Page 60 of Venus in Disguise

Ash shivered, reflecting glumly that he had never felt less like fighting in his life. If he weren’t here, freezing his arse off, he could still be in bed with Narcissa. They could have shared supper together and talked, drunk wine, made love….

Gritting his teeth, Ash told himself not to think of it, not to remember the hurt in her eyes when he had told her he would not let her come with him. He had behaved like a brute, laying down the law and giving her no say, yet the idea of her being at such an event made his blood run cold. The men often got rowdy, many of them well on their way to being tap-hackled before the fight even began, and the language used should certainly not sully his innocent wife’s ears.

“Evening, a chuilein, ye have a fine night for a wee brawl.” Ash turned to see Muir grinning at him, a silver flash in his hand. “That’ll warm the cockles of your heart,” he said with a wink, handing the flask to Ash.

Ash drank deep before handing the flask back.

“Thanks,” he said, in no mood for conversation.

“Is there sommat amiss?” Muir asked, frowning at him.

“No,” Ash replied curtly. “Where’s Babbage? Has he got cold feet?”

“Nah, he’s coming. Congratulations, by the way. Is it true ye are leg shackled?”

Despite the heavy sensation in his chest, Ash smiled and accepted Muir’s ribbing when he admitted he had married.

“And she let ye out of her sight to brawl?” Muir asked incredulously. “And what’s wrong wi’ ye, man? Have ye nae better things to do with a beautiful new bride awaiting ye at home?”

“I’ve been asking myself the same damned question,” Ash admitted, sighing as he saw Lord Babbage making his way towards the ring.

Babbage was a large man with a shock of unruly red hair that proclaimed his grandmother’s Scottish heritage. Ash liked him a good deal, for he was a decent fellow, but right now all he could think of was dispatching the man with all haste so he could go home.

“Well, go and flatten the fellow, aye? I’ve a packet riding on ye and I stayed in town just for this event. I am away to Scotland on the morrow.”

“Oh, well, in that case,” Ash said wryly.

Muir laughed and clapped him on the back, accepting the cloak that Ash had covered his bare torso with. “Away ye go then, Ash. Gie it laldy.”

Ash nodded and stepped into the ring, shaking hands with Lord Babbage, who grinned at him.

“A pity to spoil your pretty face and send you back to your bride in pieces,” the fellow said, winking at him.

Ash grunted with amusement, almost pitying the poor devil. Though his heart was not in the fight, his desire to return to Narcissa and make amends for speaking to her so harshly was uppermost in his mind. He wanted this over and done, and quickly. So, instead of giving the audience the show they’d come for, Ash circled his opponent warily. It was some time since he had seen Babbage in the ring, but he stripped to advantage, his muscular frame impressive in the flare of the torchlight. Babbage threw two hard jabs with his left, followed by an impressive uppercut, and Ash danced backwards, testing the length of his reach, weighing up the danger.

The audience was deafening, cheering and shouting, offering advice to whichever of the men they had laid their money on. Ash ignored the roaring in his ears, filtering it out until only the man in front of him held his attention.

Ash returned the same sequence of blows, holding back, pulling his punches and just grazing Babbage’s chin but inflicting no damage. The man was built like a brick outhouse, far heavier than Ash but, like many big men, he was slow. Babbage came on again and Ash evaded him easily, the jaw-shattering blows missing him by a mile.

“Come on, pretty boy,” Babbage called cheerfully. “Don’t be shy.”

The man swung again, vast power behind his massive arm, but so slow that Ash dodged and stepped close, delivering two fierce body punches to his ribs, followed by a right that had the fellow windmilling backwards. Ash felt the solid connection to the fellow’s jaw, knew the impact had been spot on, and watched with cool satisfaction as Babbage fell with a crash that echoed around the enclosed garden.

The crowd continued to shout and scream, demanding Babbage get to his feet and carry on, but Ash knew that would not happen. The fellow was out cold. Returning to his corner, he found Muir grinning and shaking his head.

“Ye have somewhere to be?” he asked, his eyes glinting with mirth. “I reckon ye have a deal more sense than I credited ye with. Gie yer wife my kind regards, aye?”

“Goodnight, Muir,” Ash replied dryly and hurried back into the club to get dressed before anyone could stop him.

Using the back stairs, Ash avoided running into any of his friends. He flung on his clothes with less care than he had ever done in his life and hurried out of the club. Scanning the environs of the square for a hackney cab, he muttered a curse, as none were to be found. Thinking he’d have better luck on Oxford Street, Ash opened the wrought-iron gates that led into the garden at the centre of the square and walked quickly, his mind filled with thoughts of Narcissa. She had clearly been worried, frightened even, and had that not been what he wanted, someone to care for him, to love him and worry if he did not come home? He ought to have at least discussed it with her, explained his reasoning more clearly. How was she ever to trust him, confide in him, if she believed everything she asked for would be refused out of hand?

Despite his distraction, Ash was not such a fool as to walk about London at night with his head in the clouds. A prickling sensation on the back of his neck told him he was not alone, and he focused on his surroundings. The night was dark with only a thin sickle moon visible, the streetlamps doing little to illuminate the centre of the gardens, yet Ash became aware of movement around him. Three men? Four?

He was ready for the attack when it came. The first man wrapped his arm about Ash’s throat and tried to pull him off balance. Ash stiffened his stance and threw his head back, hearing the crunch of a nose breaking and a muffled cry of pain.

“Get ‘im!” bellowed a harsh voice to his left, but the attack came from his right and Ash had only a moment before a man stepped out of the darkness, swinging wildly. He was no match for Ash, who felled him swiftly, but another grabbed him from behind, pinning his arms as the fellow he’d knocked down scrambled back up and delivered several hard punches to his gut. Ash grunted, well used to such abuse and so not unduly alarmed, but he was too impatient to get home to enjoy dealing with some dim-witted ruffians who thought they’d found an easy mark.

Shouts from the direction of the club told him someone had got wind of another mill in progress, and he knew he’d have an audience soon if he didn’t deal with this. He stamped hard on the foot of the fellow who held him. The iron grip around his arms loosened and Ash jabbed his elbow backwards, winding the fellow who staggered away. Ash turned to deal with the fellow more comprehensively, but paused, suddenly aware that the odds were a lot worse than he’d realised.