His Lordship's Secret Page 3

  Alfie was so shocked, he almost missed the aproned man’s next announcement.

  “...your challenger, Nick ‘the Terror’ Tripner!”

  The noise surrounding Alfie seemed to dim as the second man ducked into the ring. He was tall, but closer to Alfie's own height than the monstrous proportions of his opponent, but that was where the similarities between him and Alfie ended. Where Alfie was narrow and lithe, naturally gifted with a body that was the epitome of the aristocratic breeding he pretended to have, Tripner was thickly muscled from his broad shoulders to his staggeringly well-defined waist.

  Alfie tore his eyes from the elegant “V” of muscle that cut over Tripner hips and disappeared into the linen of his trousers. His eyes landed instead on Tripner's veined forearms and massive hands that beat at his bare chest as he warmed himself up for the fight, and oh, that wasn’t better at all.

  With effort, he lifted his gaze from that chest, thick with golden curls where Alfie himself was bare save for a faint line of reddish hair leading down from his navel. Their differences continued the higher he looked however, Alfie's precise features and smooth cheeks in contrast to the rough stubble and a nose that had clearly been broken more than once.

  Even their skin was different, Alfie's delicate and fashionably pale from too many hours indoors with his books, while Tripner shone like a gilded statue in the lamplight, those same hours for him spent working and sweating under the sun. His time outdoors had lightened his hair as well, a messy Bedford crop of blond waves that Alfie ached to sink his hands into, to twist and grasp in the throes of passion.

  Such a thing could not be done with his own hair, Alfie mused, sad for the first time that he insisted on keeping his own hair clipped close a la Brutus, having endured too many taunts about his auburn curls while at school, and not trusting any tonic to be powerful enough to contain them. For this man though, it would be worth the taunts. To have him dig his fingers roughly into Alfie's curls, pulling painfully until he had Alfie's head exactly where he wanted it, those strong arms flexing as they forced Alfie to take whatever he gave him, again and again and…

  Alfie looked away and tried to marshal his thoughts. Those were not things he should be thinking about any man, but he had accepted his deviancy in that regard long ago. It wouldn’t do though to have such thoughts in public however, especially not in a place like this. Once he was sure he had his physical reactions under control, Alfie looked back.

  There was one place they were similar, he realised. Tripner's eyes were blue, just like his own, although even there Tripner was the superior. His eyes shone like sapphires, lit with a fire from within, whereas Alfie's were a more faded cornflower. What Alfie wouldn’t give to possess even a fraction of the confidence and intensity in that stare. A stare, he realised with a jolt, that was aimed directly back at him.

  The weight of Tripner's gaze was warm and heavy like honey, trapping Alfie in place where he stood. Suddenly Alfie had the strangest sense of familiarity, like he knew this man, and had felt this weight before. But that was impossible. Alfie studiously avoided all but the best neighbourhoods in London, and there was no way an obvious brawler such as Tripner could have passed in polite society.

  The moment was broken when a man with dark skin and a full beard caught Tripner’s attention. The fighter turned away from Alfie to speak to him, and Alfie spent a minute lost in the ripple of his back muscles as he moved. Eventually he realised his cousin had spoken.

  “Pardon?”

  “I said, I wouldn’t want to meet either of them in a dark alley, that’s for certain. This Terror fellow should be able to give a good show, but smart money is always on Nunn. Care for me to place a wager for you? Maybe use the winnings to pay for some... amenable company afterwards?” Reginald’s eyes glinted.

  Alfie rolled his eyes. “No, but don’t let me stop you,” he said with a false smile. He handed over several more bills, hoping they would be the last of his cousin’s requests. “Perhaps you can buy me a drink if your intuition proves correct.”

  Or pay back all my money you’ve spent tonight, he thought darkly and without much hope as he watched his cousin elbow his way through the crowd to place his bets.

  I wouldn’t want to meet either of them in a dark alley.

  Alfie tapped the end of his cane against the floor in consideration. Hadn’t he just been thinking about potential murderers skulking in alleyways? Perhaps it would do Alfie some good to hire protection. He hadn’t before, when he could explain away the other incidents, but a gunshot wound did not leave much in the way of interpretation.

  Cold dread spread through Alfie's veins. There was no use trying to avoid the thought any longer. Someone was trying to kill him.

  He swallowed. It was a terrible feeling, knowing that someone wanted him dead. Not that they simply didn’t care one way or the other, Alfie had lived with that feeling his entire life. But that there was someone out there, who for reasons Alfie didn’t even understand, had taken real steps to try and have him killed.

  What I need is a bodyguard.

  As soon as Alfie had the thought, it seemed obvious in its simplicity. He could not go to the police, he had too many secrets himself to want to draw their attention. No, if he was going to figure out who was trying to kill him and have them stopped, he would have to do it himself.

  And he couldn’t do that if he was too afraid to leave his house because of rogue gunmen. But if he had a bodyguard, then there would always be someone there to keep an eye out for danger. He’d be able to investigate—and live—in peace with someone watching over him. And what a better place to find such a person. Surely some of the men here could use a few shillings, and there were certainly many who were scary enough to fend off any would-be murderers with their looks alone.

  Or even better, why not one of the fighters? If they had the skills to compete in the ring, then surely they would have the skills to protect him. He’d simply wait until after the match and ask the winner if he’d be interested. A boxing champion might cost a little more, but Alfie had the money, and surely when it came to one’s personal defense, one should hire only the absolute best.

  He would not let himself be swayed into thinking about which of the two men in the ring he would rather have by his side at all hours. Such thoughts came secondary to personal safety. He would hire the winner regardless of who that was. Only the absolute best.

  A chill ran down his spine. While he would secure himself protection after the match, until then, he didn’t have a bodyguard. And here he was, alone and defenseless in the most dangerous part of town. He thumbed the latch on his cane again and waited breathlessly for the fight to begin.

  Chapter 4

  The fight was brutal.

  At first it had seemed evenly matched. While Nunn had the distinct advantage of size, Tripner was clearly the faster and more agile of the two. He danced around the ring, avoiding Nunn’s blows, but unable to land many of his own. Those that did connect were quick, glancing things as Tripner ducked in and out of Nunn’s range before the behemoth could strike back.

  The crowd was beginning to grow restless. They had been promised a bloodbath, not this lopsided dance.

  If Alfie hadn’t been watching Tripner so closely, he might have missed the moment it happened. Tripner ducked under a right hook from Nunn that could have cracked iron if it had connected, but instead went sailing well over Tripner's head. In that moment, Tripner took his eyes off his opponent to glance over at the man with the beard he’d been talking to before. The man had a watch in his hand, and at Tripner’s look, shook his head in an almost imperceivable movement.

  The split second of distraction was all Nunn needed. Moving faster the Alfie could have imagined possible, he drove his knee up, slamming it into Tripner's gut. Alfie swore there was an audible crack of ribs.

  The crowd gasped, pressing in around the ring now that things were finally getting good.

  Tripner grunted, but had no time to recover as Nunn r
ushed him, landing blow after blow to Tripner's body. Each hit sounded like a hunk of meat being slapped down upon a butcher’s block. Tripner responded by headbutting his opponent in the face.

  Nunn howled, rearing back as blood began to pour from his nose. Tripner took advantage of the distraction to break free and retreat to the other side of the ring. He was breathing heavily and crumpled slightly to the left as if something in that side was torn and could not straighten fully. A line of blood appeared at his hairline and began to trickle down his forehead towards his eyes. He wiped angrily at it with the back of his wrist, red staining the cotton bands wrapped around his knuckles.

  A cut like that must have come from teeth, Alfie thought and looked back at Nunn in time to see the man spit teeth onto the floor of the ring. The drinks Reginald had enticed Alfie into lurched unpleasantly in his stomach.

  Nunn roared with rage and ran at Tripner who raised a clawed hand and raked it across Nunn’s face, missing his eyes but only barely. He had not thought to account for Nunn’s momentum however, and was slammed back against the ropes, letting out an animal cry as the full weight of his opponent’s body collided with his.

  The force of the impact was so violent that the entire crowd on that side was driven back several feet before swarming in again, uncaring of the splatters of blood and sweat that flew off the two locked combatants with every blow.

  Tripner landed several more hits, mad uppercuts and hooks that would have felled a lesser man, but seemed to have no more impact on Nunn than the batting of a kitten. Nunn however, having finally trapped his agile opponent, was giving Tripner all the mercy a hound gave a cornered fox.

  A left cross to the temple sent Tripner to his knees, and Alfie began to relax, knowing that would be the end of it. But to his shock, Nunn merely hauled the beaten man back to his feet and, pinning him upright with one massive arm, struck again.

  Tripner folded in half, hanging suspended in his opponent’s grip. His head lolled, but his limbs jerked as if he was still trying to fight back.

  The crowd roared its approval as Nunn raised his free arm in the air, the bindings on his hands nearly soaked to the elbow in Tripner’s blood.

  In that moment, Tripner looked up. Across the ring his eyes met Alfie's, his face twisted in fear and panic. The din of the crowd faded to a hush as something in that terrified gaze hooked into Alfie’s soul.

  Alfie tried to move towards him, drawn like a magnet without his mind even willing his body to do so, but found he was trapped. There were too many people surrounding him. The injured boxer gave him one last look, and a small quirk of the lips that might have been a smile, before Nunn struck him again, twisting Tripner’s body out of view.

  Why wasn’t Tripner giving up? All he had to do was call it and the match would be over.

  I can’t let him die!

  Alfie looked around frantically. By the corner of the ring, Tripner's friend kept glancing between the match and his pocket watch. If he was Tripner's trainer, perhaps he could end the match on his behalf.

  Alfie forced his way against the tide of the crowd, making judicious use of elbows and knees, every hard-fought step bringing him that much closer to the man with the watch.

  In the ring, Tripner had broken free, but collapsed onto his knees. He began to crawl away, body trembling, but still did not tap out. It wasn’t over.

  Nunn circled him, arms raised again to the cheers of the crowd. He kicked Tripner lightly, toying with his prey, before turning to the crowd like a gladiator of old, waiting to hear whether they wanted him to grant quarter. From the screamed suggestions Alfie could hear, they did not.

  Alfie finally reached the bearded man. This close, there were streaks of grey visible in his hair. His hands were clenched around the watch. He paid no attention to Alfie as he stared at Tripner and shook his head slowly.

  It’s rigged. Alfie realised. He has to last a certain amount of time in the ring.

  From the look on the bearded man’s face, that time was still a long way off.

  “He’s going to die!” Alfie screamed. The man started, and turned to look at him. In the ring, Tripner had staggered to his feet, only to be dropped immediately by a right hook. He lay gasping on the stone floor, a bubble of blood popping over his lips.

  “Nunn’s going to kill him! Forget the bettors, he’s going to die!”

  “You don’t understand,” the bearded man hissed. “He makes it five more minutes he gets a whole quid. You know what he can do with that kind of money?”

  Alfie reeled. There was no way Tripner would make it that long. He was going to die for less than the cost of Alfie's boots. “I’ll give you ten times that.”

  The bearded man hesitated.

  “Each!” Alfie continued. He glanced over at the ring. Nunn had stopped his victory lap and was sauntering over towards Tripner's prone form, ready to deliver the killing blow.

  “Ten pounds each, if you call the match right now.”

  In a flash the bearded man was gone, diving into the ring, hands raised. The crowd groaned.

  And like that it was over.

  The publican came over and raised Nunn’s fist in the air while shooting dirty looks down at Tripner and his friend. Nunn smiled his broken toothed smile at the crowd, then spat a bloody gob at Tripner's face before wandering off to bask in the adoration and free rounds of beer. Some men grumbled and headed for the door, complaining about The Body Snatcher not living up to his title, while others ran over to the bar, winning bets clutched in their hands.

  Alfie watched as Tripner's friend carefully drew him into a sitting position and helped him work a loose shirt over his shoulders. They had a short conversation. Alfie couldn’t hear exactly what was said, but it ended with the friend pointing over at Alfie and Tripner looking over, face first open in surprise, then glaring darkly. He said several more words to his friend then pushed him away, rising slowly to his feet. He wavered there, snapping when his friend reached out to help. The bearded man threw up his hands and stalked back over to Alfie.

  “Fecking fool says he could’ve made time, and the trouble from the bookmakers is gonna cost a lot more than ten quid. So you know, that’s his way of saying thanks for you saving his hide. If I was you, I wouldn’t go near ‘im ‘til he’s had some time to cool his head. If you want to give me his ten quid too, I’ll make sure he gets it.”

  Alfie hesitated. What concern of it was his if Tripner actually got his money or not? He had spent enough coin and concern on the loser of the fight, when his only thoughts should be on the victor. By all rights he should just hand the bearded man twenty pounds, then go over and secure the services of The Body Snatcher for his personal protection.

  He looked over towards the bar. Nunn was leaned back on a chair that creaked under his girth. With one still filthy arm, he had pulled one of the serving women onto his lap, where she looked resigned at best, while the other arm waved a tankard perilously close to the face of a man who was trying to stitch up a wound above his ear. No doubt he was recounting the entire fight from his perspective for the enthralled audience that gathered around him, hanging off his every word. If Alfie had any sense, he would go join them.

  Alfie's eyes slid over, just in time to see Tripner hobble out the door into the night.

  “Thanks for the warning,” Alfie said, pulling ten pounds from his pocketbook and carefully counting them out. “But I believe it’s best to always pay my debts in person.”

  He turned to go, but was pulled up short by a hand grasping his wrist.

  The bearded man gave him a long look. “Ten quid is just for the fight. Don’t be thinking it gets you any more. You want extras, you pay him for extras, understand?”

  Alfie blushed bright red. “I understand what you are implying and take extreme offense!”

  “Sure you do.” The man nodded and released Alfie's wrist. “Pleasure doing business with you, guv.”

  Alfie turned on his heel and sped off into the dark alleys of Spitalfield
s as quickly as his dignity would allow, leaving his cousin forgotten behind him.

  Chapter 5

  Dominick spit on the cobblestones as he shambled back to his lodgings. He squinted to see as best he could through his swollen face. His ribs felt like the devil himself was trying to pry them apart with hot tongs.

  He reached up to wipe a hank of sweat and blood soaked hair from his face and hissed. His fingers were numb where they weren’t on fire. He cradled his hands protectively against his chest, unable to straighten them from the crooked claws they had become. How in the hell was he going to get the wraps off? He tried tearing at them with his teeth.

  I had him! If it hadn’t been for fucking Jimmy and that fucking ponce.

  Dominick lowered his hands with a sigh. Even as he had the thought, he knew he was lying to himself. If Jimmy hadn’t stepped in then, Dominick would be in the back of a cart on his way to a dead room by now. Still, there’d be hell to pay in the morning.

  He bit back another snarl of frustration. He should have at least collected the ten quid Jimmy told him about. It wouldn’t be enough to cover what the bettors lost on him not lasting the full twenty minutes he’d promised, but it might be enough to earn him time to make up the rest before they started breaking fingers.

  He wiped his stinging eyes as best he could as dreams of even the smallest passenger berth vanished before them. At this rate, he’d be dead of old age before he even saved up enough pennies to take the mail coach to Portsmouth, never mind seeing any of the actual world.

  So lost was Dominick in visions of ships sailing off to unknown lands without him, he barely noticed the sound of someone following him down the narrow lane. When he finally did, he spun around, his hands raised in a pathetic mockery of his boxing stance earlier in the night.

  The man skidded to a halt a few feet from him, fancy shoes sliding on a bit of refuse that almost sent him tumbling. Unfortunately, he recovered his balance at the last moment, depriving Dominick of even that small satisfaction. It took him a moment to recognize the man as the same pretty toff Dominick had seen in the Red Dog, the one Jimmy had pointed out as having “saved your bloody rank hide”.