Page 1 of How to Best a Marquess

Chapter One

April 1825

The Raven Club

An Undisclosed Location in London

Grunts echoed off the paneled walls.

The sickening sounds of flesh hitting flesh.

Ellie Swift’s breath stalled in her throat. From the look of things, the boxing match would soon be over. In the center of the large room was a square ring roped off with stakes anchored to the hardwood floor at each corner. In the ring, the two opponents circled each other, rocking back and forth with nimble footwork. Both men were bare-chested and bare-fisted. One fighter was huge, a towering hulk of a man—a well-known pugilist aptly called Bear. The other’s back was to her, smooth muscle and bronzed skin glistening beneath the blazing candlelight of the chandeliers. He was tall, just over six feet, but standing in the same ring with Bear seemed to diminish his size.

The crowd cheered, and one could feel the vibrant energy among the gathered spectators as wagers were swiftly made and money exchanged hands. As far as Ellie could discern, most of the wagers were in favor of Bear.

“Who is he?” Ellie strained to see the mysterious fighter’s face from her vantage in the crowd. Her fingers itched to remove her feathered mask to get a better look. But her mask shielded her identity. All the women who attended the Raven Club wore them, especially the wives of wealthy aristocrats who frequented the casino or had a preference for the boxing matches in the back room adjoining the gaming floor. She was drawn to the fights even though her brother, the owner of the club, did not always approve.

She watched, enthralled, as sweat glistened on their brows and backs and ran into the band of their trousers. She’d observed matches before and had seen men’s naked chests. She’d roamed the gambling floor and seen her fair share of the pugilists in the boxing room. At twenty-three, she was five years past her first Season, and she’d heard many whispers that she was on her way to becoming a spinster. The whispers hadn’t bothered her. She’d much rather spend time in her brother’s club than at a ball. Still, despite attending more matches than any young lady should have, she found herself studying the unknown fighter.

“He’s a blue blood,” a man with a gold front tooth, standing to her right, said.

Nobility? Ellie shifted, but she still couldn’t make out his face through the throng of people. Something was familiar about the way he moved—powerful, purposeful…elegant, but she couldn’t place him. He had dark hair and broad shoulders. Not uncommon.

“A marquess who likes adventure. Bad that he chose Bear to challenge,” a bearded man to her left said.

Bad indeed.

Yet, as she watched, the man’s footwork was as swift as his fists. He ducked and wove and avoided blows that would surely have felled any man if Bear’s fists had made contact.

The nagging in the back of her mind continued. What was it about him?

Determined to find out, Ellie wove through the crowd to get closer to the ring. Just as she reached the front, a gasp and shout arose among the crowd. Bear’s uppercut connected with his opponent’s chin. The dark-haired man’s head whipped back, and he staggered, then stumbled forward to catch himself on the ropes.

For a heart-stopping moment, he was inches from her face.

Recognition jolted through her.

Along with a deep-seated dread and a maddening pounding of her heart. The vibrant green of his eyes, the divot in his chin, the full lips, and—

“A kiss from a lovely lady for luck,” he said, breathing heavily.

Before she could blink, those perfect lips pressed against hers. Hot. Swift. Over in seconds, he turned to face his opponent.

Ellie, on the other hand, was not as quick to recover.

Oh my God.

It was the devil returned.

Her only consolation was that he didn’t recognize her with her mask.

She turned and fled into the refuge of the casino.

…

There was something about her.

Hugh Vere, the Marquess of Deveril, did not consider himself a superstitious man. But the lady’s kiss had surely turned luck in his favor.