“Oh God!” Gabriella closed her eyes.
“My Lady?” it was Coventry speaking. “Do you wish to leave?”
Her eyes sprang open. “No!” She’d come to support the man she loved, and so she would, no matter how barbaric the sport was turning out to be.
“Let us know if you change your mind,” Richardson said.
She would not. Her sensibilities might not be as sturdy as most of those present, but she wasn’t about to abandon Raphe to this mob of people who took pleasure in watching two men draw blood from each other. Whatever the outcome, she would be there for him when it was over. No matter how much she longed to sit down and rest her foot. So she stayed, spine straight and eyes staring forward with a new determination to see it all, no matter how difficult this proved at times.
As the fight went on and the fighters began looking equally beaten, one thing became startlingly clear: the Bull might be the larger of the two, but when it came to skill and technique, Raphe was a much better fighter. Watching him, the way he occasionally tricked his opponent into going one way before doubling back and taking advantage, filled Gabriella with a new sort of admiration for him.
But, just as she’d marveled at his ability, she watched him collapse in the next instant as the Bull planted a punch to his face. A hush swept over the crowd, and Gabriella’s heart lurched with uncomfortable alarm as she tried to determine if Raphe was all right or not. But then cheers erupted again and he was back on his feet, ready to commence the next round.
He did so by flooring the Bull with a brutal punch of his own.
Gabriella cheered. Somehow he’d managed to rally himself. But it wasn’t over yet. The Bull would not be taken out so easily, and was on his feet again soon enough. It continued like this, round after round, the two men punching each other until both looked exhausted. Still, the spectators cheered and whistled in support of their favorite.
By the thirty-ninth round, Raphe was looking so battered that Gabriella had already begun making plans for his recuperation, from bed rest to ice packs, and possibly even a few stitches. If it were up to her, there would have been a stop to this madness half an hour ago, at least. But since there was nothing she could do right now, she tried to think of what she could do after.
The Bull staggered forward, swinging his fist, but Raphe managed to dodge it and land one of his own instead. Two more punches followed, and then the final blow by Raphe, straight to the Scotsman’s face. The Bull collapsed like a tree felled by an axe, and the end of the fight was counted off by the man in scarlet.
“We’ve a new champion!” he declared, grabbing Raphe by the wrist and shoving his hand up into the air. “I declare Mr. Matthews the victor!”
Cheers swept through the air, so loud that Gabriella imagined the sound reaching Mayfair. Thank God it was finally over. “Can we go see him now?”
“I—” Coventry began, then stopped with a frown.
“Can you believe it?” a man was saying.
“Bloody hell,” Coventry murmured, his eyes following the individual with obvious concern.
“What is it?” Gabriella asked.
“That’s Mr. Lewis. From the Mayfair Chronicle,” Richardson said.
It was right before Gabriella heard the reporter say, “This will make one hell of a headline! The Duke of Huntley fighting for Carlton Guthrie—I can’t bloody believe it!”
“Might be worth looking into his background,” Lewis’s companion was saying as they moved away. “I’m sure there’s a juicy story there.”
“That’s not good,” Gabriella heard herself say.
“No, it isn’t,” Coventry agreed. “Stay with her ladyship, Richardson. I’m going after them.”
“Do you think he’ll be able to stop them?” Gabriella asked as she and Richardson made their way toward the area where Raphe would be resting.
“I doubt it,” Richardson told her grimly. “Reporters don’t care about anything other than the next big story, and this one is huge.”
“His reputation—”
“Was at risk to begin with, but Huntley knew what coming here today might mean for him and his family. Perhaps you ought to consider what it will mean for you tomorrow, when this story hits the paper.”
“I’ve already done so,” Gabriella told him firmly, “and I’m not going anywhere.
Chapter 33
Raphe felt like a broken man. He’d known the moment he’d seen his opponent that the fight would be his most difficult one yet, but bloody hell! His right arm hung limply from his shoulder, his knuckles raw from punching a surface as hard as granite. His face was throbbing in pain. Not to mention his chest. Dear God, there was a very good chance the Scotsman had broken a rib, or at least cracked one. At any rate, his entire body pulsed and ached as though he’d just been stampeded by a runaway herd of cattle.
Raising his fingers to his lower lip, he flinched in response to the sting, his back straining against the movement. He could still taste the blood, fresh on his tongue. It was a tender spot that would take time to heal.
“Let’s have a look at you, then,” the doctor said after finishing up with the Bull, whose name had been revealed as Thomas MacFrayden. Poor man had to be carried down on the cot that had been prepared for recuperation.
Squinting up at the doctor through partially swollen eyes, Raphe nodded consent. As much as he cursed the day his father had struck a bargain with Guthrie, Raphe had to thank the man for ensuring that he and MacFrayden were treated properly after the fight.
“I’d say you’ve seen better days, but I don’t think you need to hear that,” the doctor said as he took a seat across from Raphe and began looking him over. “You’ve some nasty contusions, one here on your eyebrow, the other a bit lower, but they ought to go away in about a week.” Setting his hand against Raphe’s chin, he tilted his head slightly. “The cut at your temple and the one on your lip will have to be stitched up, though. It won’t be pretty, and it’ll hurt like the devil.”
“And if I just leave it alone?” Raphe muttered.
The doctor responded with a shrug. “It may get infected, and then you’ll have a whole other level of hell to deal with.” Raphe snorted. “Not to mention that your arm appears to have come out of its socket. Shall I pop it in for you? Or would you rather wait and see if it manages to find its own way back?”
Raphe clenched his jaw, ignoring the spark of agony that tiny movement made. “Put it back in its socket and stitch me up.”
“Some brandy?” Guthrie asked some time later, offering Raphe a small flask as the doctor put in the final stitch and tied a knot. He’d gone to calculate his profits, but was now back with a wide grin on his face.
Raphe nodded, his ability to speak still lost in the wake of the doctor’s rough handling. Thank God it was finally over. He tested his arm again, then reached for the bottle and took a long draft. “Thank you,” he told the doctor, who gathered his things with a tight smile before moving away.
“Ye fought well,” Guthrie said as he claimed the chair the doctor had used. “I’m proud of ye. An’ grateful too. In fact, I’ll be sorry to let ye go, but a deal’s a deal, laddy. Ye’ve earned yer freedom fair ’n’ square.”
It felt strange. Raphe took another sip of the brandy before handing the flask back to Guthrie. “Thank ye. I think.”
Guthrie grinned. “What’ll ye do with yerself now that yer fightin’ days are over?”
“Get married. Live a normal life.”
“Ye’re a duke, Raphe. Yer life won’t ever be normal again. But I do wish ye luck. An’ if ye’re ever passin’ through St. Giles, I’ll buy ye a beer.”
“And I suppose pigs will fly as well, will they?”
Grinning, Guthrie tipped his hat and strode away just as Gabriella burst into the tent. She halted the moment she saw him, her features twisting as her gaze slid over him.
He rose to greet her. “Good heavens.” She whispered the words across her rosy lips as she came toward him hesitan
tly, as though she feared injuring him further.
“I’ll be all right in a week or so. Right as rain before the wedding, at least.”
For some reason this made her eyes shimmer and her lip tremble and then, without knowing how it had happened, she was in his arms, kissing him as though they weren’t surrounded by other people and it weren’t the most inappropriate thing in the world. Raphe didn’t care. He was grateful for her attention.
“I’m so sorry,” she murmured against his mouth. Then, in an even lower whisper, “Reporters from the Mayfair Chronicle watched the fight. They recognized you and talked about further investigation. Coventry’s trying to stop them, but I doubt he’ll succeed.”
“I feared as much.” Cupping her cheek, he gazed into her clear blue eyes. “Do you think we can brave it?”
She responded with a solid nod. “Of course. We can get through anything together.”
Grateful beyond words that she’d come into his life, he kissed her again. Scandal, it would seem, would be inevitable, and it was time for him to accept that instead of constantly trying to prevent it. He was still a wealthy, titled man, after all, so his sisters would manage somehow. And he had Warwick and Coventry on his side too, not to mention the most important person in the world—Gabriella, the woman he loved. Together, they would fight whatever battles might come their way, content with the fact that no matter what, they would always have each other.
Gloucester, three weeks later
Accepting the arm Raphe offered her with a joyous smile, Gabriella left the church with her husband as those nearest and dearest wished them both well. They’d left London two days after Raphe’s fight with the intention of visiting Victoria and Ben as planned. But rather than return to London for the wedding as they’d initially intended, they’d decided to remain in Gloucester with Gabriella’s parents after the news of the fight spread.
It had all begun with the article that appeared in the Mayfair Chronicle titled: Huntley’s Bloody Brawl. A number of speculations regarding Raphe’s relationship to Guthrie and how he’d come to fight for him in the first place had been raised. Further investigation into this matter will be required, the author had written, but the point remains that the Duke of Huntley has a speckled past that defies all comprehension.
Gabriella’s attachment to Huntley also received a lot of attention. With two daughters breaking off their engagements in quick succession, it is this author’s honest opinion that the Earl of Warwick’s family may not be as righteous as they would have us all believe.
Cancellations to Lady Warwick’s tea party the following week had begun to pile up within the hour, and by the end of the day, it had become clear that of the two hundred friends or so the Warwicks thought they had, they were fortunate if they had a handful between them.
“Hypocrites,” Lady Warwick had said that evening at dinner. “Everyone knows that the Countess of Chester takes many lovers, and that her sons have fathered numerous children out of wedlock. Good Lord! I daresay we could easily find something unforgiveable to say about everyone if we set our minds to it, and yet they treat us as though they conduct themselves with the utmost of virtuosity.”
“The difference, my dear,” her husband had pointed out, “is that they’ve had the good fortune to stay out of the scandal sheets, while our family and Huntley’s were allotted two full pages, complete with caricatures. That is not the sort of thing that goes unnoticed.”
Unable to disagree with that, they’d all agreed that a long sojourn in the country held great appeal, and had departed for Raphe’s estate ahead of schedule.
“Happy?” Raphe asked, his voice whispering against Gabriella’s ear as he leaned closer to her.
“Very,” she replied as he handed her up into the carriage that would take them to the inn where they’d elected to spend their wedding night. Huntley had rented the whole establishment for two days, leaving Amberly Hall to their family and the few friends who’d come to join the celebration. “How about you?” Gabriella asked as he got in beside her, his hand immediately seeking hers.
“Never more so than now.” And then he pulled her to him, kissing her as though it would kill him to be apart from her for even one second. With the roof of the carriage pulled back, they made a perfect display of newly wedded bliss, eliciting loud hurrahs as the carriage rolled forward along the country road.
Chapter 34
It took five hours of drinking, dining and dancing before the guests finally decided that it was time to retreat. As much as Gabriella had enjoyed their company, she looked forward to being alone with her husband, her arm linked with his as they waved good-bye to her parents.
“I thought they’d never leave,” Raphe said the moment their carriage was out of sight. Looking down at Gabriella, he quietly asked, “Are you ready to see our accommodations, Your Grace?”
A delicious thrill of anticipation swept through her at the mention of the room they’d be sharing. Feeling her cheeks warm beneath the heat of his gaze, she gave a slight nod. “By all means, husband, show me the way.”
His eyes seemed to darken as he tugged her back inside and led her toward the stairs. “Oh, I intend to.” The words, filled with a promise of decadence and sin, enhanced his masculinity in an elemental way that made Gabriella’s knees grow weak. His strength emanated from every part of his solid frame as he guided her up toward their destination, his muscles flexing slightly beneath her hand with every step they took.
“Raphe.” Her voice stopped him at the top of the stairs.
“Yes?” he inquired.
Turning to face her, his arm slid away from hers until only their fingers connected, the bare touch heightening Gabriella’s need for closer contact. She prepared to speak in spite of the nerves that danced inside her, but for some reason, she couldn’t seem to align her thoughts. So she just stood there, staring up at him while each exhalation of breath trembled upon her lips.
A moment passed, and then he curled his fingers around hers and raised her hand for a tender kiss. His eyes met hers, full of warmth and sincerity, the hungry desire she’d seen there a second earlier momentarily banked. “You’re nervous?” Forcing herself not to look away, she nodded. “Don’t be. What you and I are about to experience together will be full of love and devotion. Because of that, it cannot be anything but absolutely incredible.”
“But—what if I do something wrong? What if—”
“You won’t.” He shook his head with absolute certainty. “That just isn’t possible.”
She dropped her gaze briefly before returning it to his. “I’ve been told it might hurt.”
“Only momentarily.” He brought his hand to her forehead, smoothing away her frown before letting his thumb caress her cheek. “I promise to treat you with care, and to make it as enjoyable for you as possible. Trust me, Gabriella, the pain is brief. After that there is nothing but endless pleasure.”
“Really?”
He chuckled slightly. “If it were really that awful, women would not be as willing as they are to attract men’s attention.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
“Come on,” he whispered.
Unable to resist the seductive nudge of his voice, she followed him down a corridor to the room at the end, her lips parting on a gasp as soon as she stepped inside. Rose petals covered the floor, while garlands tied with cream-colored ribbons framed the ceiling. Candles had been placed along the walls, their glow creating an intimate air of subdued lighting. Everything was soft and inviting—an irresistible haven of pure romance. Awestruck, Gabriella uttered a single word. “Beautiful.”
The door closed quietly behind her, and then a hand settled carefully against her waist. “I couldn’t agree more.” He spoke against the nape of her neck.
A shiver curled its way along her spine, leaving nothing but heat in its wake. Gone was the reservation she’d felt in the hallway, now replaced by a sense of calm that soothed her from within. So she settled herself against his
strength, reveling in the feel of his hands moving over her. With nimble fingers he undid buttons and ribbons, pulled aside lace and silk, exploring every curve of her body until he’d revealed all of her.
“My God,” he rasped, turning her in his arms and taking a step back. “You are so incredibly stunning.” His hands went to his neck, tugging off his cravat before shoving his jacket from his broad shoulders. Both items fell to the floor behind him.
Gabriella stared, her own nudity and the self-aware timidity that came with it completely forgotten as she watched him hastily shirk off his waistcoat and shirt. Nothing could make her tear her eyes away from his impressively sculpted torso. Her fingers itched to touch him there—to slide across those hard planes of perfectly carved muscle.
“Go ahead,” he murmured, reading her thoughts.
Her eyes flew to his. Drawn by the fire that burned there, she took a hesitant step forward. Then another. And another still. He remained exactly where he was, completely still, save for the rise and fall of his chest. Raising her hand, she placed her palm against his beating heart. A gravelly sound rose from his throat, emboldening her to continue, hands gliding up over his shoulders and down the lengths of his arms, mapping every inch of exposed skin in an effort to sate her curiosity.
“You’re killing me,” he murmured, even though he still allowed her exploration.
Running her hands across his back, she pressed the tips of her fingers against the tight rows of muscle there. “You’re so solid,” she said with wonder, “so incredibly hard.”
He growled then, moving with a swiftness that would have knocked her over had he not decided to catch her. “You’ve no idea.” And then his mouth was on hers, kissing her with a pent-up passion that burst its way through her, filling her with nothing but thoughts of him and of how good it felt to be back in his arms.
A Most Unlikely Duke Page 31