Romancing a Wallflower

hoped he did not come home with bruises. They tried to avoid faces when they sparred, but sometimes the best-laid schemes could still go awry. “Devilish good idea, Max. Planting you a facer is just what I need!” Harlow eased himself into the squabs of the seat and stared at the passing street.
“You have more chance of slipping one past Jackson’s guard. I shall take great delight in drawing your cork,” Max said coolly. On the whole, they were evenly matched. Max was broader in the shoulders and it gave him greater reach. At least that is how Harlow excused any failure to his dark-haired friend.
“You think to bait me into taking some advantage, so that when I beat you,” Harlow emphasized the last word, “you can accuse me of winning by advantage. I am wise to your tricks!”
They fell into a familiar silence as the carriage travelled through the streets to Bond Street. As it slowed down, from the corner of his eye Harlow caught sight of a large navy plume gently waving. Rapidly, he pulled back his head and, taking his cane, indicated for Simmons to keep driving.
“Max, she is here.”
“Who are you talking about?” Max asked, sounding alarmed.
“I do not think she was looking in our direction when we drove by, but it was Lady Poinz. I recognized her. She was staring at the door to the boxing academy,” he said flatly, “just as she was watching at the park. She is here again. It seems far too much of a coincidence to me.”
“But we are not in there yet. Are you sure she is watching you?” Max spoke low, although there was no one but Simmons to hear.
“Not with any certainty. However, do you not think it is a bit strange? London seems too large a place to run into the same person so often—three times in almost as many days.” Harlow reduced his own voice to a loud whisper. “We are approaching the saloon again. I shall signal for Simmons to stop this time.” He rapped the cane on the roof of the coach. “We have a code,” he said, chuckling at Max, who had confusion etched all over his face.
The carriage came to a stop and the two men hopped out. The woman in question stood staring at the door to the boxing academy.
“Good morning, Lady Poinz,” Harlow and Max said almost together. Both tipped their hats.
“Good morning!” Her tone was all sugary. “What are you two gentlemen doing at the saloon? Do you plan to work up a good sweat?” She casually licked her bottom lip as she gazed in Harlow’s direction.
If he had ever found anything remotely fascinating about the woman, it was a thing of the past. Her unsubtle coquetry filled his stomach with disgust, a feeling he was not used to experiencing when with a female—but this woman was no lady.
“Such an odd place to run into you, Lady Poinz,” Harlow retorted lightly. “We do not see too many women outside Gentleman Jackson’s Saloon.”
“That is a shame, because I think this is a most wonderful part of London. Men go in, and men come out…looking as though they need a little extra attention,” she added, a sardonic gleam in her eyes. Seductively, she stepped closer and ran her gloved finger down the front of Harlow’s shirt, stopping at the fall of his breeches. He grabbed her hand.
“Lady Poinz…” Harlow’s tone was menacing. “…never touch my body unless you are invited to do so. I do not know what game it is you are playing, but I want nothing to do with it.”
“So you say, dearest, but I fear you may be mistaken.” She looked him up and down, her gaze lingering on his lower half.
“We have business to attend, Lady Poinz. Good day to you.” Harlow tugged on his hat, refusing to give her any more courtesy, and walked into the building. What was her game?
Max followed Harlow inside. “She seems to be looking for someone. Give me a minute. Harlow gave his hat and cane to a footman who was waiting to assist them and then walked to the side of the nearest window to look out. She continued to stare at the door of the academy until a weathered black carriage pulled up. A short man with a moustache opened the door and hopped out of the vehicle, before holding it open for her. The two black horses pulling the carriage looked similar to the ones from the other day, however, he could not be certain. The carriage was different.
How curious. Why is she stalking me like a stricken deer? And how did she know I would be here, unless she had someone to tell her? His mind turned over and over everything he remembered from White’s. His careless accident had brought undue attention his way, so he could not be sure who was the informant. He rolled up his sleeves and stepped into the ring determined to focus his attention on his boxing, lest he end up on his back.
Two hours later, emerging from the boxing saloon, Harlow squinted up at the sun.
“Thank you, my friend. You have performed a valiant service,” he said, wiping the sweat from his brow. “I confess I found it hard to concentrate. Lady Poinz’s appearance weighed heavily on my mind.”
“That could explain the bruise you gave me with your uppercut,” Max guffawed good-naturedly. “I thought faces were without one’s bounds.”
“My aim was for your shoulder. You ducked and caught my fist.” Harlow replied cheerfully. “On a serious note, I would like to find out the name of the man with whom Lady Poinz rode in that carriage. How did she know to look for me here? And, indeed, why was she doing so? Was she following one of us, or both of us? I have several questions,” he contended.
“Those are very good questions. I would also like to discover the man’s identity. It could be connected with our investigation.”
“There are quite a few