Page 57 of The Lady's Last Mistake
A high roar erupted in the room, and people all around them shot to their feet. Mr. Forsythe took her elbow, and they stood as well. Two large, muscled men wearing breeches and nothing else climbed into the boxing ring. All around her, men and women cheered and clapped, and then just as abruptly, everyone retook their seats. Cassie was slow to do the same, her ears ringing, her mind still spinning. A few seconds behind the others, Cassie had started to sit, but then froze. Across the ring, in the opposite stands, one man remained standing. He linked eyes with Cassie, his own blazing with pure wrath.
She’d found Grant. Or rather, he’d found her.
Tobias tugged her arm and brought her back onto the bench with a thump. Across the way, Grant smoothly lowered himself into his seat. Hugh and Sir were with him. The viscount shook his head after seeing her and leaned over to whisper something in Grant’s ear. However, the physician didn’t shift his glare from her. As the two men began to circleone another in the ring and throw jabs with their fists, Grant’s attention slid to the man on Cassie’s left.
“I think I have discovered why you’re here, Lady Cassandra,” Mr. Forsythe said, leaning toward her ear as people all around them cheered on the fighters. He had to practically shout to be heard above the din, and it made her eardrum ache.
She peered at him, confused as to how he could possibly know. But then, when he directed his attention across the ring, into the stands where Grant was seated, she understood his meaning. Embarrassment stained her cheeks.
“Oh, no! Really, that’s not why,” she said, but Mr. Forsythe only laughed.
“I do not read the gossip columns, but even I am aware that the gentleman has set his cap at you. And if the way he is looking at you is any indication at all, he is not pleased to see you here at another man’s side.”
While Sir and Hugh were looking off toward another section of staging, Grant continued to blister her with a glare. But she wasn’t here with Mr. Forsythe! They’d simply bumped into one another. No, what Grant was angry about was her being here at all after he’d told her she couldn’t come. Well, that wasn’t up to him, was it?
“His interest is evident,” Mr. Forsythe continued to say as the two men in the ring circled one another. “And dare I say, yours as well?”
She felt a twinge of shock, then an equal one of guilt. “Mr. Forsythe, I don’t think you under?—”
He held up a hand again and smiled. “No, no. No need, my lady. You should know that I’ve made arrangements to return to Egypt next month. Not because of a broken heart,”he added with a laugh. “But because it is where I belong, at least for right now.”
The announcement left Cassie speechless. She began to feel silly as she gaped at him.
“Oh. Well, then… I am happy for you.” She genuinely was. Relieved, too. Cassie did feel terribly that he had fallen for the ruse she and Grant were perpetuating, but she could only hope that he was in earnest, and his heart was not injured.
“I only pray the gentleman endeavors to deserve such a treasure,” he added, with a final nod of his head. As if to say,and that is that.
Blushing fiercely at Mr. Forsythe’s presumptions, Cassie turned away. She could not look at Grant, however, and followed the direction of Hugh and Sir’s attention instead. In the staging adjacent to hers, every row was filled. In the gaps where there were no seats, men and women stood, and several men continued to collect bets being wagered on the opponents.
Her eyes tripped to a stop on a man in a top hat. There was nothing remarkable about him, and without doubt, she would not have given him even a second glance—if not for the healing scratches on his right cheek. Cassie held her breath as the cheers and jeers of the crowds around her faded behind a ringing in her ears. Four long lines stretched from under the man’s eye to the corner of his mouth, the gashes red and scabbing over.
In the alley behind Hope House, she had defended herself by raking her hair comb along her attacker’s face. Blood had been left behind on the sharp tines, proving she’d cut him.
Thiswas Mr. Youngdale.
His full attention was on the fight unfolding in the ring. He sat stiff and unemotional, unlike the others around him, who were shifting in their seats, standing or clapping or shouting when one boxer landed a punch and sent the other staggering. The more she watched him, the more Mr. Youngdale’s cold inspection of the fight began to chill her.
And then, the disturbing spell was broken.
The boxers in the ring barreled into one another, flying up against the ropes directly in front of Cassie, Tobias, and Mr. Forsythe. One man slammed his bare fist into the other’s face, and in a blink, a spatter of blood arced through the air. Wetness splattered against Cassie’s face, shocking her. She raised her hands to her cheek. Her fingers came away with blood on them.
Laughter for her predicament erupted in the rows around her, and when she looked toward Mr. Youngdale again, his hard stare had fastened upon her. For a moment, she thought he did not recognize her. But then, he raised his gloved hand to his cheek and touched the healing gashes. His lips twisted into a mean grimace.
“Here, take this, Lady Cassandra.” Mr. Forsythe pressed a handkerchief into her hand. She peeled her eyes from Mr. Youngdale and attempted to wipe away the gore. The last thing she wanted to do was look across at Grant, so she didn’t.
In the ring, one of the opponents received a blow to the jaw and slumped to the stained canvas floor, unconscious. The warehouse erupted into cheers and moans. Tobias, however, was still howling with laughter at her expense.
“You should have seen your expression.” He acted it out in absurd exaggeration, and Cassie kicked him in the shin.
“Ow!” He rubbed his leg as everyone around them began to stand.
The entire fight hadn’t lasted more than ten minutes. She looked to the stands where Mr. Youngdale had been, but with everyone standing and moving, couldn’t see him.
“Try this.” Tobias whisked the handkerchief from her fingers and uncapped his flask. He poured some spirits onto the cloth and began to dab roughly at her skin.
She snatched the cloth away. “I can do it myself, you buffoon.”
Tobias threw up his hands and turned to speak to some other acquaintances. After wiping at her cheeks, Mr. Forsythe’s wince hinted that she had not been totally successful. He gestured for her to give him the handkerchief, and when she did, he applied it to her nose, then forehead.
