Free Whisper To Me of Love by Shirlee Busbee Page A

bobbing and weaving in the ring. A gold seal hung from one of his fobs, and almost effortlessly Pip’s nimble fingers skillfully relieved him of the adornment. Rather pleased with herself, she carefully scanned the individuals in her area for another likely target.
    In the press of the crowd, it was difficult to move about freely, and not seeing any other easy mark within her range, Pip sighed and tried to pretend that she was interested in the match. Her lack of inches made it rather difficult for her to see the ring clearly, and she spent several irritating moments dancing about on her toes, craning her neck, trying to pretend she was avidly interested in what held the other spectators spellbound. Conveniently, before she became too bored, there appeared unexpectedly, and to her delight, a little gap in the men around the American, and Pip wiggled instantly into the space. Unfortunately, though closer to her prey, she was still not in a position to lift any valuables from him, and she gloomily resigned herself to waiting until after the match, when the crowd began to disperse, before putting her clever fingers to work emptying Mr. Manchester’s pockets. Whistling soundlessly, she fidgeted from foot to foot and gazed leisurely about her, wondering where Ben and Jacko were and if the match had proved as profitable for them. Sparring matches usually were, the shoving and pushing of the tightly packed crowd making their work easier. And the fact that everyone’s attention was usually on the ring only aided them in their thievery. Except, Pip thought darkly, they’re so bloody boring!
    Politely stifling a huge yawn of utter boredom, Royce began to glance around the crowd. Directly across from him, on the other side of the ring, he saw Zachary and his group of nattily dressed friends, their jubilant cheers when the big bruiser in the dark breeches landed a solid hit on the chin of the other pugilist making it evident on whom they had wagered their money.
    His topaz gaze moving on, Royce happened to meet the unfriendly dark-eyed stare of Martin Wetherly, who was standing next to the Earl and his group near the edge of the ring. For a split second their eyes held, only cool disinterest evident in Royce’s steady gaze, but inwardly he was wondering what he had done to arouse the hostility that Wetherly made no attempt to conceal. Was it simply because Wetherly was a close friend of the Earl’s and he was merely reflecting the Earl’s oft-professed dislike of him? Or was it something else?
    Wetherly broke eye contact first, his gaze slowly moving a scant second later back to the inhabitants of the ring, making Royce wonder if he had mistaken the ugly look in the dark eyes. Deciding that he was letting the unfortunate antagonism that existed between himself and the Earl color his thoughts, Royce gave himself a mental shaking. There was probably nothing in Wetherly’s stare to give him pause—he really must make an effort to stop reading sinister motives in simple actions.
    Royce forced himself to concentrate on the activity in the ring and for the next hour or so managed to appear enthralled by the two bruisers. Fortunately, before he became too bored again, the match ended, the fellow in the black breeches knocking his opponent down with a furious blow to the jaw. But for Royce, escape was not immediate—he had to wait for Zachary to re-join him, and Zachary, of course, full of excitement about the fight, was in no hurry to join in the mass exodus that was taking place. Royce listened patiently to Zachary’s colorful descriptions of the fight they had both just watched, but when he finally thought he had Zachary slowly moving in the direction of their gig, George and several of his friends chimed in and proceeded to go over all the various highlights of the match, no one except Royce, apparently, willing to move a foot until the subject was satisfactorily exhausted.
    The crowd was rapidly