Page 115

The crowd grew even more animated at this back and forth. Lizzie saw Benedict’s lips move, and Frank moved across to him to speak quickly in his ear. Whatever he said, Benedict seemed to be disregarding. His hazel eyes were dwelling on North with a cold sort of disinterestedness that almost bordered on contempt for his fellow man.

Before seeing him in the ring, Lizzie had assumed fighters must be hot-headed and quick to anger, but Benedict seemed just the opposite. She knew the exact moment his gaze fell on her. The quick blink of his eyes, and then he was surging forward, shouting to Frank.

“He’s seen us,” she said weakly to Mountford, though she was not sure he heard her, the crowd was so rowdy. North was shouting and bawling all manner of insults behind them which was sending the crowd into a frenzy. Lizzie struggled but could not seem to make any headway now they had reached the thickest part of the audience. Sebastian growled low in his throat, but she doubted anyone could hear him among the noisy throng.

Suddenly, to her relief, she realized the men in front of her were parting ways, and she saw Benedict coming through. At his approach, they hastily fell back a step. It was not just she who relaxed at his approach, for Sebastian ceased plunging and straining under her grasp. As soon as Benedict reached her, he seized hold of her and dropped any semblance of cool indifference. “Who the fuck is that?” he barked, nodding at Mr. Mountford though his eyes did not leave Lizzie’s face.

“It’s complicated,” she yelled back. “He bought my aunt and cousin with him. They want me to go with them now to the police station – ”

“No,” he answered tightly. “Not without me.”

“Mr. Toomes, I must protest – ” Frederick Mountford began, and Benedict swung round on him with an expression that blazed. If he’d had room, Mountford would undoubtedly have retreated. As it was, he could only fall back against the press of bodies behind him.

“Would that not be rather awkward for you?” Lizzie asked him dropping her voice as much as she could with so much background noise. “It’s not just my aunt, but also Betsy that came – ”

“I don’t give a fuck about Betsy,” he answered swiftly.

Lizzie caught hold of Benedict’s arm. “They need me to testify against Reverend Milson,” she explained. “They fear he is about to flee the country.” She hesitated, horribly conscious of the chaos around them and Frank hanging over the ropes with an expression of anguish on his face.

She was messing things up for Benedict’s career, she thought with a pang. She found herself stroking his arm in a vain attempt to calm him. “It won’t take long, dearest,” she heard herself placating him. “I just need to make a statement.”

“Not without me,” he repeated in a calmer, though no less deadly, voice.

“Very well,” Lizzie agreed desperately. “How many more bouts must you win today?” Frederick Mountford opened his mouth but lacked the courage to voice his objection.

“Just this last one,” her husband answered grimly, his gaze flickering over Lizzie’s shoulder to where North’s faction were creating quite a commotion.

“Surely the Harbinger’s not scared of a little real competition?” Jim North sneered to accompanying backslaps and encouragement.

“Then we shall wait,” Lizzie said brightly. “Until you have knocked down this rude man and can accompany me to the station.”

Benedict’s gaze focused on her again, and Lizzie saw he was looking icy cold once more. She gave him a determinedly cheerful smile. “I daresay it won’t take you long.”

His eyes seemed to warm for a fraction of a second, his hand tightening about her wrist and dragging her forward. Lizzie did not even have a chance to check if Frederick Mountford had kept up with them or no, for the next thing she knew, she and Sebastian were up against the front of the ropes and Benedict had stepped back inside the square.

He gave the nod to Frank who turned back to the audience. “Challenge accepted!” The crowd erupted and Lizzie groped for Sebastian’s collar at her side. Benedict turned full circle in the ring, his gaze pinning Lizzie when she would have looked over her shoulder to check if Mr. Mountford were there.

“Eyes on me,” he mouthed to her.

Lizzie nodded her throat suddenly dry. Why this was reminding her of the first time they were intimate, she could not say. Except that he had wanted her eyes on him on that occasion too, she remembered suddenly. Lizzie swallowed and did not let her gaze drop away, no matter how boldly he stared at her.

Sensing Sebastian’s agitation, she reached down to pat his head, though her gaze never wavered from her husband. “Easy, boy,” she murmured as the North party came forging forward, all bluster and bombast.

“Toomes won’t find this prospect such an easy conquest,” a whiskered gentleman nearby opined.

“Don’t be so sure,” his companion replied. “Care to make a little side wager, Algie?”

Lizzie was dimly aware that North had entered the ring and stripped off his shirt showing a barrel chest bristling with hair to match his bushy beard. She had no eyes to spare for him, however, for she somehow knew Benedict was conscious of her gaze on him.

She had no sooner steeled herself for the spectacle than it had begun. Benedict seemed to launch himself at his opponent in a sudden onslaught of blows which the other man, for all his bragging, seemed ill-prepared.

“Good lord!” the whiskered gentleman puffed. “Seems to have taken that chap’s remarks to heart, don’t he?”

Actually, Lizzie thought, he’s just in something of a hurry.

North, finding himself with his back to the ropes, roared like a bear and lurched forward, swinging wildly, only to find his great fists dodged and his ribs struck in quick succession with three brutal body blows.

“Did ye see that?” the whiskered gentleman demanded, as his friend simultaneously exclaimed. “Cracked his ribs, I’ll warrant!”