Pretty Persuasion (33 page)

Well, of course they would.

She closed her eyes and pressed her knuckles to her lips. Part of her wished she'd remained oblivious to Phillip's true feelings. If she still thought him a callous fortune hunter, it would be easy to wish that Robert would knock the cad's teeth out. But the situation was not so simple as that. She wanted Robert to win—but without Phillip getting hurt in the process. She wanted both to win but neither to lose. It was a paradox, an impossibility.

No, the match would happen, and knowing the proud and stubborn nature of the men involved, it would be bloody and fierce. And she'd watch, helpless to stop them from beating each other to a pulp for her sake. Perhaps that was to be her punishment, then, for causing the fight in the first place.

Not for the first time, she wished she could undo the events of the previous months. Except, of course, she was not certain she'd have enough sense to do anything differently.

"AM I THE only one who thinks our audience a bit surprising in their lack of… breeding?" Robert asked Cameron as another group of men and women poured from a garish carriage to join the flock of spectators crowding beyond one end of boxing ring. He called them "men and women" because the latter were too colorful and boisterous to be considered ladies and the men appeared no more refined.

"I cannot say that I am surprised," Cameron replied, leaning against the trunk of the bulky and gnarled oak tree under which they had placed themselves while awaiting the noon hour, and Rossemore, to arrive.

"Why is that?" Robert asked, not because he was terribly interested but because idle conversation seemed as good a way as any to pass the time.

"I have come to the conclusion that your lady love's brother and cousins' adventure took them very far from Bath indeed. They were in Leicestershire, attending one of Lord Lethbridge's house parties."

Robert frowned. That would explain how the young men had managed to appear in Yorkshire so suddenly, and it also made evident the reason they had been hell-bent on keeping the trip a secret. Lethbridge's acquaintances lived on the fringes of society, and his house parties were rumored to include all manners of debauchery, the chief one being gambling for high stakes.

"It seems," his friend continued, "that the wayward lords left the party in a hurry, and that Lethbridge and his cronies have caused a bit of a stink about the whole affair. They have accused the young gentlemen of, and I quote, 'attempting to ruin the party with the damnedest suspicious luck at the tables,' and by monopolizing the attention of the most comely dollymops as well as the, er,
ladies
in attendance. This boxing match, I believe, is the young lords' attempt at restoring their own reputation by offering Lethbridge and his followers the chance to win back their money."

"The devil," Robert muttered, straightening as he brushed his gaze over the motley crowd once again. He hadn't much cared when he thought there would be spectators placing a few friendly bets, but the idea that considerable sums of money had been put down on the fight was a burden he could have done without.

A low rumble rolled across the heath, and Robert turned to see Rossemore and four scarlet-clad men riding toward them as if charging into battle. Silence fell over the dissolute gathering, but Robert remained unmoved as Rossemore and the dragoons drew rein mere moments before their horses' hooves would have turned the field bloody in truth.

His gut twisted at the sight of his brother among them. Tony, who seemed now to be studiously avoiding Robert's eyes, had offered to be one of his opponent's seconds. It was a blow much harder than any of Rossemore's could possibly be. He had not expected his brother's support, but if he weren't seeing it with his own eyes, he would never have believed Tony capable of such betrayal.

Then again, neither did he want to believe that his brother wanted Georgie for himself. That was a piece of information of which he would have preferred to remain ignorant, but Cameron had planted the seed of suspicion, and Robert would be damned if he knew how to deal with it.

He had not agreed to the duel simply because Rossemore had challenged his honor. No, it had also given him the excuse he needed to give the fool a good thrashing, something which he had longed to do ever since he'd found the man with his hand up Georgie's skirt.

On the other hand, Robert's own behavior since then had little to recommend it. Georgie could hardly be called a victim in what had transpired, but neither was he innocent of any wrongdoing. And so when Rossemore had accused him of disgracing her, Robert had recognized a level of truth to the statement. He had no intention of letting the fool beat him, but if he emerged with a few bruises, he'd accept them as his just desserts.

Rossemore and the young officers remained seated for a while, as if giving their audience time to absorb the full impact of their gallant splendor. The young baron's gaze ran over the crowd, falling at last on Robert, and their eyes locked. And, as it had at the ball, the abject hatred in the man's stare stabbed at Robert and made him itch to pull the fool off his horse and start pounding away.

What was it about the fellow that roused such an uncivilized urge to beat him within an inch of his life? Robert had never had a taste for brawling, and he'd only ever boxed for exercise. With the exception of Chadwick, no man but Rossemore had ever inspired this kind of aggression.

It was Georgie, of course. They both wanted her and would go to extreme measures to have her. And if last night's scene had infuriated Rossemore as much as the one in the inn at Gretna had Robert, the upcoming match would resemble a fight to the death rather than a bit of sport.

As the newcomers alighted, Lethbridge's cronies came to life again, and the drone of chatter resumed. A ruddy-faced man broke from the crowd and approached Robert and Cameron. "Demmed dragoons," he said conversationally. "Always putting on a show, eh? But young Rossemore looks able enough. I say, where is the fellow he's facing?"

"You're looking at him," Cameron told the man while Robert ignored the question and started making his way to the side of the boxing ring where Georgie's brother and cousins hovered.

While he unbuttoned his coat, he distantly wondered if the odds had been put in his favor. He was hardly in his dotage. Surely having at least five years on Rossemore would give him a powerful advantage. It was one he intended to use to the fullest.

THE CARRIAGE SHUDDERED to a stop, its progress blocked by other vehicles scattered willy-nilly by the side of and across the road. Georgie put on her bonnet and pulled down the veil, then made certain Louisa did the same before stepping through the door flung open by the footman. While Louisa instructed the servants to stay behind, standing firm despite the loyal young man's respectful protests, Georgie raked her eyes over the scene before her, dimmed through the cover of her veil.

The small pond, inhabited by a pair of majestic swans, sprawled between the road and a large clearing, beyond which rose a thin wood that shielded the brick wall from view. A group of people, numbering at least three dozen, lingered around a makeshift ring—which was a square despite its name, just as her brother had described it in his boxing tales—constructed from a pair of long, thick ropes and four stakes driven into the grass-covered ground.

The only men she could identify amongst the crowd were red-coated cavalrymen, no doubt Anthony's friends. As they approached the noisy group, Georgie and Louisa's unusual headwear produced only a few curious looks. Georgie suspected that they would have attracted even more attention without veils, since the two of them would stand out as the only ladies with even the slightest appearance of respectability.

Between people's shoulders, Georgie detected movement at one end of the ring. The audience's chatter waned and the crowd thinned as everyone hurried to secure good positions. A cigar-chomping gentleman showed surprising courtesy by stepping aside to give Georgie and Louisa a better view.

Through the gray haze of her veil, Georgie saw a coatless and somber Phillip enter the boxing ring. Two dashing dragoon officers followed him to the corner nearest her, and Georgie sucked in a breath.

Anthony the Ass was one of Phillip's seconds?

Then Robert appeared inside the ring, and his grim expression struck her like a kick to the stomach. She could only imagine how much his brother's disloyalty hurt him. She wanted to weep for him, for herself, and for all the mistakes and misjudgments that had brought them to this corner of Richmond Park.

It was sobering to see him inside the boxing ring, shirtless like a prize fighter. The wide shoulders, the solid chest, and the flat expanse of his abdomen were more familiar to her than even one night in his bed could account for. But the familiarity distanced her now, their intimacy too far removed from the reality of what was about to take place.

The colossal, black-haired Mr. Cameron joined Robert in the opposite corner, and silence fell total as her brother stepped into the middle of the ring and announced in his commanding voice, "The match which you are about to observe between Lord Sheffield and Lord Rossemore shall follow the common rules of boxing. They shall not use gloves, and the first man unable to rise within thirty seconds of being knocked down shall be beaten. Any additional wagers must be placed before the fight commences."

Wagers! Georgie scanned the now murmuring crowd. Her fear of discovery evaporated, and she leaned toward Louisa and said, "We can remove our veils."

"Are you mad?" her friend whispered. "We'd be recognized in a minute!"

Georgie shook her head. "Only by those who would be no more eager than we are for knowledge of their presence here to reach the wrong ears. They are accepting bets on the fight—from
these
people! I cannot imagine your father or mine approving of it."

Louisa turned her head as if darting her gaze over the mass of people. "Oh, my. Oh, I didn't realize…"

They pushed back their veils just as her brother retreated to Mr. Cameron's side and Robert moved to the chalked inner square. Phillip took the cue, and the two bare-chested opponents stood facing each other. They were both an impressive sight, but Robert had at least one inch and two stone on Phillip. Two stone of pure muscle that testified to his plantation-working past and ought to give him the upper hand.

"You've put your money on the wrong man, old boy," said the cigar-chomping man to the thickset fellow by his side. "Sheffield is clearly the superior in strength."

"Ay, but the younger has the skill," replied the other man. "I've seen him at Jackson's. He's devilishly quick, with a deadly hook."

Georgie grimaced and prayed the man exaggerated. She turned to Louisa but found no comfort in her friend's tight-lipped countenance.

A surge of excitement went through the crowd. Georgie looked back to the ring just in time to see Phillip take the first swing, and she jumped at the suddenness of his attack.

Air whooshed from her lungs as Robert easily broke away. With a mocking smile, he uttered something she could not make out, and she saw the muscles rippling down Phillip's back as he lunged again. And missed—again.

With a death grip on her reticule, Georgie watched the opponents circle each other. While Robert appeared unruffled, Phillip had the feral look of a man intent on drawing blood. He aimed his next strike high. Georgie's breath caught as she braced for the crack of a broken nose. But Robert ducked, and as he drew himself up, his right fist connected with the other man's jaw.

Phillip staggered, and Robert delivered another facer. With a quiet grunt, Phillip's legs gave way, and he hit the grass-covered ground with a sickening thud.

Louisa's brother began the count. His voice rang loud and clear to a mere fraction of the speed that Georgie's heart hammered in her ears. Oh, this was so wrong. So horribly, dreadfully wrong. And she was to blame for it all. A whimper rose in her throat

Anthony and his uniformed friend sprang forward to haul Phillip outside the inner square, but their charge scrambled to his feet without assistance.

Hunt stopped counting. The fight went on.

Phillip came on furiously. Punch after punch rained down, but Robert nimbly evaded every one. Finally, Robert halted the assault with a solid hit to Phillip's midriff. Another blow to the face followed, and Phillip fell to his knees. Blood gushed from his nose, and Georgie winced as he swayed forward and coughed crimson. God, was that a
tooth
she saw among the blood he spat out? Surely not.

The count had only reached ten when he stood again, and Georgie found herself reluctantly admiring his stamina. He stumbled to the corner, and a quiet conversation passed between the dragoons while he pressed a wet cloth to his bleeding nose and lips. In the other corner, Mr. Cameron silently handed Robert a flask. After taking a quick swallow, he turned to gaze across the ring. His face was impassive, too closed for Georgie to decipher, and whether he was watching his opponent or his brother, she could not tell.

With an urgent nod, Phillip relinquished the cloth and returned to his line just as Hunt reached the thirty-second mark.

As before, Phillip made the first move, and Robert dodged. The sequence repeated again and again, and it soon became a dance of sorts: the younger charging, and the older evading.

Robert appeared to lose patience. His right fist jabbed high but was deflected by Phillip's arm. Without hesitation, Robert drove his left hand toward his opponent's belly again, and yet his adversary sidestepped.

Robert still swayed, off balance, when Phillip's fist shot out. Lightning-quick, the punch landed on the jaw. A split second later, Robert hit the ground with a dull thump. A stunned silence fell over the crowd even as a whimper rose in Georgie's throat and she reached blindly for Louisa's arm.

The cheers that erupted only fueled her terror, and she went onto the tips of her toes to get a better view. A wave of mind-numbing panic washed over her at the sight of Robert lying flat on his back, unmoving. Louisa broke from Georgie's grip to seize her arm instead—whether to comfort or to prevent her from doing something stupid, Georgie knew not.