Page 3 of A Lady’s Guide to Scoundrels and Gentlemen (The Harp & Thistle #1)

D antes made his rounds around The Harp her grandmother was the dowager duchess.”

Admittedly, that got Dantes’s attention. In the unending gossip about the spinster, he hadn’t heard a family name mentioned until now. “Winthrop?” Dantes frowned, recognizing it.

Victor turned for a moment to slide the pints in front of two patrons, then wiped his hands on his apron. Victor was the oldest of the three brothers, and in this moment, Dantes noted the fine lines now permanent around Victor’s eyes. He tried ignoring this, knowing he wasn’t far behind.

“You think she’s related to Bernard Winthrop?” Victor asked.

“Has to be.” Dantes took a coin from another patron ordering pints and quickly filled them. “Maybe he can finally pay his debt.” Bernard Winthrop, the Marquess of Litchfield, was another regular of theirs, or at least he used to be. The idiot had stopped coming by months earlier when he’d made a large wager with Dantes, lost, and couldn’t pay up. Dantes didn’t need the money; it was the principal of it. He would have forgotten about it if it were almost anyone else. Like Billy, for example, or even Jack, whom he barely knew. Those lads were all right. But Winthrop was everything Dantes hated about the aristocracy. Arrogant, pretentious—as if the world existed merely to serve him.

So when Winthrop walked into The Harp & Thistle moments later, Dantes was sure he was hallucinating.

“Speak of the devil.” Victor’s voice held as much surprise as Dantes felt in the moment. “And the cad came with a woman. You think that’s his wife?”

Dantes stilled at the mention of a woman with Winthrop. The night Winthrop had made his foolish bet, a woman had come by with Winthrop’s father to retrieve the idiot when he couldn’t pay for his tab. Dantes had never found out who she was, but for weeks, he’d wondered about her, thought about her voice, that brief flash of her heart-shaped face before she’d looked away. He hadn’t gotten a good enough look at her that night and had eventually stopped wondering about her. She had clearly not been of his ilk and would never give him the time of day.

Regardless, he tried to get a good look at the woman in the purple dress but couldn’t see well, not in this crowd. “Winthrop would never bring his wife here.” Dantes was certain of this. “Perhaps it’s a mistress.”

“Oi!” A voice caused the pair to turn and see the youngest McNab, Ollie. Unlike Victor, and even Dantes himself if he were being honest, Ollie always seemed to be smiling. He was several inches shorter than them as well, and as much as their family had tried, Ollie could not shed the heavy Cockney accent he’d acquired as a child. “The crowd is getting antsy,” Ollie said. “When are we starting?”

A buxom woman clinging to Ollie’s side giggled into his ear as she twirled a lock of his brown hair around a finger. Ollie was also by far the favorite of women. No matter their class.

“Half hour. I have to take care of something first,” Dantes responded darkly. He turned to watch Winthrop weave his way over to the bar. Dantes grabbed a washed glass to dry off, needing to occupy his hands.

Ollie shot a questioning look to Victor, but as soon as Victor mentioned Winthrop, Ollie slipped away with his woman, clearly wanting nothing to do with the cad, either.

“Evening, lads.” Winthrop took a seat at the bar right in front of them.

And so did the woman in the purple dress.

Winthrop introduced the McNabs to his companion using their surname only and didn’t reveal who she was. And while Victor and Winthrop began chatting—Winthrop ordered two whiskeys—Dantes studied Winthrop’s companion. She was dark haired like Winthrop, unusually fair in complexion like him, too. And she had dark eyes—so dark, they were almost black. But of course, no one had black irises. He wanted to know what color they really were, and who she was to Winthrop.

What struck Dantes most, though, was how she merely looked at him the way she merely looked at Victor. As if Dantes were just another forgettable face blending into a crowd. There was no hesitating fear to hurriedly cover up, not even a vague sense of disgust.

It was peculiar, and his interest in this unusual woman began to grow.

Oh, he knew she saw the scar. It was impossible to miss. It started right past his hairline and went across his forehead, split over his left eyebrow, and went down his cheek, stopping at his jaw. It was deep and ugly and took up half of his face.

But this woman may as well have been looking at an eyebrow or a nose the way she glanced at it as if it weren’t anything of note.

This had to be her. This had to be the woman he’d found in the shadows.

Who was she?

“Dantes, did you hear me?” Victor interrupted his thoughts. “You’re by the whiskey.”

Without further hesitation, Dantes poured out two neat whiskeys for Winthrop and his companion, sliding them across the bartop. Victor caught his eye as he did this, holding his gaze with warning.

“Dantes.” The woman had finally spoken. Her voice was smoky. “That’s an interesting name for someone with Scottish heritage. Is it as in, Dante’s Inferno , perhaps?” She lifted her glass and gently swirled the contents. A lady nob who was comfortable drinking whiskey. Interesting.

Dantes looked her directly in the eye. Was she insulting him? Or making conversation?

“No. My name is Edmond.” He intentionally said this to anyone asking about his nickname to see how they would react. Most of the time they paused, confused, wondering if they were supposed to call him “Dantes” or “Edmond.” Or perhaps thought they had heard him wrong. Rarely, someone would figure it out after a long moment.

But to his pleasant surprise, she knew immediately. “I enjoy that book, The Count of Monte Cristo . Dumas is always a thrill.”

Dantes actually smiled at that. Victor coughed.

“I’m curious to know why you received that nickname, Mr. McNab.” She took a sip from her glass.

“Perhaps I’ll share the story with you some day.” Dantes held a protective blank face to give nothing away. But inside, his heart was pounding.

Winthrop, his conversation with Victor over, jumped in to finally introduce his companion. “This is my sister.” He glanced between the McNabs. “Lady Vivian Winthrop.”

She followed this up with a polite hello .

“Lady Vivian.” Dantes repeated her name, sharp on his lips yet somehow like silk on his tongue. Unable to help himself, he gave her a quick once-over, though when his eyes came to her lips his attention lingered there. Her lips were full, pink, lush. In the shape of a heart. He imagined her eating a strawberry and enjoyed that they twitched under his gaze.

“Do you always look at women like that?” Lady Vivian asked, causing his eyes to finally lift to hers.

“No.” He watched with pleasure as her cheeks flushed in response and gave him the tiniest flicker of a smile. But that was surely his imagination.

Winthrop jumped in, evidently realizing what was going on and no doubt eager to end the moment. He slapped both palms on the bartop, the sudden noise breaking the spell. “I came here tonight to make a wager. On the fight.”

“You owe me plenty already, Winthrop.” Dantes now had his full attention on the marquess. “I’m surprised you had the gall to show up tonight, to be honest.”

Lady Vivian gasped, but it didn’t seem to be at his language or refusal to call Winthrop by his titled name. She spun to her brother. “Is that why you brought me here? To use me as an excuse to go out so Anne doesn’t know you’re gambling?”

Winthrop leaned into her ear and said something low. “It won’t get to that, though,” he promised with confidence, patting her arm dismissively before returning his attention back to Dantes. The smugness on Winthrop’s face confirmed Dantes’s suspicion: the cad expected his sister to pay off his debt. Lady Vivian, however, was clearly trying her best to not be upset by this. In fact, she looked ready to leave.

But selfishly, Dantes didn’t want her to leave. Not yet, anyway. “All right, Winthrop.” He met the man’s eye. “One final wager, for the amount you owe me. If you win, you owe me nothing. If you lose, you owe me double. You’re sure you want to do that?”

Winthrop grinned easily. “Of course. That’s a foolproof way of canceling my debt. Sullivan is larger and heavier than you, McNab. And younger. You don’t stand a chance.”

“I won’t lose.” He never did.

“Lord Litchfield.” Even Victor clearly didn’t like it. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m serious,” Winthrop shot back before he took a swig of the whiskey.

“Can you even pay for that?” Victor motioned to the glass.

Winthrop reddened. “Of course I can pay for the drink!”

Dantes had his doubts. And it seemed like Lady Vivian did, too, based on the skeptical look on her face. Was Lady Vivian the Winthrop spinster who had the whole city talking? Perhaps it was another sister, or a cousin?

No.

Dantes didn’t need to ask to know it was her. It was the sole reason Winthrop had brought her here. Now that she was swimming in money, Winthrop’s debt was pennies to her. And as Dantes watched the pompous cad laugh over some inane story he told, Dantes decided he wouldn’t accept Lady Vivian’s money. He wasn’t going to take advantage of her, even if her own flesh and blood would. Even Dantes possessed a small shred of decency.

“Have you ever watched a fight before?” Dantes turned the question to Lady Vivian, though he could hazard a guess. Society women didn’t go to fights, even the women society had forgotten about.

“No.” Lifting her glass to take a drink, she didn’t flinch at the burn. She set the glass back down. “I don’t usually go to pubs, either, but Bernard knew I’ve had a taxing week and thought I would enjoy a night out. I didn’t realize there were ulterior motives to the outing.” She shot her brother a glare. He pretended not to notice.

“Would you like to watch right up front of the ring?” Dantes took a risk and looked at Victor, who lifted his eyebrows sky high at this.

But it seemed to pique her interest and she turned to Winthrop, as if asking if he wished to go, too.

“No Winthrop, though. Just you, Lady Vivian,” Dantes added, eliciting a deep frown from Winthrop.

Lady Vivian seemed to notice how much her brother disliked this and gave Dantes a smug smile. “I would love to, Mr. McNab, thank you.”

When it was time for Dantes and Sullivan to head down, Dantes led Lady Vivian along. Out of what to be habit for a proper lady, she placed her gloved hand in the crook of his left arm. It wasn’t the kind of casual contact he was accustomed to, and it made him far too aware of her presence.

The crowd wasn’t allowed through yet, so it was much quieter downstairs than up in the pub. He led her to his corner of the ring, where a towel and water already waited. He took a few deep gulps of water and noticed Lady Vivian eyeing Sullivan with evident trepidation, though he understood why. Sullivan wasn’t called “the Irish Goliath” for no reason.

“How violent do these fights get?” Lady Vivian asked quietly, still studying his opponent. Unable to help himself, Dantes took the moment to admire the deep neckline of her dress. Why women wore clothing up to their jaws by day, only to reveal themselves by night, he could never understand. In this moment, though, he was glad to be on the evening side of fashion.

“Well, they’re fights.” He looked back up to her face just as she turned around. “And we don’t use gloves.”

Her mouth opened slightly in surprise. “Is that safe?”

He grinned. “Nope.”

“Why do you do it, then?”

He shrugged, leaning back against the ring. “It’s exciting.”

“But doesn’t it hurt?”

“Yes. It’s not too bad, as long as you don’t get pommeled flat, which I don’t plan on doing.”

Lady Vivian looked past him again to where Sullivan was warming up. Her eyes looked back and forth between the two men, only to land on Sullivan with a swallow. Dantes couldn’t wait to prove her doubt wrong and see the look on her face when he did.

Dantes stepped over to a nearby bench, unbuttoned his waistcoat to remove it, and set it down on the seat. He didn’t have a jacket, not in a hot, crowded pub. “You’re the woman from the newspapers, aren’t you? The one all those articles have been written about?” he asked as he began to unbutton the white shirt, noting with humor she looked away as she realized he was undressing in front of her. Her eyes forced their way up to his.

“Yes, I’m sorry to say.” Her voice was strained.

“Why ‘sorry’?”

“Because it’s been nothing but a nightmare. I prefer solitude. Quiet. And my house has been flooded with greedy men.”

He didn’t like the sound of that. But he knew the nobs would think it grand. “Isn’t that a good thing for an unmarried woman?”

“It’s supposed to be, but I was stamped a spinster years ago and I don’t care to give it up now.” This was topped with a sigh of defeat.

Slipping his shirt off, he turned to toss it on top of the waistcoat. As he turned back, he caught her staring at him. He felt like a king in the moment. “I can understand that,” he said, and her eyes flying back up to his. “I don’t care to marry either. My life is this place. When I go home I don’t want to hear a sound or see another soul.”

She smiled gently. “Exactly. Unfortunately, now I have no choice but to marry.”

“Why?”

“In order to keep the inheritance, I have to marry within a year. For love. I haven’t been able to find that in almost ten years. I won’t find it now.”

Interesting. “Can’t you marry anyone?”

She considered this. “Perhaps, but if I’m being forced to marry, I don’t want to just marry anyone. Maybe it’s silly, but even now, I hold hope someday I could fall in love.” She glanced around the large, empty room. “This is a rather strange conversation for the setting, isn’t it?”

Dantes laughed. He barely knew the woman, but from what he had seen, she was much more agreeable than her brother. If she held the same pompousness, he hadn’t seen it. “Your brother, the marquess, he isn’t a favorite of ours. But I like you, Lady Vivian.”

All she said was, “Hmm.”

Maybe he was laying it on too thick. “What happens if you don’t get married?”

“My brother gets the inheritance instead. I would then have to move back in with my father. Don’t get me wrong, I love my father, but…” She trailed off, not wanting to say the truth out loud.

“You want your own space. I get it.”

“Precisely. I’ve never had it before, and I don’t wish to lose it now. I suppose I could find a hermit to marry if I must. That way, we don’t have to see each other.” That seemed like the perfect solution to him, but what did he know?

Ollie shouted down the stairway that the crowd would be let through soon. Dantes confirmed he’d heard and began unbuttoning his trousers, slipping them down to the floor to step out of, not thinking.

Lady Vivian gasped and stepped back. “Excuse me, but what are you doing?!”

Dantes tossed the trousers over to the bench, embarrassed by her severe reaction. “I’m not fighting in a shirt and trousers. These are boxing shorts. I’m not jumping out naked in front of you.”

She turned scarlet red and began looking around the room, clearly wanting to change the subject. “I’m assuming this is your pub? Do you own it alone?”

“No, with my brothers. You met Victor upstairs already, and my other brother, Oliver—we call him ‘Ollie’—he’s usually floating around somewhere and not behind the bar.”

“I only have Bernard. Well, and my father, too. My mother unfortunately passed when I was a baby and Father never remarried. That’s partly why I never married, I think. I didn’t have a mother to help me with all of that when I made my debut. My grandmother did her best, but she was often perplexed by English society rules and directed me to do things acceptable in America but not here. Like, tell jokes. English noblemen do not like witty women, I quickly learned.”

Considering the nobs he knew, he was not surprised by this bit. “What was it like, being raised by only your father?”

Lady Vivian took a moment to consider the question. “He was rather hands-off, letting nannies and governesses raise us while he hid from the world managing the estate. Then of course, my brother was sent to boarding school and wasn’t around most of the time. My friends’ fathers acted similarly but would still be present for many evenings as well as parties. Mine, meanwhile, was simply never home.”

Dantes wasn’t going to say this, but he remembered, before Ollie had been around, the long work hours his own father had put in and how much he and Victor had disliked it.

She continued. “Bernard and I once got into trouble because we stole from a toy store. It was nothing big—a small, wooden duck that fit in my palm. When our nanny realized what we had done, she pulled us by our ears up to his office, where he locked himself in the rare event he was home. Father politely told us not to do it again and gave the toy store a check for I’m sure was an exorbitant amount. That Christmas was the wealthiest Christmas we ever had, which is saying something.”

“He solved problems with money,” Dantes observed aloud.

Lady Vivian nodded. “We’re much closer now. He’s a good person with a tender heart, at least toward Bernard and me, but he still doesn’t know how to solve problems that involve us.” This ended with a light laugh.

Dantes held her gaze, feeling unsettled. “It was because of grief, wasn’t it? He was drowning in grief.”

She swallowed. “Yes.”

“I immediately recognized it. My own mother died too, though when I was eight.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that.” Lady Vivian’s voice and downturned expression seemed genuine in their regret for him, which was oddly refreshing. Dantes rarely shared this history with people because when he did, they always forced fake pity. Of course, he wasn’t going to mention that his father was long dead too—it would only make this entire conversation far more personal and depressing. And yet something about her made him want to keep talking.

“Thank you.” Dantes turned his gaze out over the large, empty room. While there were benches up front for their best guests—usually high-stakes gamblers, but occasionally, as in Lady Vivian’s case, someone invited to the front—the room was mostly empty, concrete floor.

“What happened with your mother, if you don’t mind me asking?” Immediately, he regretted the question. While he did want to know about Lady Vivian’s mother since they shared that loss, she would likely want to know about his and he didn’t want to tell her. It had taken many years for him to accept what had happened and to not be angry with his mother. Now, instead of anger, he felt strangely protective of her memory. People judged her on who she’d been the last few years of her life, as if she hadn’t existed before then.

“No, I don’t mind you asking.” Lady Vivian clasped her hands together in front of her. “My mother perished of influenza when I was only a few months old.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “What about your mother?”

Frantically, he tried to figure out what to say and blurted out the half-truth, “Childbirth,” before turning to his water. He took a long gulp, keeping his back toward her.

Lady Vivian was quiet, perhaps sensing something was being left out. But she passed over the moment, to his abject relief. “When I was a child, and after my nanny tucked me in for bed, I would stay up for hours daydreaming about a life with my mother in it. You know, her crouching down and buckling my shiny, black shoes. Walking me around the garden and showing me the different flowers. Taking me to her friends’ tea parties.” Dantes turned back around to find her smiling up at him. “I had quite the imagination.”

It felt as if she could see into him. “I did the same thing,” Dantes replied, feeling a kinship with this woman now. “But it was more going to football matches, not looking at flowers.” And to his absolute surprise, he kind of, sort of, smiled.

And Lady Vivian’s small smile became large and genuine, a beam of light, causing something within him to stir.

Dantes scratched his eyebrow. “My brothers and I were mostly raised by our grandparents. Really, I should say boarding schools. Believe it or not, you and I may have met during one of the seasons. What year was your debut?”

She blinked with surprise. “1878. But we didn’t. I don’t understand—how were you involved in any seasons? You’re not from the nobility. I would have remembered you.”

He ignored her question. “Why, because of this?” Pushing away the humiliation that wanted to rise, he pointed at the deep scar on his face.

“No.” Lady Vivian watched where he pointed but didn’t elaborate.

“Hmm.” Dantes lowered his eyelids halfway, winning another grin from her.

The sound of the crowd began to echo down the large stairway. They were still roped back at the top but being corralled to head down. Dantes needed to start warming up. “You know, Lady Vivian, your brother is going to be one thousand pounds in debt after tonight.”

She looked at the ground. “That’s why he brought me here. Well, I know that now, at least. I was surprised he wanted to spend time with me tonight, but he didn’t really, did he?” She began to wring her hands together. “I’m sorry. I’m still emotional over losing my grandmother. Bernard doing this is hitting me when I’m still raw. Normally, I could give a rat’s bottom what he does.” She stiffened. “Goodness, I don’t even know you. I shouldn’t be burdening you with all of this silly stuff!”

“You’re not burdening me.” He meant it. “And it’s not silly, either.”

She studied him, as if a bit skeptical, but it was true. He liked talking to her, wished he could hear more. But unfortunately, he couldn’t. “I do have to go now.” He gripped the rope behind him. “But I know Winthrop expects you to cover his debt, and I won’t accept your money. I don’t care how much money you have—I’m not going to take it. I’ll only accept payment from the marquess himself.”

Lady Vivian’s mouth opened ever so slightly, but she didn’t argue.

He let go of the rope. “I hope you’ll stay to watch the whole fight, but I won’t be able to talk to you after. It gets too wild. Make sure to find your brother, get home safe, all right?”

She nodded. “Good luck tonight, Mr. McNab.”

He gave her a crooked smile, but then his big mouth opened before his brain could stop it. “You know, it’s customary for a fighter to get a good-luck kiss before a fight.” It was, of course, rubbish. He had never asked for a good-luck kiss before. Had never heard of one of the other lads ask for one, either. Some of them maybe had a good-luck shot of whiskey beforehand, but that was it.

Unexpectedly, though, instead of a face twisted in offense, Lady Vivian gave him a grin of mischief. “Perhaps Mr. Sullivan would be up for your good-luck kiss.”

“Let’s find out.”

“Oh, wait. I wasn’t—”

“Sullivan!” Dantes shouted out over his shoulder. “How about a good-luck kiss before the fight?”

“Feck off, Dantes.” The barrel-shaped man didn’t even miss a beat.

Dantes couldn’t help but laugh, but when he turned back to say goodbye to Lady Vivian for the final time, he found her staring up at him with wide eyes and fidgeting hands. Almost as if she wanted to kiss him? But there was absolutely no way he was going to try that. A woman like her would never want anything to do with him and the face he possessed, and surely, she would slap him for it. Which he would deserve, really.

As he had this thought, she seemed to snap out of the moment and let out a small chuckle. “Does that often work for you?”

“What do you mean?”

She knit her gloved fingers together politely. “When you ask women for a good-luck kiss before a fight. Do they generally acquiesce?”

“I’ve actually never asked someone that before.”

Her gaze swept over him, clearly misbelieving, but mischief glinted once again when her eyes returned to his. “Well, that is quite the improper request, Mr. McNab.”

Though she said it in a playful manner, he knew he was toeing the line. Then again, it wasn’t as if he would ever see this woman again. He decided to toe the line further. “Very well.” He stepped closer to her and she had to angle her head back to see him, lifting an eyebrow in response. “Would a kiss upon your hand be acceptable? Because unfortunately, everyone expects me to lose tonight, so I do need to get my luck from you.”

“Why? Are you worried you will lose?”

“I don’t lose.”

“Surely, you could get your so-called luck from anyone else, then.”

“No.” He lowered his voice to a raspy whisper. “It must be from you.”

Lady Vivian playfully twisted her mouth in thought before lifting the back of her white-gloved hand in offering. Holding her gaze, he gently placed his hand beneath hers, but then he did something he knew she wasn’t expecting. With his other hand, he pinched the silk tip of her middle finger and gently pulled. Neither of them tore their eyes away from the other as he paused and left space for her to protest. Her eyes widened ever so slightly in realization of what he was doing and a faint blush swept across her cheeks. But she didn’t protest—she stared back at him, waiting.

Slowly, he pulled the long, silk glove off and it dropped down and dangled from his left hand. He glanced down at her bare hand contrasting to his. Where his hand was rough, scarred, callused, hers was soft, flawless. Like every other person of the upper classes, this woman had never seen a day of work in her life.

Her long, dainty fingers curved around his and he swept his thumb over the top of her hand before lifting the spot to his lips. He watched her as he placed a gentle kiss upon it, letting the moment linger far too long.

*

Vivian could only stare back, unblinking, completely stupefied by the moment. Mr. McNab had had the audacity to remove her glove and kiss her bare hand, and she’d had the audacity to let him!

Of course, it didn’t escape her that he’d given her a moment to pull back, to stop it if she’d wanted. The only proper moment exhibited by either one of them in this whole silly game. But she hadn’t pulled back, found she’d had absolutely no desire to, and in response, he’d given her a devilishly handsome smirk right as her hand had reached his lips, as his piercing, green eyes had locked with her own eyes, flashing the moment skin touched skin.

It was a mere kiss on the back of her hand, an acceptable greeting amongst polite society—that is, when the hand was covered. Innocent in the grand scheme of things. So why did it feel like the most intimate moment in the world?

As he lifted his face away and rose back up to his full height, letting her go in the process, she realized how close she stood to him in the moment. How had that happened? Moments ago, she’d been a few steps back. Now she was mere inches away.

Mr. Dantes McNab was a maestro of women, and she’d danced along with his tune without even realizing it.

The loud crowd began to head down the stairway, excited, drunken conversation echoing down and flooding the room. Vivian had mere seconds to respond.

She took back her glove and began to slip it on. As she pulled it up to her elbow, her attention lifted back up to Dantes. “Aren’t you quite the charmer?”

“When inspiration strikes, I suppose.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. It was all in good fun, after all. “Goodbye, Mr. McNab. And good luck, again, with your fight.”

Dantes gave her a tight nod. Vivian turned and began walking toward the bench on which she was meant to sit, but just like the first time she’d met him, she couldn’t help but glance back over her shoulder to watch his powerful form walk away. Surprisingly, however, he remained rooted in place, watching her.

Upon this discovery, she turned forward again, this time with a large grin.

Moments later, the large room was packed tightly with people. Vivian glanced around in hopes of spotting Bernard, but he was nowhere to be found. She returned her attention to the raised platform of the fighting ring and began absently fanning herself, the room now stifling hot from the sheer number of people. Up in the ring, Dantes was jogging in place, stretching his arms. A man approached Dantes’s corner of the ring—he was younger than Dantes, but as they talked to each other through the gap between the ropes, there was lots of back-and-forth laughter and deep discussion. It was clear to Vivian this man was his other brother, Mr. Oliver McNab.

Ollie reached up to clap Dantes on his shoulder and turned to head toward a bench farther down, catching her eye as he did this.

And he immediately tensed and looked away, scratching his jaw.

Odd, but surely nothing.

After the referee took his place, the bell dinged loud and the crowd began to cheer. Dantes lifted his bare fists in front of him, and a deep focus washed over him as he eyed his opponent. Across from him, Mr. Sullivan towered over the already towering Dantes, his own fists raised.

Sweat poured down both men as they began to circle each other, size each other up, trying to time the first hit. Dantes’s back was now facing her, and she could see the cocky smirk on Sullivan’s face.

She wanted to wipe it off him herself.

But what happened next seemed to move in slow motion. Dantes wound his fist back, the muscles in his back and arms flexing and cording with the movement, and he released his fist forward, connecting with Sullivan square in the jaw and stunning the enormous man. Sullivan’s head whipped to the side, droplets of sweat and spit flying every direction, and then the man immediately collapsed to the ground.

He remained lying there, his limbs splayed out in every direction.

The room went completely silent as the referee slammed his palm to the floor of the ring.

Counting out the seconds.

Calling out Dantes’s win.

As the crowd erupted, Mr. Dantes McNab turned around and grinned with triumph directly at her.