Page 7

Alexander defended himself as he’d been taught, but it was as if he were fighting a hurricane and being battered from all sides. Though he rallied a few times, punch after punch was exchanged, and Pennyweather didn’t let up or give in.

As the match wore on, round followed round.

Though he gave as good as he got, Alexander’s strength wavered.

His stamina waned. Blood dripped down his face from a busted lower lip and a cut on his forehead.

He couldn’t remember how many wounds he’d sustained.

Sweat streaked into his eyes, stinging, and blurring his vision.

The summer heat enveloped him enough that he was temporarily dizzy, for he needed water.

His muscles burned from overuse. When would it end?

At this point, he couldn’t say. Though his body ached, he defended himself, for it was all he could do.

Then Pennyweather delivered a powerful blow to the left side of Alexander’s head and temple.

“You’re done, Wexley, and I’ll get to brag that I felled a Stapleton.

” His opponent slammed a fist into Alex’s abdomen that sent him flying over the grass.

“Leave boxing to the men who are much better than you,” the man said as he peered down at him.

Alexander lay on his back while gasping for air and hurting from countless punches. Warning bells rang through his mind, and his conscience screamed at him to get to his feet, but his strength was shot. He collapsed into the sweet meadow grass and closed his eyes.

Eventually, the judge came near with the doctor, and he counted down from ten while Alexander didn’t move. He couldn’t bring himself to care that he’d been beaten by an American; he simply hurt too much.

“Mr. Pennyweather is the winner of today’s bout!”

The crowd roared, for they weren’t picky when it came to watching men pummel each other.

Coming into the bout, Alexander had been favored to win, but the circumstances had turned on him, handing him a bitter defeat and allowing cold disappointment to lodge in his chest. When he opened his eyes, Pennyweather had walked to the center of the ring with the judge and referee holding up one of his arms each.

Some of the crowd swarmed to where Pennyweather held court, but Alexander couldn’t spare any feelings for his opponent. Instead, he continued to lay on the grass until he could regain his breath and strength. For a few seconds, he let the darkness shimmering on the fringes have at him.

“Alex!” A gentle tapping on his cheeks brought him around. When he opened his eyes, it was to see Duncan peering down at him, but he wasn’t alone. The redhaired woman he’d spied before knelt at his other side; she’d been the one to tap his cheeks.

Confusion gripped his mind. “What the devil?”

His brother snorted. “Viscount Wexley, this is Miss Lydia Tetford, the doctor’s daughter.

He sent her over to tend to you while he’s busy with Pennyweather.

” He shoved a towel into his hand. “That wasn’t your best bout, but not your worst,” his brother murmured, but instead of the disappointment in the other man’s eyes, there was a bit of worry. “How do you fare?”

“Not well. Took a fair beating out there.” For the moment, he didn’t look Miss Tetford’s way else he make a fool of himself.

“In that last round, it seemed you were distracted. Why?”

Why did his brother need to be like this? “No idea.” He refused to admit to being discombobulated from a wave by a woman, especially in front of her. Instead, he wiped at the blood and sweat on his face and head. “I need to train harder for the next bout.”

Duncan scoffed. “You might be killed if you do another bout.”

“I’ll show you I can do better.” And he would. He just needed to be more determined.

“Perhaps.” His brother frowned. “I need to go make nice to some potential investors as well as to encourage interest in the salon.”

“Work your magic, brother.” As his brother left, Alexander lifted himself up on an elbow and looked at Miss Tetford. “Thank you for taking the time to check me over.”

“It’s the least I can do since you men will insist on being nodcocks by beating the stuffing out of each other.

” She tsked her tongue, and for the first time he discerned a water bucket by her side along with a smaller container of water and rags.

“What you gain by doing that, I’ll never know.

” The faintest hint of a Scottish brogue lingered at the back of her voice, and he rather liked it.

“It’s in my blood. My father was a prize fighter.”

“Oh, I am aware of that. My father can’t say enough good things about him.” As she talked, she took a rag from the water, then set about to clean the dirt and blood from his chest and shoulders. “You took quite the beating out there. At one point, I feared for your survival.”

“It surely wasn’t that bad.” With each swipe of the rags, her touch aroused him, or perhaps he merely enjoyed having someone fussing over him.

Usually when women drifted near, it was because of Lewis’ body or Duncan’s handsome face and his charm.

They didn’t spare him—Alex—a glance, but then, his brothers weren’t there.

He gasped when she pressed hard on his ribs and then his stomach and abdomen.

“From what I witnessed, it was quite ugly, and I’m surprised you lasted three rounds.

” She certainly didn’t guard her words, but that penchant for plain speech amused him.

Then she leaned over him to clean up the wounds on his cheeks and forehead.

“It doesn’t appear you’ve broken bones, but you will look like a dog’s breakfast on the morrow with cuts and bruises. ”

The faint scent of lavender wafted to his nose, and it took all his willpower not to touch her arm or even her cheek to see if her skin was as soft as it looked. “Such is the lot of a bare-knuckle fighter.”

“Hmph.” Then she offered him a ladle of water from the larger bucket. “Here. Drink. You need it.”

“I’d rather have brandy,” he said, as he accepted the ladle from her. When their fingers brushed, heat shot up to his elbow and he offered her a grin.

“You’ll make do with water.” Clearly, flirting had no effect on her.

It made him want to chase her all the more.

After he’d drunk his fill, Alexander sat up, which put him even closer to her.

Damn, but she was oddly distracting and quite pretty, even dressed as a young man.

“What now?” The crowd milled about and Pennyweather had left the ring to greet his admirers.

The doctor talked with the judge and referee as well as Duncan.

As far as he could tell, none of the spectators lingered to talk with him.

Damned fickle men.

Her gaze flicked over his chest. “Get off the ground. You need to don your clothes and return to respectability.” When she rose to her feet, she offered him her hand, and when he clasped hers, she tugged him upward with surprising strength.

“Thank you.” Now that he was upright, the full scope of his injuries rushed over him.

Uttering a groan, Alexander returned to his corner.

He retrieved his lawn shirt from the grass and donned it, smoothing the garment down his chest. When he glanced at her, he frowned. “Why do you stare at me like that?”

“I am trying to weigh the consequences against the scandal,” she said with narrowed eyes.

“Regarding what?”

“This.” With a furtive glance about the immediate area, she then grabbed a handful of the shirt he’d just donned and swiftly pressed her lips to his.

Shock plowed through his chest, but before he could either return the gesture or reach for her form, she pulled away. But damn, those lips had been pillowy soft and tasted faintly of tea. “Why did you do that?”

Miss Tetford shrugged. “I wanted to. I’ve never met a boxer before, and I thought it would make me less angry with you and this silly sport if you were a good kisser.”

There was much there he wished to question, but instead, he asked, “Was I?” Because he was curious, and this sort of thing didn’t happen to him.

“Hardly.” She snorted, but there was a wicked twinkle in her cornflower blue eyes.

“I’m afraid I don’t have enough information and it’s too risky to continue to explore that here, but you are better at that than my former fiancé.

” She offered a bright smile. “However, I wish you well in your future endeavors, Lord Wexley.”

“I beg your pardon?” Shocked again, he sat down hard on a tree stump.

His mind spun, but it made him more than curious about her.

She didn’t answer, and instead handed him the socks and boots.

Desperate to continue their conversation, he blurted, “If you wish to know more about boxing, come by the Stapleton Boxing Salon.”

“Why? I find boxing far too reckless and bloodthirsty.” She followed the statement with a frown.

He tugged on his socks. “So I can thank you properly for patching me up, and perhaps show you around. I’ll do my best to explain and show you why boxing is a vital part of my life. Perhaps give you a lesson.” Did that sound too impulsive or make him look as nervous as he felt?

“I will consider it. Until then, go home, my lord. Rest. Your body needs to recover.” Then she left his corner and walked in the direction of where her father stood.

Alexander stared. What the hell had just happened?