Page 13 of No Match for Love (Regency Love Stories)

Sweat dripped from Lucas’s brow into his left eye, but he ignored it, his gaze on his opponent.

The man was favoring his left side after four rounds of boxing, and Lucas was determined that this would be the last of them.

His weight shifted slightly. Hardly at all but enough to make the man believe he was about to move.

At once, the man swung. Lucas parried the blow to his stomach, returning with a strike of his own. His chest constricted with another quick breath before landing a second, flush hit to the man’s side. His left side.

The man lashed out with an unsteady swing, but Lucas grasped his wrist and pulled it up, hitting him on the left flank again. Not so hard this time. Just enough to force the man down.

He crumpled to a knee and did not rise. Nor did he come up to scratch for the next round.

Shouts of mingled triumph and frustration rippled through the crowded, dimly lit room as Lucas’s posture relaxed from the tightly wound stance and he crossed to his opponent, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead.

With a shake of his head, he told his knee man that he didn’t need assistance, and he similarly waved off his bottle man, though Jack hadn’t actually come to his feet—still lounging in his seat, apparently guessing that Lucas wouldn’t need his assistance.

Ignoring the continued shouts and jeers around them, Lucas took a knee in front of his downed opponent. He stuck out his hand, and the man begrudgingly took it and shook, though he looked as if he’d rather spit at Lucas.

“Blast ye,” the orange-haired man muttered in a strained voice. “I thought I had ye that time.”

Lucas smiled at his friend’s pretended bitterness. “Nearly did.”

His friend scowled. “Och. We both know I hadn’t a chance. Ye dinnae need ta make me look so weak in my own club though, ye ken. What sorta friendship is this?” Colin shook his head ruefully.

“A gainful one, I should say.”

Colin conceded that point with a tip of his head and slight grin, then allowed Lucas to pull him to his feet, his bottle man not far behind with a towel and strong drink. The crowd bellowed forth a cheer as Colin raised his hand to show he might have lost but wasn’t brutally beaten.

They cleared the square for the next fight, blending to the back of the crowd without much trouble.

A handful of men slapped Lucas on the back in congratulations, doing the same for Colin in a show of commiseration.

By the time they had made it to the outer wall of the boxing club, another fight had begun, and they were left to themselves.

Lucas rolled back his shoulder. It would be stiff come morning.

“Got you there good, din’ I?” Colin grinned at his friend’s shoulder.

“Indeed. I appreciate you leaving my face alone, though.”

“Cannae have yer mother knowing of yer nighttime activities. It certainly dinnae have ta do with not being able ta get a good hit there.”

“My mother might not know, but Charlie discovered that I leave the house on occasion.”

Colin raised a brow at that, creasing the freckled, weather-worn skin on his forehead. He might have been about Lucas’s age of twenty-six years, but his time at sea had aged his appearance. “Yer brother? Are ye worried?”

Lucas thought a moment. “No.” Truthfully, Charlie probably would not exert himself to discover just what Lucas was doing. And if he did, he was not the sort to squeal.

Another patron pulled Colin aside, and Lucas leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms. His breath still pulled tightly at his chest, and he reveled in the feeling of exertion.

He didn’t box nearly as often as he once had.

Largely because it was no longer necessary—the club was doing well enough now that Colin didn’t need a “prizefighter” to pull in men wishing to knock the man from his pedestal.

Also, his mother truly had become suspicious over the telltale signs of his fighting in the early days of the club.

Heirs to a marquessate didn’t often wake with unexplainable bruising.

Colin bid the man farewell and turned back to Lucas. He cocked his head to the figure retreating into the crowd. “I ’spect he’ll be paying ye a visit soon. The real ye. I’ve nearly convinced him... His wife an’ kids cannae live as they are any longer.”

Lucas nodded solemnly. “What else did you need to talk to me regarding? That is the true reason I came tonight, you know, not because I wanted a beating to my head.”

“Again, I will remind ye that I dinnae hit ye on the head. Come here.” Ignoring the shouts that indicated another round had been won, he led Lucas along the rough wall until they reached a door that led to Colin’s office-of-sorts.

Really it was a small, dingy room with a desk under a single, murky window and a padlock on the door.

Colin clicked the lock, crossing to sit on the top of the desk.

“Tha Heatherdown Canal Committee is growing . . . irritated.”

“With you?” Did his friend need him to smooth over feathers with a few lords? Colin did not generally come to Lucas with his problems, so it must be a serious offense he had committed.

“Technically, with ye.”

Lucas cocked his head. Well, that was unexpected. “What have I done to earn their ire?”

“Helped several of their employees find gainful employment.”

“Ah. I always knew I was a monster.”

Colin grinned. “’Tis probably nothing, but apparently we have saved more than a few men from the manual labor of digging canals and the pitiful wages they earn in doing so.

I would not ’ave said anything, but one of the men ye recently helped—a Patrick Trenway—stopped by ta let me know that his parting with the company was less than ideal.

There ’ave been grumblings from the higher-ups addressing the loss of several men.

It’s unlikely but possible that they may start digging for information and find a connection with ye. ”

Lucas rubbed his chin. “I’ve always said I do not mind being found out.

I simply prefer not to. Our work with the men would not be possible if everyone knew we were doing it.

” The club served as a place for men to congregate and for Colin and Lucas to get to know them.

If they found one in need, they “sent” them to Lucas—not Luc the prizefighter, but Lucas Berkeley, the earl and heir to the Cheltenham marquessate.

If it became widely known that he was helping the downtrodden to leave their low-paying jobs, then he would get a lot of pushback from those employing such men.

Plus, those that were already wary to meet with a man of Lucas’s standing might be even less likely to do so for fear of being seen as a charity case.

Colin nodded.

“Inform me if you hear anything else on this?” Lucas asked.

“Of course.”

“And the three men you’ve found?”

“Two are working for the company. One is a dockworker. There was a fourth, but I think he’ll do well working with Bow Street. I’ve passed him along.”

“Very well. Thursday evening?”

Colin agreed to it. After settling the details, Lucas bid his friend farewell. He’d stayed out too late already, and the next day’s work wouldn’t wait just because he’d undertaken clandestine activities in the night.

His carriage—the coat of arms conveniently masked—waited around the corner. Jack sat within and grinned at him as he entered.

“Jack,” Lucas greeted, settling across the carriage. He took the offered shirt and pulled off the grimy, lower-class one he’d worn in the club.

“Sir. That was some fighting there tonight.”

“Thank you, Jack.” He put the clean shirt on and straightened his cuffs, donning his ever-present controlled demeanor.

The only place he allowed himself to remove it was at Colin’s club because at the club, Lucas was not Lord Berkeley, heir to the Cheltenham title.

He was just another fighter at the same social level as the rest. It was the only place Lucas did not need to watch his every action.

Because just by being there, he was atoning for his past.

The carriage jolted forward, and his valet handed Lucas a towel.

Lucas scrubbed it across his face, removing the soot that aided in hiding his features.

With each swipe of the cloth, a level of tension stretched down his back and settled on his shoulders.

The weight of his title, his responsibilities, and his mistakes.

It was a heavy load indeed.

***

Colin might not have hit him in the head, but Lucas’s head certainly pounded the next morning when he awoke. It was made worse by Charlie’s loud announcement at breakfast.

“We are going calling today.” His younger brother settled himself in a chair with a thump.

Lucas stopped staring at his toast and looked up slowly.

“Wonderful. Who is we?” Mother’s eyes strayed to Lucas.

“My dear elder brother and I, of course.” He drank from his cup, grinning at Lucas.

Lucas did not feel particularly dear with Charlie surveying him as if he were about to open a trapdoor beneath his feet.

“Lucas has agreed to join me in visiting Miss Faraday. It is the perfect scenario. He keeps the attention off me because everyone is focused on the heir, not the spare , and in return, I teach him a bit about the finer things. Like courting women.”

Father laughed at that, having lowered his paper to join the conversation.

Lucas pressed his eyes closed. For a brief time, he’d forgotten about this little deal.

Even if he hadn’t, he’d hoped to have more than a morning’s notice of when they were to depart.

What if he’d had plans today? Could he have plans today?

There had to be several things he needed to do.

More than enough excuses to avoid the outing. ..

“While I am sure you will both benefit from an outing together, I do not think you need to sell either of you short, Charles. You are perfectly desirable in your own right, and Lucas is perfectly capable of charm when he wishes.”