Page 109 of Courting Scandal With The Duke
‘I believe it will. Let us go.’
‘Are you sure? I think you will not enjoy it.’
She gave him a bright smile, while inside she felt a littlenauseous. ‘I am sure.’
‘You will need a hat and a veil. We would not wish anyone to recognise you.’
She smiled inwardly. ‘Naturally. I will fetch my hat and coat at once.’
Xavier tried to focus on his opponent in the ring. Thinking about Barbara’s refusal of his offer and what to do about it kept spoiling his concentration.
He had to find a way to prove to her that she was making a mistake by turning him down.
Because he wanted her as his wife? Was want even a strong enough word?
He had the feeling that if she did not marry him, he would regret it for the rest of his life.
And that was ridiculous. Wasn’t it?
Oh, Lord, what a mess. He seemed to be going around in circles. Anger rose like a hot tide.
Thwack!A blow from his opponent to his head made his ears ring. He refused to feel the pain. He danced back and looked for an opening.
Focus.
He landed a flush hit to his sparring partner’s chin that rocked Pimm back on his heels and earned Xavier a glare of anger.
Xavier reined in his temper. Boxing was a science not a brawl.
They closed in a flurry of fists.
A stir among some of the patrons watching him spar caught his attention. He glanced in that direction. A woman?
A glancing punch to his ribs made him wince and knocked the breath from his body. His sparring partner shook his head at him. ‘Keep your guard up, Your Grace.’
For a second, his brain did not believe what his eyes had seen.
Not just any woman. Barbara.
He took a blow to the stomach and went down to his knees. Pimm landed a blow to the side of his head. The room darkened.
Above all the other voices, he heard her cry of shock.
Someone shouted. ‘Bloody hell. The black widow.’ There were whistles and cat calls.
Xavier shook his head to clear his vision.
The trainer leaped forward and started the count.
Breathing hard, Xavier waited until the count nine and got to his feet.
There was blood dripping on his chest from his nose. Anger welled up in his chest in a hot tide.
His sparring partner put up his hands and backed away. ‘No more, Your Grace.’
The trainer, Able, a wily old pugilist long retired, climbed the ropes. ‘It is over,’ he said firmly. ‘I’ll be having no temper tantrums, Your Grace.’
His anger had nothing to do with boxing and everything to do with Barbara, who stood wide-eyed among the sporting men at the edge of the ring, a hand covering her mouth. Most of the men were looking her way, either in surprise or with vulgar leers.
