Page 19 of A Deal with a Rake (Wicked Widows’ League #35)

Dutch shook his head at the three brothers. “The lot of you O’Brien’s are fucking mad.”

They laughed, Tavish patting the old man on his knee. “Indeed, we fecking are.”

The carriage stopped and he was out of the door, rushing to the warehouse, his brothers and Dutch behind him.

There was a row of carriages, and more arriving as Tavish pushed through the small crowd walking into the warehouse.

The large bare space was filled with spectators, rich and poor, bets were being shouted out, only increasing when Tavish entered.

He was only wearing his shirt and waistcoat, clearly not ready to fight, but he didn’t give a damn.

His eyes roamed the warehouse until he found her sitting in the middle of the ring.

Florentia and a beautiful Black woman sat side by side holding hands, heads held high, as they spoke to each other like they were having tea and not in the middle of a boxing ring with men standing guard so they couldn’t escape.

They looked more like defiant warriors than hostages.

Thomas, the footman stood outside the ring, one of the men preventing Florentia from leaving. Red clouded his vision at the thought of the bastard betraying her and handing her over to The Butcher.

He marched toward the shorter man, and grabbed him by his shirtsleeve. “You fecking bastard. I’ll kill you for betraying her.” He threw the footman to the ground standing over him.

“It’s what she deserves for tossing me to the side as soon as you came around,” he spat out at Tavish.

“That is not true!” Florentia shouted from the ring. “I tossed you to the side at least an hour before I met him.”

He jumped up onto the ring, pulling her to him, and kissing her, deep and wild, just like she enjoyed. She pulled at his shirt, moaning into his mouth, and damn her for making his cock hard before he had to fight that bastard The Butcher.

“You came,” she breathed against his lips.

His hand slipped around her neck possessively. He was never letting her out of his sight again. She was going to get right tired of him. “Aye, I’ll always come for you a chuisle .” He kissed her again not giving a damn about the growing crowd.

“Well, I see we’ve been rescued!” a cheery voice said from beside Tavish and Florentia.

He released Florentia turning to face her friend. A tall slender Black woman, with hazel eyes and a teasing smiled, looked from Tavish to Florentia.

“Yes, we have, Lady Woodmere, please meet the Duke of Summerset,” Florentia said, looking down shyly, her cheeks reddening.

The woman gave him a knowing smile. “Your Grace.”

“Hello áilleacht ,” Fionn said, jumping up onto the makeshift ring.

Tavish laughed at his younger brother, calling the bewildered woman, beauty .

“Oh…no,” she said, shaking her head. “Absolutely, not.”

“I knew taking the chit would have you running here like a bloody hero,” The Butcher said, walking to the center of the ring.

Ignoring The Butcher, he turned to his brothers. “Get them out of here.” He pushed Florentia toward Declan, who had climbed onto the ring with Fionn.

“No!” Florentina said fisting his waistcoat. “You can’t fight him. I-I just found you.” Her eyes watered with tears.

He cupped her cheek, pressing a sweet kiss to her lips. He’d never seen her so vulnerable and scared.

“Aye, and you’re bloody stuck with me, Princess.”

He passed her to his brother, who pulled her and her friend out of the ring. Turning, Tavish faced The Butcher.

The ugly bastard stood, his chest out, a sneer on his lips. Tavish unbuttoned his waistcoat, removing it and passing it to Dutch. His shirt was next.

“Don’t fucking die,” he said, his usual parting to Tavish at every fight.

“Not today old man.” He swiped the air with four brisk punches.

It had been a fortnight since his brother came and retrieved him from Scotland. It felt more like a lifetime to Tavish.

He met The Butcher in the center of the ring, noticing the warehouse now filled with half of London Society all dressed in their ballgowns and top hats.

A referee met them in the middle. “Keep it clean. Irish Style, nine rounds, one minute between rounds?—”

“We know the fucking rules, just move him when he’s dead,” The Butcher spat out, his cloudy gaze on Tavish.

Tavish chuckled. “You’re going to fecking pay for putting your hands on her, you bastard.”

“When you’re dead, I’ll make her my whore.” He leaned forward his fist up and ready.

Rage, hot and deadly raced up his spine, but he didn’t react. That’s what the bloody bastard wanted. Instead, Tavish chuckled, “She’d kill you herself before that happens.”

It was true. Though Tavish had worried for her, he’d known that Florentia was the type of woman to do anything to save herself and those she loved.

He punched his fist to The Butcher’s, and the bell rang.

Right to the face.

Left to the jaw.

Right to the kidney.

Tavish threw punch after punch at the bigger man, barely escaping the deadly right hook that had ended lives.

A punch to his temple had him seeing double for a moment.

“Tavish!” Florentia yelled from outside of the ring. “Move!”

He could hear the fear in her voice, and that made him even angrier at the massive man in front of him.

He stepped out of The Butcher’s way, barely avoiding a left uppercut, that would’ve surely knocked him on his arse. Right, left, right, it was always his da’s most deadly combination when he was a boxer feeding his struggling family in Ireland.

They exchanged blow after blow, until the round ended. Tired and in need of a breather, Tavish went to his corner of the ring. Fionn jumped in to be his knee man, and Tavish perched on his brother’s knee.

“That’s one brutal bastard,” Fionn said as Dutch passed Tavish some water.

Florentia stood at the ring, her friend, by her side. “Tavish, once this is over you are not allowed to fight ever again.”

“You’re ordering me around, Princess?” he asked, looking down at her, those green eyes shining and vibrant.

“Get that bastard down!” Dutch shouted, leaning into the ring. “The kidney’s the only way he’ll fall.”

“Aye,” Tavish agreed.

“Florentia! What do you think you’re doing?” a dark-haired woman with a pinched face lined with wrinkles, grabbed Florentia by the arm. “You’re embarrassing yourself, let’s go Primwood is here.”

“Get your hands off me, mother!” she shouted, taking her arm from the woman.

Tavish could admit that the two women looked nothing alike. Where Florentia was beautiful and fierce, her mother was disapproving and stone faced.

“Have you no dignity? Do you really plan to be this Irishman’s whore ?” Florentia’s mother spit at are.

Tavish was prepared to leave the fight, when suddenly, Florentia shocked him.

“Yes, as a matter fact I do, mother, and I’m going to love every second of it,” she said, boldly. “Now do us both a favor and never contact me again.” Florentia turned, officially dismissing her mother.

“You ungrateful little?—”

“That’s enough. You’ve made enough of a scene, we’re leaving,” A gentleman who greatly resembled Florentia said, pulling his wife away. “I’m sorry,” he whispered to his daughter.

She stilled but didn’t respond as she discreetly wiped at her cheek.

The roar of the crowd was near deafening as the bell rang, officially ending Tavish’s rest. It was a hard first round, The Butcher intended on killing him, but that wasn’t going to happen.

Tavish had a loud Irish family to live for, and a woman he was damn certain he’d fallen in love with.

“Bloody fecking hell!” his ma shouted, as she joined Florentia and Lady Woodmere at the ring side.

She was dressed in a fancy ballgown, a strange gentleman and lady stood behind her.

“I can’t leave you three alone for one bloody moment.

” His ma reprimanded his brothers as Tavish walked to the scratch line.

He chuckled at her language, knowing perfectly well where all the O’Brien’s truly learned to curse.

“I’m going to kill you right here in front of your precious duchess, your family and all the knobs that came to see the new duke,” The Butcher snarled at him.

“After I beat you today, if I ever see you a-fecking-gain, I will kill you,” Tavish’s voice was low and deadly.

He would not allow that bastard to ever touch his family again, and the fierce blond standing outside the ring, her green gaze locked on him, was his family.

Right punch to the nose. Left to the jaw.

Right to the kidney. Left to the kidney.

Punch after punch, round after round, Tavish stood toe to toe with The Butcher, beaten, bloody, but not defeated.

The entire fight his family shouted encouragements at him, Florentia’s deep husky voice carrying over them all, giving him strength to continue.

When the sixth round began, Tavish was nearly dead on his feet but he wasn’t going to allow The Butcher to win. Allowing that to happen would be accepting death, and he would not accept it. He had a life to live with his duchess.

His.

The Butcher swayed in front of Tavish, looking as tired as he felt. This was it, his opportunity to end the bigger man’s brutality once and for all. He wasn’t a murderer like The Butcher, but he would kill to protect the people he loved.

A left hook connected to his jaw, shocking him out of his own head. A right punch came at him, but this time Tavish was ready.

He ducked, then weaved, and then threw his own punch.

Right to the kidney. Left to the kidney. Right to the kidney. Left to the eye. Right to the eye. Left to the nose.

The Butcher stumbled backwards, blood running down his face from the cut near his eye. Tavish didn’t take a breath, as he pummeled the man. Left. Right. Left. Over and over.

“Knock him out!” Florentia shouted over the crowd, and Tavish couldn’t help the smile that came to his face at her blood lust.

God he fecking loved that woman.

His right hand connected with The Butcher’s kidney, once, twice, then his left shot out tried and true, connecting with his opponents chin, knocking him out cold.

The Butcher hit the mat, still breathing, but no longer a threat.

The bell rang, the crowd shouted wildly, the noise deafening. But none of it mattered to Tavish, the only thing he cared about was the woman running toward him.

“That was bloody brilliant,” she said, wrapping her arms around him.

He lifted her, bringing her closer, not caring that he was sweaty and covered in blood. He kissed her sweet lips, wishing that they were alone and not covered by what seemed to be all of society and the lower class in London.

“Marry me, Princess,” he rasped against her lips, not wanting to spend another second without her as his wife.

She reared back, looking up at him. “Is that your way of proposing?”

“Aye. I love you,” he admitted happily. “I’ve loved you since the moment you stepped out of that tub and faced me like a warrior princess.”

She gave him a cheeky smile. “You have a deal. I’ll marry you, but only because you’ve already agreed to belong to me and…” she added tightening her hold against his neck. “I love you too.”

Fecking bloody hell.

He kissed her, long and hard, not caring that they were suddenly surrounded by their family and friends, all he cared about was the woman in his arms and the future they would have together.

Forever.