Page 73 of One Night with an Earl

But how? She couldn’t knock on the front door of his mansion in the middle in broad daylight. Their rendezvous wasn’t until hours later.

Then she remembered where he spent many of his afternoons. It was a chance she was willing to take. With renewed purpose, she left the room and slipped out of the house.

Chapter Twenty-Six

It was not difficult to escape the house unnoticed.

Ana departed from the servants’ entrance, walked down a path that was used for deliveries, and then made her way to the street. She walked to the corner, then hailed a hackney.

Gentleman Jackson’s boxing salon was located at 13 Bond Street. Oliver might not be there at this hour, but from their country visit, she knew him to be an early riser, unlike many gentlemen of the ton who stayed out all night and did not rise until well after noon.

She also knew that a lady would never dare to walk through the salon’s front doors, but she was well past the age of concern. Straightening her spine, she opened the door and stepped inside.

A row of boxing gloves hung on a rack in the corner, and weights and fencing equipment were neatly stored on wooden shelves. Charcoal sketches and canvases of famous bouts and well-known pugilists hung on the walls. One was of a young John Jackson himself when he’d won the title of English Champion from the great Jewish boxer, Mendoza, in 1795.

Voices sounded from deeper within the boxing salon. Male grunts and shouts. For the first time, she reconsidered. What would she find?

She peeked around an archway, then froze.

Two roped-off rings in the large room were occupied by men boxing, but her gaze was riveted on only one of the fighters.

Oliver.

His dark eyes glittered with a fierce intensity as he faced a taller, larger man in a ring. Both men were bare-chested and wore boxing gloves. They circled each other in an athletic dance, sweat beading on their brows.

Oh my.

She’d seen Oliver’s naked chest before. She’d memorized every lean muscle, and she’d lain awake reliving the memory. But this was different. Facing an opponent, he was even more stunningly virile than she remembered. Bronze skin glistened and sweat trickled down his chest to the waistband of his trousers. His broad shoulders heaved as he breathed. The corrugated muscles of his abdomen flexed as he moved and jabbed at his opponent.

She should be repulsed. She’d never witnessed a boxing match before and wasn’t prepared for the sight or sound of gloved fists hitting flesh. Instead, she couldn’t tear her gaze away from him. Her blood coursed through her veins like an awakened river, and her legs felt weak.

“Stop! A lady is present.”

The brisk command came from a man leaning on the ropes outside of the ring. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and she recognized him from one of the caricatures she’d once seen in the Morning Post—Gentleman John Jackson, the champion himself.

Oliver’s head whipped around to her, and their eyes locked. Her pulse pounded under the heat of his gaze.

Both Oliver and his opponent stepped out of the ring. A young lad loped over to untie their gloves and toss them their shirts. Oliver pulled his shirt over his head, and the cotton clung to his sweat-soaked skin. The top buttons were undone, revealing the corded muscles of his throat and a tanned V of flesh.

In less than three strides, he was by her side. “Ana! What in God’s name are you doing here?”

“Is that any way to introduce a lady, Drake?” Mr. Jackson asked.

Oliver glanced over his shoulder, then back to Ana. “May I introduce Miss Gardner? And this is Mr. Jackson.”

“It is a pleasure, Miss.” The champion bowed as gallantly as if they were standing in a ballroom.

“I’ve heard much about you,” Ana said.

The champion cracked a wide grin. “Ah, do not believe everything you hear. I’m quite reserved.”

She smiled at his charming demeanor. She’d heard he was a true gentleman, and his presence at a fight, whether as a referee or a guest, ensured spectators that the match would be fair. Her father enjoyed attending the fights at Five Courts in St. Martin Lane, Leicester Fields, where up-and-coming fighters had to be approved by Mr. Jackson or other great champions of the day.

“I see your business with Lord Drake is important. I shall leave you two alone.” Mr. Jackson flashed a smile, then wandered off to the second ring where he began to encourage the two remaining boxers.

Another man cleared his throat, and Ana turned her attention to the opponent who’d fought the earl in the ring.

Oliver made the introduction. “And this is His Grace, the Duke of Warwick.”