Page 32 of The Boxing Baroness

She looked up from her thoughts and met his inquiring gaze. “As you are wealthy men of leisure, I take it you all know how to box?”

Sin exchanged an amused glance with Elliot and Guy, neither of whom could be called wealthy, but both of whom most certainly knew how to box.

“We do,” Guy answered for all three of them.

She turned to Elliot. “Will you please stand?”

Elliot’s eyebrows arched, but he stood.

Miss Simpson rose from the chair in a sinuous motion and strode toward Elliot, prowling around him and eying him much the way a man might inspect a piece of horseflesh.

Elliot’s normally inscrutable face flushed at being treated like an animal up for auction.

A muffled choking noise came from his right, where Guy was red in the face, attempting to suppress his chortling.

When Marianne stopped in front of Elliot, Sin noticed that his friend wasn’t too much taller than she—perhaps two or three inches, although Elliot obviously outweighed her by at least a stone.

The two looked similar enough to be related: both lithe and compactly built with pale complexions and short, dark brown hair. Both moved with a predatory grace that hinted at latent strength in their slender forms.

“So, you can box?” she asked him.

The nostrils of Elliot’s slender nose flared slightly. “Well enough.”

“He was twice champion of the lightweight class at Eton,” Guy volunteered, earning a filthy look from Elliot.

“I am in the presence of greatness, am I?” Miss Simpson asked, amusement clear in her voice. “Do you have a problem wearing mufflers or sparring with women?”

Elliot’s brow furrowed. “No, to both.”

“Can you come to the theater on Friday, first thing?”

“I can.”

“Good. I’ll make sure Nora and Lucy are there, too, and we’ll see just what you have to offer.”

Elliot’s flush deepened at her provocative words.

She turned to Sin. “It’ll be too much bother to find sparring partners while on the road, so my uncle wanted to hire somebody for the three of us. If your friend is as good as you say, then Jack will recommend him to my uncle. The job includes sparring, taking care of our equipment, serving as knee or bottle man, and whatever else needs to be done.” She scowled at Elliot, as if he had argued. “This is a real position—do you understand what I’m saying? If you can’t take us seriously and do the work required, I don’t care what pressure His Grace brings to bear—you will need to find another way to get to Metz.”

“I understand, Miss Simpson,” Elliot said quietly.

She turned to Sin, giving him the same brash once-over she’d just given Elliot, stroking her chin as she studied him. “And what about you, Your Grace?”

“What about me?”

“Were you also a champion boxer at your posh boys’ school?” she taunted.

“He was our—”

Sin cut Guy a sulfurous glare and the other man’s mouth snapped shut.

“What are you getting at, Miss Simpson?” Sin asked, furious that his skin was heating under her mocking gaze.

“You were right; as neither Jack Nelson nor Andy Leonard will be coming on the tour, I’ll need somebody else. I should have engaged someone already, but I’ve not been satisfied with the men so far.” She smiled, an expression that held no humor. “It appears that my satisfaction is irrelevant.”

Sin refused to rise to the bait.

“Whoever takes this position will serve as my knee man and supervise my training.” She scowled at Sin. “This is also a real job.”