Page 3 of Juliet's Touch
Chapter one
The fifth of January 1819
EricStonedroveanuppercut into Spider Calhoun’s chin. Spider blinked, teetered, and then crashed onto his back.
Fists clenched, Eric loomed over his opponent, willing him to stay down. It was not that he harbored ill will toward the hardworking, amicable chap, but he needed to collect his winnings and be on his way posthaste. He had things to attend to, and he needed to breathe fresh air. Not that the air was fresh in Whitechapel. However, anything was better than the scent ofunwashed bodies, stale ale, and cheap cheroots that permeated the windowless purple room.
“One. Two. Three…” the referee counted.
A red-nosed bloke, who had more ale coursing through his veins than brains in his skull, stuck his face between the ropes. “Get up on those spider legs,” he yelled. “I wagered it all on ye, ye bloody blighter.”
Spider’s corner kneeman tapped his boot on the foxed man’s bulbous snout, then pushed. A half-dozen members of the Fancy toppled like dominoes.
“... Eight. Nine. Ten!”
The ringmaster held Eric’s hand high.
The elated chants of “Roll like The Stone. Roll like The Stone,” overrode the booing of those who were about to lose their hard-earned blunt.
Eric’s chest swelled, but his joy was short-lived. Luxuriating in pride was a weak man’s pastime.
An unsettling tingling crept up Eric’s spine, and he cast his gaze over the unruly throng, searching for the source of his disquietude.
A well-dressed man standing in the far corner watched Eric with a gaze much too intense and calculating to be anything other than trouble. Luckily, he was much too fashionable to be a lawman interested in stopping illegal fights or curbing Eric’s nighttime activities.
Eric dropped the referee’s hand and marched to his corner to retrieve his shirt. “No, thank you,” he said, waving off the beer his bottleman slid under his nose. However, he accepted the proffered orange. Hopefully, the fruit sustained him this long night.
Eric climbed between the ropes and dropped to the ground.Thunderation!He hated this part. Hands grabbed at his shoulders and patted him on the back and arse as he foughthis way to the fighter’s private area. Luckily, his coach and a watchman the size of a whale followed him, pushing away anyone whose touch lingered too long.
Once they were in the back hallway and away from the throng, Eric crooked his finger.
Whale leaned close.
“There is a suspicious-looking man out there,” Eric said. “He’s wearing a blue waistcoat and matching cravat. Don’t let him back here.”
Whale’s eyes widened. “I’ll take care of him, I will,” he said in his child-like voice.
Whale had been cursed with a toddler’s intellect, but he had the strength of a Titan, and his loyalty knew no bounds.
Eric patted the big bloke’s shoulder. “Good man.”
“I am a good man,” Whale repeated as he pushed on the door and re-entered the overcrowded cellar.
Coach Valentine raised a brow and rubbed his nose as fighters who’d taken one too many hits to their sniffers often did.
Eric pretended not to notice his coach’s skeptical regard as he trekked to the office where he’d left his belongings.
Unfortunately, Coach followed him. Crossing his arms over his chest, Coach leaned against the wall. “Where are you rushing off to?” he asked.
Eric needed to find a new, less perceptive coach. “Told you before. I don’t favor crowds.”
Coach snorted.
As Eric dropped the orange in his bag and then dug around searching for his towel, Coach’s gaze remained glued to him. The earnest man continued to watch as Eric unwrapped his hands, dried himself off, and slid into his shirt. Eric had just secured his last button when Coach cleared his throat.
“We need to talk,” he said.
What could he want now? If he had found out about Eric’s secret… Heartbeat speeding up, he tied his fraying cravat as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Luckily, he was spared Coach’s inquisition because the door opened, and Bear, the man who ran the fights, tossed a heavy pouch to him. Eric easily caught his winnings and shoved them into his bag.
