Page 24 of Lord Lonbourn’s Daughter

They studied each other. Darcy dealt a couple of left straight jabs to keep his opponent at a distance and block his attack.

Darcy feinted and landed a good blow on Hazard’s ribs, but the follow-up, a hook to his opponent’s jaw, caught air as Hazard astutely pulled his head back.

A stupid mistake, Darcy thought, but he erased the blunder from his mind in the next moment.

As Jackson would have reminded him, dwell on the past and you will die in the present.

Darcy hit the floor in the first three rounds.

The crowd grew restless, whistled and taunted him.

To the assembled throng, nothing was happening, but Darcy felt Hazard was tiring; he had lost a tick, as Jackson used to say.

Now was the time to pay attention. Don’t lose a tick, watch for that dropped guard, keep your eyes on the prize.

Be patient, take your hits, Hazard will make a mistake.

Fifth-round bell; Hazard had gone down twice in a row.

Darcy sat on the stool, tasting blood in his mouth from a cut inside his cheek.

Richard was back, massaging his sore shoulders, his voice washing over Darcy like a comforting hard ride.

He did not process a word that was uttered.

Sixth-round, a minute in, Hazard made another mistake.

His first major mistake. Darcy sent him sputtering to the floor.

A couple of teeth mixed with the blood, but Darcy’s hope of evening out the game ended in a right hook that made him see stars.

Still, he managed to haul himself up into a standing position.

Eighth round, he could not see straight.

He was knocked to the floor almost immediately, but the blow was not that hard; he was off-balance to begin with and rose quickly.

Ninth-round, he could hardly manage to right himself before he was knocked out cold for a few seconds, or so he believed.

He tried to get up, but Jackson had already called Hazard the winner.

He must have been out longer than he realised.

Richard hovered over him with concern written on his countenance.

Hazard had finished his victory roar and received his accolades from the cheering crowd. He walked by and offered his hand for a shake and to thank him for the match.

“I want a rematch!” Darcy barked.

Lord Hazard looked incredulously at him before he smirked and nodded.

“Certainly, Darcy. Name the place and the date. I shall be there. Shall we say another thousand guineas?”

“Yes. Right now. Rotten Row, the Serpentine ride. I shall race you from Queen Elizabeth’s gate to the West Carriage Ride.”

“Accepted!” Hazard shook his hand for the second time. Darcy winced at the pressure on his sore knuckles.

“This is madness, Darcy, you are in no condition to race!” Richard whispered tenaciously into his ear.

“I have no choice,” he admitted but did not explain further.

“You will do Georgiana no good if you are dead,” Richard hissed.

“Georgiana will be dead if I do not race Lord Hazard.” There, he had said it. The last of the miscreants’ demands—this time.

“What about Elizabeth?” Richard spoke in riddles.

“Elizabeth who?” he enquired. His mind was blank at the moment.

“Lord, Darcy, your wife! You are married! Can you not even remember?”

“Oh, yes, of course. I remember dearest Elizabeth. She is the most beautiful, bewitching creature I have ever beheld.”

“Exactly. You should go home to your ethereal beauty.” Richard sounded relieved, but he had no reason to be.

“No!”

Darcy struggled to get up off the floor. A couple of foul remarks were thrown his way, but he disregarded them. The pain in his body was more difficult to overlook. He had hardly an inch of flesh that did not hurt, though his face, chest, and knuckles outshone the rest of his battered body.

He sat down to change his clothes. It was soon clear that he could not manage without a little help from his cousin.

Hazard returned, looking for him.

“Come on, Darcy, I have not got all day!”

“I am coming,” he promised.

“This is insane, Darcy!” The colonel did not mince his words, but it was a futile endeavour to try to discourage him.

“Make yourself useful and have my horse saddled, Richard.”

“If you get through this unscathed, Darcy, I am convinced your wife will finish the job when you get home, and I shall definitely help her.”

“Ah, Elizabeth is not at home. She is at Bennet House, helping her sister assemble her wedding clothes.”

“Do not remind me…” the colonel growled.

“Where is Bingley?” Darcy suddenly remembered to enquire about his loose-tongued friend.

“I have no idea. He is a slippery son of a bitch and disappeared into the throng while you fought.”

“My horse, Richard. It had better be ready when I get out of here.”

His knee hurt like hell. He must have wrenched it when he blacked out. Mounting his horse would be difficult, and he was loath to do so with a hundred witnesses, but it could not be helped.

In the end, Richard gave his bottom a push, and he managed to haul himself up by his sore arms.

“For the last time, Darcy, go home!” his cousin implored.

He did not answer but spurred his horse forwards.

Swiftsilver obeyed but tossed his head nervously.

The stallion must have sensed his rider’s inattention due to a splitting headache accompanied by a bout of dizziness.

The animal pranced and skittered. Hazard noticed and smirked from his magnificent beast—a grey that he had reared himself.

Swiftsilver was by no means inferior, and he was in better condition than his owner.

By the time they reached Queen Elizabeth Gate, Darcy was barely conscious.

“You may pull out and pay me the thousand guineas,” Hazard offered graciously. Not even he found sport in beating a man who was already down, but Darcy could not allow it. He could not risk it.

A couple of Hazard’s friends seemed to have grasped the seriousness of his injuries and tried futilely to convince him to call off the bet.

Others were less honourable and continued to taunt him.

He needed neither because his mind was set.

Swiftsilver would do his job by a light touch to his flanks.

All he had to do was to hold on with all his might and try not to throw up.

Bile was rising in his throat, but he swallowed it down.

“No, we shall race, and I shall beat you,” he managed to croak out, straightening himself with the last ounce of strength he had left.

Richard was beside him, looking grim and worried. Darcy smiled at him, aware it resembled more of a grimace.

They lined up next to each other, and the sea of people parted to clear the way ahead.

Hazard looked devilishly fit on top of his horse, as though the fight had not done him any harm.

Darcy knew that the outcome of the race did not matter; the extortion letter said nothing about him winning, only that he must race on Rotten Row as soon as the fight had ended.

Darcy was thankful that Lord Hazard had accepted, or he would have been unable to accomplish the last demand to free his sister.

A respectful bow passed between them before both horses were spurred into action. For the first few yards, they were side by side. The horses were equally matched it seemed. Darcy held on to the saddle and the mane of his horse. He had not enough strength left in his thighs to trust them.

He was doing well; Hazard had gained a head but nothing more.

He was riding so hard the scenery became indistinct before it all went black.

He had not fainted; he could still hear the thunder of hoofs, smell Swiftsilver’s coat, and feel the sweat on his neck.

Then the world tilted, and he could feel nothing, hear nothing, see nothing, think nothing.