Page 2 of Coming for the Champion
An investor. He had no space in his life for a bride, but Bennington’s offer would—finally—get him into the parts of society which had eluded him thus far this week. Eagerness flooded his chest and he had to tamp down the urge to bounce on his toes, instead breathing slowly to gather his thoughts.
“Perhaps you will accompany me to some society gatherings.” He could work out the rest for himself, but this last week had taught him that he definitely needed someone to get him in the door.
“Perhaps I could.”
“Heider, please send a note to Mr Milson.”
Rory didn’t think anything else could shock him, but that one name did. “Mr Milson? You don’t mean Malcolm, The Colossus, Milson?”
“Oh, you’ve heard of him?” Everyone who boxed had heard of The Colossus. Lord Bennington’s smirk triggered a memory, but it disappeared as quickly as it came because ... The Colossus.
“He is retired.” The man must be nearly fifty by now; the stuff of legends. The Colossus had been long retired before Rory had his first match, and yet, Rory had read every account of every one of his matches. He knew them all by heart. Sixteen fights. Unbeaten. Rory might have attempted to beat The Colossus’s record if it hadn’t been for ... He swallowed.
“And yet he said he would fight in our charity event on one condition.”
Rory knew what it would be, and admiration for The Colossus filled his chest, threatening to bubble out. How bloody clever ... and incredibly troublesome.
“Let me guess. He said he would only come out of retirement for one boxer.” Rory would’ve said the same, if he could’ve been certain that the other boxer was also guaranteed to never want to step back into the ring. The three other men nodded excitedly.
“Me.” In other words, The Colossus had no interest in a fight at all, because anyone who’d read about the Long Laird’s last fight knew that he would never get in a ring again. He’d said so often enough in the gory aftermath and he was a man of his word. But now Rory had inadvertently walked both himself and The Colossus into a trap, and with Lord Bennington’s promise hovering, he knew he wasn’t going to walk away easily. Damn it. Now he would have to disappoint his hero to gain access to society and resolve the problems on his land. His breath hitched, sticking in his throat like paste.
“Only one boxer has the talent to be worthy of a bout with him, that’s what he said, wasn’t it?” Mr Mardin winked as if he’d won a prize, but Rory wasn’t flattered.
“Introduce me to society and then I’ll meet with The Colossus to discuss a fight.” He didn’t want a bout, not for himself, not even for charity, and especially not with someone who also didn’t want it. But maybe he could use Bennington’s need for this match to give him the chance to avenge his father, because he’d suddenly remembered who Lord Bennington was, and even though the man in front of him would be that man’s son, he owed it to his father. What could be better than getting an investor, but to get the one who’d ruined his father? How deliciously ironic.
“So you’ll do it?”
Rory paused, because no ... He wasn’t about to lie or make his previous statement a lie, and he was going to have to play this very carefully. “I am curious about one thing. How did you know it was me?”
The butler, Heider, grinned. “I was there at your fight with Mr Ardberg in twenty-four, when he split your lip.”
Rory nearly reached up to touch the scar at the corner of his mouth, forcing himself to stay still. He’d fought on for five more rounds with blood filling his mouth, and now the same metallic taste painted his tongue.
“The final upper cut to end the match was so good. I thought the crowd was going to riot. The Scotsman had beaten the German and it felt like no one knew if they should cheer or jeer.”
It had been an electric atmosphere, and he’d felt like a king as he stood in the ring victorious with thousands of people screaming his nickname. It was the highlight of his career but came with such mixed feelings given what happened in two matches later. He gulped, not wanting to talk about that.
“Do we have a gentleman’s agreement?”
Bennington glanced at Mr Mardin, then nodded. “I will squire you around town for a week and then we will have a meeting with Milson to finalise the details. Leave your directions with Heider and I’ll arrange an invitation for Lord Hedwick’s soiree tonight.”
“My lord.” Rory nodded, then quickly followed Heider out of the room, leaving Bennington and his lover to continue with the pleasurable pursuits that his presence had interrupted. His focus needed to be on tonight, on his goals, and not listen to the flare of jealousy that two men had not only found each other but found a safe way to be together.
He had several hours to ensure that he was dressed for a soiree at a Lord’s house tonight, and he didn’t want to come across as too desperate. Gaining an investor was obviously a longer game than he’d initially expected and now Bennington’s offer was exactly what he needed to save his land. But it came with such a troublesome condition that he wasn’t sure if the immediate rush of relief was going to be worth the headaches that were bound to come soon when Bennington discovered that neither of his famous fighters wanted to comply with his request to fight. Could he balance the two competing factors, or was this doomed before he’d started?
Chapter 2
A week later
“I don’t understand.” Malcolm’s friend Lord Lawndry had always been clueless when it came to people and politics. Bad news came in threes, or so they said, and he’d already had two lots this week. His plan to avoid Mr Mardin’s charity match had failed, and now this news. He didn’t need a third problem.
“What’s not to understand? They gave the promotion to the second son of the Earl of Bancroft.” A young white man with connections to the ton, who were the main clientele for Sotheby’s.
“But you have more than twenty years experience. Your knowledge of horology is on par with mine. The promotion should be yours.”
Malcolm didn’t have the energy to explain to Lord Lawndry that it was because he was a Black man sponsored into a job at Sotheby’s by the Duke of Galforth, who’d long ago died, leaving Malcolm to flounder in a clerical role. Sotheby’s expert horologist without the recognition or the pay. “Life is not a meritocracy.”
“No. I talked to Mr Sotheby and he said that he had no choice.” Lord Lawndry’s irritation at this situation was like a pebble in Malcolm’s shoe. Malcolm nodded, because he was grateful that Lawndry had tried to help him, while knowing that Sotheby’s apparent lack of choice was no choice at all. His boss had given the job to someone with political and social connections; two things Malcolm lacked. Only six years ago, Sotheby’s Auction House had nearly gone under, and Malcolm could understand his boss’s need to court the peerage by promoting their sons. It didn’t make the disappointment at being passed over—again—any easier to live with, and withevery passing year Malcolm’s one advantage in life became less relevant. Maybe he should throw caution to the wind and step back into the ring for one last hurrah. Bennington’s offer might be the chance he needed, even if he knew deep in his bones that it was a terrible idea. A knock on the door was a welcome interruption.
