Page 113 of His Grace, the Duke
Fucking hell, Tom. Please, throw this fight.He sent out his selfish prayer, watching as Tom danced closer to the captain, ready to fake a low swing. He was going to plant a facer. It would be a knockout hit.
“No!” Burke’s shout was lost in the chaos of the crowd.
Time slowed as he watched Tom dart in, right arm kept low for the fake as he readied his left. Hartington fell for it, twisting to protect his tender ribs. That opened Tom to swing up with his left, clocking the captain on the jaw.
Only Tom didn’t take the swing. He followed through with his right hand, landing the useless punch that Hartington was ready to block. It was Hartington that got to come in swinging with his right hook, knocking Tom to the mats.
The crowd jumped to their feet, shaking the stands as Tom rolled to his stomach. The referee counted down as the crowd shouted for Tom to get on his feet. Tom let his body go slack and the referee slapped the mat.
It was over.
Behind them, the bell rang in finality.
In the flurry of activity, Burke narrowed his eyes on Tom. He waited with bated breath as Tom lifted his chin just enough to catch his eye across the mat. His mouth a bloody smile, he winked.
53
Rosalie
“Oh Tom, areyou alright?” Rosalie pushed her way through the excited crowd, throwing herself at Burke’s side as he helped Tom climb out between the ropes.
Tom sank down on the ring’s edge, his face a bloody mess. He was panting, each breath making him wince. She hated seeing him like this.
“You were doing so well,” she cried, snatching the towel from Burke’s hand to dab at Tom’s bleeding brow. “James was sure you were going to win. He can’t believe it.”
“I’m fine.” Tom wrapped his hand around her wrist.
The contact made her stifle a whimper. His knuckles were bloodied. Boxing was a terrible, worthless sport! Men pounding each other like sacks of meat, and for what?
“He’s fine, love,” Burke murmured at her side.
She felt ridiculous for being so emotional. “I saw you fall... the blood... you weren’t moving. We were all so sure you’d win—”
“He was never going to win,” Burke soothed.
“What?”
Tom took a sip of the water Burke offered, swirling it in his mouth and spitting it on the floor. The pink tint made Rosalie’s stomach churn. Seeing one of her men hurt, even when they’d signed up for the pain, was apparently something she couldn’t tolerate.
“Someone start talking,” she hissed, lifting the towel away to check his bleeding brow.
“Burke made me an offer I couldn’t refuse,” Tom replied with a grin.
“An offer?” Her eyes darted to Burke. “What is he talking about?”
Burke ignored Tom, bandaging his knuckles with a practiced hand. “Hart needed the win more.”
“What? Why?”
“Because the gorgon was watching,” Burke replied. “And we needed to show our dashing Perseus in the best possible light. Losing to a lower-ranking officer in a charity boxing match was not the way to win her heart.”
She glanced between the two of them, her frustration rising. “Oh, you two are ridiculous! You cannot scheme so willy-nilly, or you risk making things even worse. Do you both now require a chaperone? Tom could have been seriously injured!”
“When it works, I expect a truly heartfelt apology,” Tom replied, dabbing at his cut lip.
“I guarantee you it will not work. Olivia will not have her head turned or her heart softened by a round of bloody fisticuffs.”
Burke put a firm hand on her shoulder, his face lowering to her ear. “Then explainthat.”
