A Masquerade in the Moonlight(39)
Thomas pretended not to hear Lord Mappleton’s remark, just as he pretended not to notice that the man beside the ring had straightened his already stunningly erect posture. “I say, Sir Ralph,” he began enthusiastically, “I see the ring just behind you is no longer occupied, although there is a gentleman standing there, apparently without an opponent. I realize I’m not a member, but do you suppose, now that our business is concluded, could I presume—I mean, not that I’ve ever done more than engage in the random alleyway brawl after a night of drinking—but would it be possible...?” He allowed his voice to trail off as he raised his hands, palms up, as if unable to find the correct words to describe the “science” of boxing.
Sir Ralph turned to glance behind him, and then looked back to Thomas and inclined his head in the affirmative. “Say no more, Mr. Donovan. After all, you’re my guest here today. Excuse me, and I’ll see if the Earl of Laleham is agreeable. Although I must warn you, you have picked a most worthy adversary. The earl is known for his expertise, which is why he so seldom has a partner, save Jackson himself.”
Thomas nodded, then looked to Lord Mappleton, who alternately frowned and smiled, as if not sure how he should react now that Sir Ralph was not there to guide him.
“Mr. Donovan? William Renfrew, Earl of Laleham,” the silver-winged gentleman said a few moments later, extending his right hand as if extraordinarily pleased to meet Thomas. “Sir Ralph here tells me you’ve expressed an interest in sparring.”
Thomas refused to wince as the earl’s firm handclasp threatened to grind his bones into dust and only inclined his head politely. They were much of a height, he and the earl and, if anything, the earl’s shoulders were broader. “Your lordship,” he returned affably. “But I must warn you—I am not well versed in the rules.”
“I believe we’ll manage, sir,” Lord Laleham said, finally releasing Thomas’s hand, “and I promise to begin slowly, so that I do not overpower you. Do you have someone who will assist you, or shall I summon one of the servants?”
“A servant? Oh, no. I can’t say that I’m in the least comfortable issuing orders, your lordship. Perhaps my associate will agree to assist me.” Thomas looked about the room, quickly locating Dooley. “Paddy!” he called out cheerfully, so that Lord Mappleton clapped his hands over his ears. “Don’t just stand there with your fingers in your mouth. Come help me out of this coat.”
Thomas could see Dooley’s lips moving as he strode across the room to rejoin him, and he grinned, knowing he had just become the object of a few healthy Irish curses. Thomas went to meet him halfway, then turned his back to the Irishman and held out his arms, wordlessly signaling for Dooley to tug him free of the tight sleeves of his new frock coat.
“Well, would you look at you—cock of the walk, ordering me about. Keep this up, boyo, and I’ll soon give you a leveler myself,” Dooley whispered, taking hold of Thomas’s left sleeve and giving it a mighty tug. “That the one you’re going in the ring with?” he asked, jabbing his head in the direction of the earl. “Looks sound enough to give you a fair tussle. Why not Harewood? Why this fella?”
“Because that fella very much wants me to, Paddy. Because that’s why we were invited here today in the first place,” Thomas answered quietly, raising his chin so that Dooley could remove his neck cloth and unbutton his shirt. “He’s considered to be exceptionally good, and I am about to be punished for my upstart American ways.”
“He wants to? That’s no reason. You never do a thing I ask you to do, and you’re supposed to be my friend.” Dooley peeked around Thomas to look at the earl once more. “Taking a big bite, aren’t you? He’s got a good long reach, and strong pins under him. And don’t let those silver wings fool you, boyo. He looks like the spawn of Satan. You know what they say—the devil’s children have the devil’s luck.”
By the time Thomas had stripped to the waist and removed his shoes a small crowd had gathered around the outside of the ring, word of the earl’s upcoming bout having sped through the large room with remarkable speed. Thomas lifted his long arms high up and over his head, stretching his muscles as he rejoined Sir Ralph and the others, secretly pleased to see Lord Mappleton surveying his bared chest and well-muscled shoulders with what looked to be mingled awe and even some trepidation. And why shouldn’t he be impressed, Thomas decided. The Earl of Laleham wasn’t the only man in the world who stripped to advantage.