He had his fists up and the match started again, fists flying and the sixth round went to William, while she realized Sampson’s bulk only had him moving in direct lines, he did not bend and weave like William; something fully utilized to his advantage.
As William danced around the lummox, Sampson's punches slowed, and his footwork lost momentum. William looked like a renewed fire alive from its smolder, delivering quick, pounding blows to the torso, side, and abdomen that were finally beginning to have a conspicuous effect on Sampson.
“We might be getting somewhere,” Baron Thornbury murmured in awe, sliding an eye to Bridget. “Whatever you said to him worked.”
William leaped away from a blow that came after a feint and a swift hook sent the man to his knees.
“Round to Marauder,” the umpire said. “Five to three. Final round.”
“I will grind you to the ground, maggot,” Sampson spat.
With a snarl, Rollo launched at him with a hammering fist and William dodged the blinding blow, and with blistering speed, uppercut Sampson’s midsection to throw him off balance, flung a cross to his ribs, and with a mustering roar, sunk a left hook into Sampson’s temple, sending him reeling to the ground.
Thunderous applause came from the audience and Bridget clutched at her heart in relief.
“He won,” she swallowed. “He won.”
“Yes, he did,” Adam mumbled, taken back. “Because of what you said to him. What did you say to light the fire under him?”
“Only that I loved him no matter what,” Bridget said.
Something ran over Adam’s face, but she ignored it and turned as William gently slid out from under the ropes and headed to the room beyond, the man who had assisted him the whole time helping him inside.
Glances were flickering over her person as everyone knew she was William’s wife; while they ranged from inquisitive to judgmental, she ignored them all. The one thing she cared about was to know William was all right and all she craved was returning home with him.
“Your Grace,” Colin said, patting her on the back to get her attention before handing her a pouch. “For your bet, you have earned a thousand pounds.”
Her mouth dropped and her eyes flicked to him. “W-what?”
“I, myself, placed six thousand pounds on him,” Colin grinned while reaching for his champagne. “My winnings plus an initialstake added up to fifty-five thousand pounds. Handsome, isn’t it?”
Still shocked, she gazed at the pouch. It was more money than she had ever touched in her life. The room was busy as bets were paid off and more champagne flowed in the room, but she kept her eyes on the door, waiting with bated breath for William to emerge. And when he did, dressed, large cloth pressed into the cut over his eyebrow, he only had eyes for her.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” the umpire announced, grabbing William’s arm and holding it up. “The winner of the final match and of the fifteenth season of The Circuit is none other than the Masked Marauder!”
They presented him with a handsome silver cup and an equally handsome purse of a hundred thousand pounds, and while members of the ton wanted to speak to him, William barely gave them a second look as he crossed the room and gathered her in his arms.
Relieved, the world disappeared, and all she saw was him.
"I won," he muttered hoarsely, with love in his eyes.
“I knew you would,” she sighed, her face tucked under his neck. “Are you ready to go home now?”
“I want nothing more.”
The groan that left his mouth as he slipped into the warm bath made her chest tremble.
“Are you grievously injured?” she asked in uneasiness.
“No,” he dropped his head to the towel behind him. “Bumps and bruises. I may need a day or two and jars of salve to recover… but I think I will be alright.”
“You made Lane a very happy man this evening,” she replied with a smile. “And I have enough money to cater to my godmother for at least 3 years.”
“If it was not for you and those words at the end,” he swallowed, “I fear I would have lost it all.”
“Baron Thornbury supposed that you were distracted,” she mentioned in passing. Perching on the stool next to the tub, she plucked a bottle of soap from a ledge and poured a handful in her hand, then lathered it into his hair.
He moaned as she massaged his scalp. “I—it's nothing, my sweet, forget it. Keep on, please.”
