Forever a Lord by Delilah Marvelle Read Free Book Online Page B

to get fucked. It had been well over a month, which was the longest he’d ever gone without it. Aside from boxing, sex was the only thing he genuinely enjoyed.
    It was a good thing most women found him attractive enough to accept his proclivities, because he sure as hell had nothing to give a woman these days. Certainly not money. But then again, maybe London would change that.

CHAPTER FOUR
    The cup, filled with wine, having gone round, the Champion thus briefly addressed his patrons, “Gentlemen, for the honour you have done me in presenting this cup, I most respectfully beg of you to accept my warmest thanks.”
    —P. Egan, Boxiana (1823)
    Many, many weeks later—evening
Cardinal’s Milling Cove
London, England
    T HERE HAD TO be a better way to make money.
    Nathaniel tugged his frayed linen shirt down and over his sweat-sleeked arms and chest, more than done with teaching others how to better swing. He had only made thirteen shillings that whole night offering a fifteen-year-old boxing lessons. He really needed to stop feeling sorry for people before he himself starved.
    He paused.
    Sensing he was still being watched by that fop against the timbered wall beyond the spectators, he blew out a ragged breath. Some no-name aristo with a fancy horsehair top hat and a Havana cigar had been coming around and watching him almost every night since he’d been in London.
    Given Nathaniel’s experience with strange men in top hats and cigars, he didn’t appreciate it. Tonight, realizing his money-making plans were progressing slower than he’d hoped, he really wasn’t in the mood for it. Shoving past several locals who had gathered around him, also asking him for a boxing lesson at thirteen shillings a piece, Nathaniel stalked over to the man.
    More than ready to take the bastard on, Nathaniel yelled out, “I don’t appreciate being followed or watched by some nameless prick. Are you going to stop? Or do you need me to make you stop?”
    Blond brows went up as the cigar was instantly lowered. Pushing away from the wall, and out of the shadows the lanterns didn’t illuminate, a rugged-looking blond-haired gent of about thirty with sharp green eyes met Nathaniel’s gaze from below the satin-trimmed rim of his top hat.
    The dandy angled toward him and wagged the cigar. “You, sir, are without any doubt the best pugilist I have ever had the honor of observing. I was hoping you and I could talk about a potential venture.”
    Nathaniel rolled his eyes. He should have known. Wealthy boyos like this one didn’t hang around milling coves unless they were sniffing for potential investments. “Unless you have five thousand to give, don’t fucking bother. I need real money. Not talk.”
    The man leaned toward him. “I can offer you five thousand on signing and give you a swing at the title. Are you interested?”
    Nathaniel perused the man’s evening coat, embroidered waistcoat and polished boots. He looked like he could afford everything he was offering. The sort of money he and Matthew desperately needed. They had both been living shilling by shilling. Nathaniel had even been playing cards with what little money they had in an effort to bring them quick money.
    Cards weren’t his thing. He’d lost every hand. He was incredibly good at betting on fights, though. The problem was one had to have at least ten pounds to get into any of the good bets. Which he didn’t have.
    Interestingly enough, however, this aristo was offering Nathaniel far more than money. This aristo was offering something other investors never had. A chance at the title. “You’re actually offering me a chance for the Champion of England?” he drawled. “A real chance?”
    “Yes. I think you have it in you to win based on what I’ve seen thus far. And unlike other men, I not only have a name, but the means to line up the right trainer and the right fights to make it happen. It’s simply a matter of if you want to make it happen.” Sticking his cigar