Page 14 of The Homecoming (The De Montforte Brothers #6)
“I see.” The Irishman slowly stripped off his coat and then his waistcoat.
“Since ye don’t deem me a gentleman, and since I no longer duel anyhow, I’m going to stand here and let ye take a swing at me,” he said, tossing the garments to the grass.
“Get it out of yer blood, get it off yer chest, let it out if only for the sake of yer poor sister who loves us both but who’s sufferin’ because she hates this animosity ye bear me.
This tension ye’re harborin’, this anger .
.. go ahead, then. Get it all out. Take a swing at me.
Give it yer best. But if ye do, know that I’m not goin’ to stand here and take it, and ye may well end up with more than ye bargained for. ”
Charles tore off his own coat and then tossed it to the ground, his mouth tightening and his eyes going cold.
Like others of the ton who practiced pugilism for sport and exercise, he knew how to use his fists.
With all the rage in his heart, with all the craving he had to avenge his sister, to punish this man who had taken her away from them all, he went after Ruaidri O’Devir, and his fist collided with the other man’s jaw so hard it sent reverberations up his wrist and should have dropped the bloody wretch in his tracks.
The Irishman didn’t go down. He simply grinned, rubbed his jaw, and a moment later, Charles found himself on hands and knees, his palms in the grass, his head throbbing and blood running from his lower lip.
He looked up, stunned. Shocked. Furious.
“You bastard,” he snarled, lunging to his feet. His wiped his mouth and then fisted his hands, already bringing them back up in preparation for a second assault.
“Don’t do it,” the other man said, taking a step back. He extended an arm, palm up as if to stay Charles. “I’m warning ye.”
“Goddamn you,” Charles snarled, and lunged for his brother-in-law.
In moments, the two were fighting in earnest. Through his rage Charles heard the children behind them screaming, his daughter crying, Gareth pounding up behind them and yelling for them to stop.
He couldn’t. Not now. He doubled down but could not get a blow in.
Circled the other man, looked for an opening.
And then the Irishman’s fist shot out, catching him beneath the jaw, snapping his head back and sending stars through his brain.
He staggered back, fell on his bottom, and saw O’Devir turn away, and through a wave of dizziness heard Amy’s screams as she came rushing across the lawn as fast as she could in her advanced state.
“Stop it! Stop it!” she cried, red-faced and panting, her eyes wild. “Charles, what is wrong with you? Stop it this instant!”
The duke and duchess were behind her, strolling hand in hand, taking all the time in the world.
“Well, well,” Lucien murmured, reaching down to help Charles up. “Such a sight for the children to have to witness. I daresay you’ve traumatized them all, especially your daughter. Honestly, could you not settle your differences a bit more … discreetly?”
“There is no settling them,” Charles rasped, swaying. He made another lunge for O’Devir, only to be caught by his brother’s iron grip.
“Enough,” Lucien said mildly, though his fingers bit into Charles’s wrist with considerable force. “This is unbecoming, especially in front of the children. And your wife.”
Charles wiped the blood from his lip. Gareth stood nearby, looking both stricken and sorrowful, Laura and Mary clinging to him.
His little daughter was crying, the tears flooding her cheeks as Charlotte, white-faced, tried to comfort her.
Charles felt sick. And Amy .... his wife had moved a few feet away and now leaned against a tree, her head bent.
She was sobbing. Eva went to her, put an arm around her and held her close, her voice low.
“Gareth, why don’t you take the children inside,” Lucien continued. “Calm them as best as you and Juliet can. I will attend to things out here.”
Gareth nodded. His voice cheerful, he hoisted Augustus up onto his shoulders and drew the children off, Charlotte walking beside him.
Mary and Laura each tucked a hand into hers while a grinning Gabriel, fearful of missing any more of an anticipated fight, craned his head around to look back as they all headed for the house.
O’Devir stood alone a little distance away, stone-faced and silent.
He bent down to pick up his coat and vest, and without a word to anyone, made his way back to the moat, presumably to gather up the sodden boats.
Good bloody riddance, Charles thought, watching his retreating back.
And if you think this is over, think again.
He shrugged free of Lucien and went to his wife.
“Amy?”
“I … I don’t feel well,” she said through her tears. “I … I—”
She cried out and the blood drained from her face as she leaned heavily against Eva.
Charles ran the last steps to her and caught her. “Amy!”
“I … I think it’s my time,” she choked out, her eyes huge with fear, and Charles stared open-mouthed at her, unable to take in what she had just said.
“What do you mean? The baby’s not due until next month, it can’t be your time!”
“Trust me, it’s her time,” Eva murmured.
Amy moaned and bit her lip.
“My oh my,” Lucien drawled. “All this animosity between you two has now taken its toll on your poor wife. For shame, Charles.”
“You blame me ?”
Lucien didn’t answer. Instead, he nodded to Eva, who put an arm around Amy and began to help her toward the house.
Charles, furious, insinuated himself under Amy’s shoulder and with a backward glance at the man who had caused all this, now knee-deep in the moat as he gathered up the paper boats and oblivious to the situation that he had created, steered his wife toward the castle.
He had despised Ruaidri O’Devir before.
Now, he just plain hated him.