Page 4 of Juliet's Touch

“You’re a good fighter, Stone, but next time drag the fight out a little longer,” Bear said. “It’s as if you are in a hurry to get out of here when The Purple Rabbit is a fine establishment, indeed. Who wouldn’t want to be here?”

Anyone who thought The Purple Rabbit was a fine establishment was either delusional or a confidence man. Bear might be a little of both.

Glaring at Eric, Coach pursed his lips.

A man of few words, Eric simply donned his coat. They could badger him all they wanted. He had won the fight fair and square, and his personal life was none of their concern. If they refused to respect his privacy, they could sod off. He’d fight at one of the other underground establishments. Hell, he’d travel outside the city and box in one of the legal championship mills. What he wouldnotdo is stand here chattering and debating with these men.

“By the by,” Bear said. “There is a gentleman out there wantin’ a chat with you. Currently, he’s tickling Whale under the chin and feeding him sweetmeats.”

For fuck’s sake.Grunting, Eric secured his bag on his shoulder.

“You got a chit waiting for you?” Bear asked.

Thirteen chits counting Imogene and Mrs. Paulson, and an entire city, to be precise. Therefore, Eric did not have time to linger and blabber. Without another word, he barged past the men and climbed the back stairs two at a time.

The breeze cooled Eric’s skin as he trudged through the back alleys of Whitechapel. Although the underbelly of London was out in full force, not a single soul paid attention to him. He rather liked the anonymity the shadows afforded.

“The Stone,” someone behind him called.

So much for solitude. Eric peered over his shoulder and winced. Damn Whale and his love of sweets and tickles.

“My name is Hugh Fletcher, and I just want to talk. Could you slow down?”

Talk Eric’s arse. No man wanted tojust talk. Hugh Fletcher could sod off all the way to hell. Eric had two choices. He could spin around and charge, knocking Hugh Fletcher onto his arse. Or he could outrun the bloke. Considering the man weighed about fourteen stone, perhaps the latter was the superior choice.

Eric skirted a group of boisterous men warming themselves around a small fire and took off in a mad dash.

“Bloody hell,” his stalker hollered.

The clomp of Hugh Fletcher’s feet followed Eric as he sprinted through Whitechapel. For a large man, Fletcher could run. However, Eric had longer legs and was faster. Between training to be a prizefighter and his nightly excursions, Eric also had stellar endurance. The truth was, very few men could keep pace with him.

Eventually, Fletcher’s footsteps faded away. Eric waited until he was certain he had lost his shadow before doubling back to his destination. After ensuring no one was watching, Eric used the back entrance to enter The Pink Petal.

Mrs. Paulson greeted him with a smile. “Halloo, Eric. I saved you a plate of your favorite beef stew. I was just rememberin’how you used to devour it as a lad. Sometimes four or five bowls at a time.”

“I remember.” Unfortunately, Eric forgot very little. “I don’t have time right now.”

“You need to eat.” Mrs. Paulson waggled her finger in his face. “You can’t save London on an empty stomach. You are lookin’ too thin.”

She blocked his path, held out a fork, and extended the bowl. The scent of fresh rosemary and thyme wafted from the stew.

Since he couldn’t push the beloved woman out of his way, he grasped the utensil, then shoved forkfuls of roasted potatoes, carrots, and meat into his mouth. A grinning Mrs. Paulson held the bowl steady until he scraped up the last of the gravy.

“Delicious.” Eric kissed her plump cheek.

“Now, you may be excused.” Mrs. Paulson stepped aside.

Eric took the back staircase to the second floor. The landing led to a hallway, where he almost collided with a wall of muscle.

“Halloo, Stone,” Flynn said. “Win yer fight?”

Eric nodded.

“Good for ye. I knew ye would.”

Eric motioned for Flynn to lean close. “If you see a man who is built like you, with dark hair, wearing a blue waistcoat and blue cravat, lurking about, do whatever you must to discourage his presence. And no matter what, do not let him near the girls.”

Flynn saluted. “Aye, aye.” Hopefully, the brothel’s protector was not as easily distracted as The Purple Rabbit’s sentry.