Page 35 of A Tenuous Betrothal
Marc and Kristoff held up their fists and started circling each other.
Lord Carmine was distracted by another fight in an area near them, which pulled away some of their crowd.
Marc swung and connected with Kristoff’s midriff.
“Don’t be taking all your frustrations out on me,” Kristoff muttered as he swung, and Marc swerved out of the way.
He grunted, sending another punch toward Kristoff but missing. “I can’t decide whether I should be fighting the man most bothersome to me right now.”
“Perhaps instead you ought to ask yourself why you’re so bothered.” Kristoff connected with Marc’s gut, and he winced but immediately struck his brother in the face.
Their punches were well-controlled, not meant to truly do each other harm, but they still hurt a little.
Then the crowd around Lord Carmine got louder, and his voice carried out. “A wager, then!”
The crowd cheered.
Although Marc couldn’t see over the crowd and he and Kristoff were in a fight of their own, Lord Carmine seemed to be speaking to his opponent. “I will win her hand in three weeks, or you can find me again here at your mercy for another fight to settle things.” The men went mad in support, their cheers by far the loudest thing at Jackson’s, and Lord Carmine bowed in acceptance. “So it is. Three weeks.”
Kristoff connected with Marc’s face.
“Brother, stop already,” Marc said.
“Do you concede?”
Marc turned back, momentarily distracted from Lord Carmine. “Of course not.”
“Then, fight.”
“Have you not just heard what is happening?”
“Finish.” Kristoff laughed with his eyes but held his fists up.
“As you wish.” Marc shook his head and then dodged his brother’s fist, moving closer and then away, sending a volley of hits into Kristoff’s ribs and stomach and then once more into his face.
“That’s the match!” Henri called.
The few who were still interested in the outcome of the princes’ fight cheered, but Marc’s expression as he stormed over to the other group was not at all welcoming, he knew.
“What has just transpired?” He pushed his way to the center of the group to face Lord Carmine.
“A friendly wager, Your Highness. Would you like to take part? You might find it somewhat concerns you.”
“In what way?” Although Marc already knew, he wanted to hear it from the man’s own mouth.
“Your days of trying to find a suitable match for Miss Davies are soon to be over. I’ve taken an interest in her, and the gents here have come up with a wager to sort of spur me on, as it were.”
The greedy smiles, the overly interested men surrounding them, were just asking to meet Marc’s fist. One called out, “He claims he can win her in three weeks’ time.”
“I can and I will.” Lord Carmine held up a handful of bank notes. “Do you wish in on it? We are already upwards of two thousand pounds.”
Marc gritted his teeth. What he wanted to do was swing a facer at the overconfident, insolent man smirking back at him. “You would wager on a lady’s hand?” He held his gaze, wondering if the man could be reasoned with.
Lord Carmine’s eyes softened a moment, but then he shrugged. “It’s done all the time. Check the books at White’s. Besides, this might give me some motivation to do what Father wishes. And she’s pretty enough.”
Fire rushed to Marc’s chest. How dare he speak so dismissively of Miss Davies. “Let’s have a round, shall we?”
“You certain you’re prepared for such a thing?” Lord Carmine eyed him.
