed him around to the side of the building where an unassuming door waited.

Once he’d tugged it open, she proceeded him and was immediately confronted with a narrow, wooden staircase.

She ascended and on a small but tidy landing, she waited for the viscount to join her.

There was just enough room for the two of them in front of a nondescript door, of which he unlocked with a tarnished brass key, and once he’d pushed the panel open, she went into the office he’d spoken of.

Venetian blinds at the plate glass windows that overlooked Brook Street were closed to shut out the afternoon sun, which gave the room a dim, intimate feel.

Matching blinds at another window, this one interior and presumably looking out to what was the salon proper, had also been closed, but her gaze fell upon the man sitting behind the large oak desk.

“Lord Wexley.” The words left her throat without her authorization, and they sounded overly loud in the silence of the space.

He startled and then gawked as Lydia and Lord Frampton came around the desk to linger in the open in front of the office.

Finally, he scrambled to his feet with a wince.

Clad in tan breeches, a fine lawn shirt, a waistcoat of light green satin with a jacket of bottle green superfine that enhanced the breadth of his shoulders, he was the perfect image of a gentleman about Town.

“Miss Tetford?” Purple and black bruises decorated his cheeks and jawline on one side while another was barely visible on the side of his neck over his cravat. “What the devil are you doing here?” Then he slammed his gaze to his brother. “Did you have a hand in this?”

“Of course not,” Lord Frampton said as he made his way to the door that would open out onto the salon floor.

“I was coming to the salon anyway for my scheduled lessons this afternoon when I met Miss Tetford on the pavement. When I couldn’t determine if she was dithering about going up even though she wished to check on your health, I showed her the discreet door instead. ”

“Ah.” The viscount bounced his gaze between them. “Uh, as you can see, I am quite well.”

She snorted. “That remains to be seen. Any man who willingly lets another man beat on him certainly isn’t well.”

Across the office, Lord Frampton snickered as he tossed his top hat and gloves to a nearby chair. Had the viscount told his brother that she’d kissed him yesterday? From all accounts, it didn’t appear that he knew. “I have clients, so I’ll bid you a good day, Miss Tetford.”

“Thank you.” Lydia nodded. Once the man left her alone in the viscount’s company, she turned about to face him.

“How are you feeling, Lord Wexley?” A bit of dark brown scruff clung to his jaws and cheeks while the thick brown hair on his head waved to the left in an intriguing swoop that had her wanting to run her fingers through those tresses.

There was no doubt he was a handsome man, but she shoved that realization to the back of her mind.

“Anytime a man is rendered unconscious from a blow, he needs to be monitored.”

“While I appreciate that, I am quite well.” Then he shoved the fingers of one hand through his hair, and she was obliged to tamp down on the urge to sigh with appreciation.

Get hold of yourself, Lydia. It is unseemly to want to melt into a puddle when faced with a man with lovely hair.

“At least let me give your head a cursory examination to set my own mind at ease.” She moved to the desk and set her bag upon it.

“That isn’t necessary, but thank you.” An air of awkwardness brewed between them as he stood looking at her with questions in his hazel eyes. “Is that the only reason you decided to visit the salon today?”

“Not really. I came at my father’s urging. He’d witnessed my tending to you yesterday in the ring and said that a good doctor would follow through with their patient after the initial trauma.” Under no circumstances did she want to reveal that she was curious about him and the sport of boxing.

The viscount narrowed his eyes. “I might not be skilled in boxing—or rather winning bouts—but I do know when someone is lying to me.” Slowly, he took a few steps toward her.

“I can’t give you a tour of the salon while we have clients on the floor, so I’ll wager you’re here for no other reason than you’re curious. Either of boxing or of me.”

“Impressive. It seems you’re more than just a pretty face.

” It might have been the fact her imagination was spinning out of control, or he was just that arresting, but his presence seemed to fill the room.

The scent of citrus and sage teased her nose as he came closer still.

“If you must know, my answer is both. I am curious about you and this sport.” Then she shrugged.

“Since my father is a supporter of boxing, I might as well see what it’s about, and why the Stapleton brothers are driven to succeed in it. ”

Interest lit his eyes. “Would you like a lesson? I can give you the first one at no charge, but don’t tell my older brother Lewis.”

“What would that entail?” As she glanced once more about the room, she saw a few tick mattresses stacked against the wall in a corner.

“Nothing more than some light sparring or showing you a few defense postures.”

What would he say once he discovered she knew how to defend herself and that she was more than passable in basic jujitsu? Of course, that assumed she would continue this after one meeting. She wasn’t quite ready to commit to anything, let alone friendship.

“I don’t know…”

The viscount cleared his throat, then moved to an empty space in the office near the opposite wall where a pair of battered brown leather gloves hung on a hook. “Just one lesson, and while we indulge in that, you can tell me about yourself.”

“Why do you care?” At least she’d be about to see him in action again.

“Care is a strong word. Let’s just say I’m curious as well.”

One of her eyebrows rose. “About?”

“You. Not many women come to boxing bouts, especially disguised as young men.”

Respect for him rose, for he hadn’t hesitated in speaking what was on his mind. It was a refreshing change from other men she’d known. “There is that.” She offered a smile while removing her bonnet. “My father invited me to accompany him to get a feel for what a boxing match was about.”

“And to stitch up the opponents or set broken bones?” he asked with an elevated eyebrow of his own.

Heat went into her cheeks as she laid her bonnet on the desk. Then she removed her cream-colored spencer and draped it next to the headgear. “There is that. Unfortunately for me, there were no broken bones, but I suppose that’s your fortune all the same.”

“It is.