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Tony looked up to see Savage’s ice-blue eyes upon her. She tossed off the wine and plunged in with an introduction. “Your Highness, may I present my guardian, Adam Savage? Mr. Savage, the Prince of Wales.”
“Do join us at faro, my dear chap. Tony tells us you’re just back from Ceylon.”
“I prefer baccarat.”
Incredibly, Savage had just declined an invitation from the Prince!
Georgina put her pretty head on one side. “What a very poor hostess I am, Mr. Savage. Of course we will play any game you have in mind.” It was definitely a double entendre. Adam smiled down into her exquisite face. “I would love to play with you, but you already have three partners.”
Tony scowled. Though she was brimful of wine, she caught the biplay. “You may take my chair, Adam. I learn so mush … much, just watching you. By the way, we’re invited to the races next week. His Highness has some thoroughbeds … thoroughbrides … some studs he might be willing to sell.”
Savage threw her a look she couldn’t interpret. She didn’t know if it was contempt or admiration. She shrugged. She didn’t really give a tinker’s damn at the moment. She watched him sit down and she stood behind him.
Whenever a king was turned up, His Highness cursed, “Damn the King!” The card was quite openly nicknamed theLunatic.When Prince George caught Savage’s quizzical glance he explained, “M’father’s quite mad. That’s why they are preparing a Regency Bill for me. I should have been Regent years since, for he’s been mad for quite some time. Well, I ask you … he issued a proclamation ‘for the encouragement of Piety and Virtue, and for preventing and punishing Vice, Profaneness, and Immorality.’”
Savage’s lips twitched. “That would tend to take the fun out of life.”
Tony’s ears began to hum and she heard the voices of the people at the table from a long distance away, as if they were in another room. She heard the tinkle of their glasses, the whisper of their cards, the chink of their guineas, but their laughter and their voices faded away. She tried to make sense of the conversation. It was all about fighting and boxing matches and meeting tomorrow at Gentleman Jim’s for a few rounds.
Tony tipped her chair back and balanced it on two legs. What the hell, she’d take them all on. Boxing might be fun!
She didn’t remember much of the carriage ride back to Curzon Street, but the quality of his silence told her that she’d finally made an impression upon him. Good or bad didn’t really matter. As the carriage halted, Tony emitted a loud hiccup that reverberated off the velvet squabs. She felt a firm hand beneath her elbow as she climbed the steps to the front door.
When Mr. Burke answered the bell, Savage handed Lord Lamb over to him. “He’s gloriously dog bitten, I’m afraid.”
When Mr. Burke took her inside and closed the door she mumbled through clenched teeth, “Get a bucket.”
Chapter 17
How in the name of the devil did she get herself into these situations and what the bloody hellfire was she doing at Gentleman Jim’s? Apparently the latest craze of the bucks was boxing, because His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales had taken a fancy to the sport.
The boxing ring in this particular establishment provided the opportunity for the gentry to strip to the waist, put on the gloves, and go a couple of rounds with professional pugilists. Only a few had guts enough to try it; the rest were enthusiastic spectators. Of course it provided yet one more diversion where large amounts of money could be wagered.
Tony sat hunched, nursing a hangover she couldn’t believe. The miasma of male sweat made her gorge rise, yet she was the only one present who seemed to even notice it. The place was crowded with the prince’s cronies, who seemed to have accepted her as one of them, much to her surprise. She put it down to the fact that she felt so miserable, she had hardly acknowledged their introductions and bored disinterest was all the rage. They’d mistaken Tony’s half-closed eyelids and pinched nostrils for languorous ennui and thought him one helluva decent chap.
At Sherry’s and Edmund Burke’s urging Prince George decided to favor his intimates with a demonstration of his prowess. His gentlemen helped strip him down to his white inexpressibles, and Tony thought with a lack of enthusiasm,Now I know what the rest of him looks like.
His Highness was certainly well made, but his wide shoulders remained in his coat when he removed it and his flesh was not hard like Savage’s. His muscles were covered by a generous layer of fat and his belly looked soft. In contrast with his florid face his milk-white body skin was almost distasteful to Tony after the sun-bronzed color of Adam Savage. She was willing to bet all the other men present were just as pale as George.
The prince put on a creditable demonstration with his trainer Angelo, who went down on one knee a couple of times from the impact of His Highness’s blows. All present, of course, realized the boxing instructor could have half killed him without much effort, but all applauded the royal courage.
Others were urged to go a few rounds, but there were no takers. Savage pushed Tony’s feet from the bench where they were propped. “Come on, boy, let’s see what you’re made of.”
Tony couldn’t believe her ears. For a moment sheer terror gripped her. There was no way on earth she could strip to the waist, and the last thing she wanted was for some uncouth boxing instructor to plant her a facer. She scowled. “I haven’t the energy of a slug this morning.”
Savage’s ice-blue eyes filled with contempt. “You mean you haven’t the guts of a louse.”
Tony hated him in that moment. Her anger was so strong, she wanted to fly at him and tear out his mocking eyes, but she knew she must keep her temper under control with so many eyes upon her. In a lazy gesture she used her cane to tip her hat to the back of her head. Then she drawled with studied insolence, “Kiss my aspidistra, Savage. If you’re so keen on the bloody sport, let’s see what you’re made of.”
All present were so enthusiastic over this suggestion that His Highness asked him if he would oblige them. Reluctantly Savage stripped down to his breeches. Angelo had no intention of pulling his punches once he saw the breadth of chest rippled with hard muscle. Once he’d felt the numbing jab of Savage’s long reach, he had no intention of following the Marquess of Queensbury’s rules either.
—Tony suddenly began to sit up and take notice. As Savage sidestepped while he aimed a powerful blow, he was somehow able to anticipate the moves Angelo made. When the boxer did manage to land blows, they were brutal and always below the belt. Savage was willing to be a gentleman only up to a certain point. When he felt the searing pain from another kidney punch, his restraint snapped. Through gritted teeth he challenged, “Shall we take off the gloves?”
Barefisted fighting was far more exciting for the spectators and they began to wager wildly as Savage deliberately and methodically set about cutting the trainer’s face to ribbons.
Tony shuddered at the blood and brutality, but she didn’t close her eyes. They were riveted on the magnificent body of Adam Savage. He was more than a match for the professional fighter; Tony knew without a doubt he’d be more than a match for any who challenged him for whatever reason. Savage had learned all the dirty tricks that could be dished out in the hell holes of the world. A few rounds at Gentleman Jim’s was child’s play to him.
Surreptitiously, beneath her lashes, she watched him dress. She could not help responding to the sheer male force of him. Only when Savage was safely clothed did she allow her eyes to meet his.
