Page 39 of The Boxing Baroness

“So, what do you ’ave to say about our girl, Sin?” Jack asked the duke, whom Jack had told to study Marianne’s form while she sparred.

Marianne glared at His Grace, daring him to open his mouth.

He crossed his arms over his broad chest and rocked back on the heels of his battered boots, the casual pose strange for such a stiff, upright man. “She drops her left.”

“I do not,” she retorted.

Jack chuckled. “Aye, lass—you know you do.” He nodded at the duke. “You’ve a good eye, Sin. Now, what I want to talk about is some changes in ’er trainin’—”

Marianne scowled as the two men began to discuss her as if she weren’t standing right there.

“You’re good.”

She turned at the sound of the quiet voice to where Andy was untying Elliot’s mufflers.

“You’re better,” she said, pleased she didn’t sound as grudging as she felt.

Elliot just smiled.

The stage door opened and Josephine entered. She glanced around the room, her strange, pale gray eyes flickering over the people in it. As always, Angus rode on her shoulder, his crafty black eyes as sharp as his mistress’s were vague, taking in the room and its occupants.

“Good morning, Jo—did you need something?” Marianne asked when it seemed the other woman wouldn’t speak.

Jo’s gaze fixed on Elliot, who stared right back at her. Both went strangely still, and Marianne was put in mind of two alley cats. If they’d had fur, it would be standing on end.

“Er, Jo?” Marianne repeated.

“Your uncle said you’d hired new volunteers. I wanted to meet them,” she said, her gaze still on Elliot. A wicked-looking dagger appeared in her right hand, as if from thin air, and she deftly rolled it over the back of her hand and caught it, the motion smooth and hypnotic.

“Volunteers?” Elliot repeated, raising one black brow.

“Aye,” Andy said as he finished untying Elliot’s gloves and moved on to Marianne’s. “All the lads take turns.”

Elliot looked from Jo to Marianne. “Take turns doing what?”

“Oh, didn’t I mention that part of your job—the volunteering part?”

Jack and the duke had stopped talking to listen to their conversation.

“No, you didn’t mention anything about volunteering,” Staunton said in a tight voice—no doubt wondering if he’d have enough time left every day to eat or sleep.

Jack patted His Grace’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Sin, the lassies are both professionals. Trust me, you’ll get used to it.” He snickered. “After a while.”

“Get used to it? What is it?” the duke repeated.

She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. “You’ll be one of the volunteers in Jo’s knife-throwing act.”

“Volunteer,” Angus intoned, sounding so much like Jo it was eerie.

Elliot looked from the bird to Marianne. “You keep saying volunteer. What exactly does that mean?”

“She means that I’ll throw knives at you,” Jo said in her low, toneless voice.

“Knives,” Angus echoed.

The two men’s heads whipped around to stare at Jo—or perhaps Angus—neither of whom paid them any mind.

Jo now held a second, identical knife in her left hand and was simultaneously spinning both. Angus was grooming the feathers of one wing, his huge beak making a fffffft, ffffffft sound.