Page 4 of A Gamble with the Rakish Duke
Her husband took off his tailcoat and cravat. His muscles bunched under his shirt as he did little jumps to his left and right, his body coiled tightly like a spring. The thugs watched the movement, their bodies tense and ready. The three circled each other momentarily, waiting for one to attack.
And one of them did.
One thug landed a punch on Oliver’s jaw. Alexandra’s hands flew to her mouth, and she let out a breath only when she saw her husband recover and rub his jaw in disbelief, as if he was more annoyed than injured.
The crowd cheered. Money was being exchanged on the sidelines. The fight spurred a new kind of game—betting. The gambling hell was alive again, and she saw Lockwood grinning in the corner.
“Five pounds on the Anvil!”
“No, he can take on both. Ten pounds!”
Alexandra could not believe what she was hearing. The crowd seemed to have a nickname for Oliver, and with the telltale bruise near his temple, it looked like he had already been in a fight before he arrived at the gambling hell.
“Let your wife pay her father’s debts, Your Grace!” someone taunted, and the room erupted in raucous laughter, both men and women.
The Duke let out a growl. Then, he lunged at the man who punched him, using his towering height and bigger size to intimidate him.
The other man backed away, and even the other thug looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there. A glance from their master rooted them to the spot.
Despite their near-retreat, Oliver lunged at one of them and hit him square in the jaw. Using his other fist, he landed another punch on the man’s gut. With a quick swerve, he avoided the fist of the other thug.
It was enough to make the two thugs to retreat. They were not used to having someone fight them like that.
With both of them staggering backward, Oliver faced the instigator once more. The man looked pale and small before him, but he also knew how to get his way.
“Come and fight me, Percy. Nobody touches my wife and just leaves the fight,” Oliver taunted, extending his right arm and curling his fingers in a beckoning gesture.
“You never showed interest in your wife before. I suspect they are right. You don’t want her. Why fight for someone you leave behind all the time, Westgrave? Let her pay her father’s debts.”
The malicious tone and wide grin made Alexandra’s stomach churn. She could guess what Percy was insinuating, and it had nothing to do with her playing card games in a dimly lit hall.
She saw a figure fleeing out of the corner of her left eye.
Her father. Of course.
She turned her attention back to the two red-faced men. Her husband was barely sweating, but he was breathing hard from anger. Percy, on the other hand, looked paler with each step Oliver took toward him.
“He is not worth it, Your Grace,” Alexandra said, daring to reach for her husband.
She placed her hand on his shoulder. He started, even though her touch was gentle. A tingling feeling spread from her fingertips to the rest of her body.
Percy looked at them mockingly, and Oliver responded by shoving his face close to the other man’s and snapping it back in warning.
When Percy finally cowered away, the Duke let out a long-suffering sigh. He bent to the floor to pick up his tailcoat and cravat as his wife watched him with interest.
“We are not done, Duchess,” he warned, grabbing her by the arm.
He had only said her name once before, and it was only for show.
With the bored onlookers going back to their games, they did not have an audience. The smell of meat seemed to have grown stronger as the patrons ordered food—fuel for more hours of gambling.
“Do you really think that violence can pay off my father’s debts?”
The Duke’s face softened, and he released her arm, his thumb ghosting over the skin through the fabric of her dress. It was almost like he was afraid that he had hurt her.
“Let us talk outside. You know I am not going to hurt you.”
Alexandra bit back a retort. The truth was that she never thought him capable of raising a hand at her.
