“Forced? It was your choice.” Pen’s voice squeaked. “You were too chicken-hearted to face me, that’s what.”
A vein pulsated in his temple. “I will have my revenge, you know,” he hissed, spewing her face with spittle. Pen wiped her cheek. “I insist on another duel. Not with pistols, mind you. But with bare-handed fists.” He cracked his knuckles. “Or are you too much of a milksop to meet me with the fists?”
Forsyth and Pennington had gathered around them. “Prime idea, Blackstone. Where shall we do it?”
Pen’s heart sank. How was she to get out of this? “Our duel is completed. You backed out and apologised, and that is the end of it. There is no need for a repeat.”
“On the contrary, there is every need. A fist fight is excellent. Let us place bets immediately. Did you hear, gentlemen? The fight of the season is about to happen.” Forsyth announced to the room in general.
“What, what?” Forsyth’s general announcement drew attention.
“Blackstone against Kumari. Who wants to wager?”
Word spread like wildfire, and the room filled with enthusiastic men placing their wagers. Two groups formed immediately, the majority for Blackstone.
Pen broke out in a sweat. Her protests drowned in the general din.
“What is going on here?” Fariq had entered the room. “The rules say no brawls in these rooms. I will revoke the membership of anyone who starts a brawl.”
“Fariq! They want me to fight him in a fistfight.” Pen felt nauseous at the mere thought.
“Leave the matter to me,” he muttered under his breath.
“Fariq. You’re the man we need now. Record it in your books. The match itself will take place in Regent’s Park.” Forsyth slapped a hand on Fariq’s shoulder, whose face remained deadpan. “Surely you will not oppose us placing wagers?”
Fariq held up his hands. “I have another proposal, gentlemen. Why boxing? What is the excitement in that? Flesh punching flesh. No. Let it be what these rooms are for.” He pulled out a pack of cards and flipped them from one hand to the other. “Lady Fortuna’s favoured pastime: a match of cards.”
“Boring.” Forsyth pulled a face.
“The fist has more impact,” Blackstone slammed his fist against the palm of his hand. “Wouldn’t you say?”
“Gentlemen,” Fariq lifted back his tailcoats and sat in a chair, crossing his legs. “I represent Mr Kumari. If you agree to this match being one of cards, the stakes will be this.” He pulled out a scarlet book, raised a golden quill and scribbled down a number.
Silence settled over the room. Then a general din broke out of men scrambling to place their wagers.
“Very well, man. A duel of cards, it is. At what odds? Let it be good, mind you,” Blackstone said.
Pen glanced at Fariq, who lifted a hand with his fingers spread.
She ran her tongue over her cracked lips before saying, “5:1?”
Fariq nodded imperceptibly.
The men muttered. “This is playing deep. If Fariq represents him, he may not be the greenhorn he appears to be.”
“Very well.” Blackstone grinned evilly. “This, plus Fariq quadrupling the final winnings, should yield a good win. What say you, Fariq?”
“Very well.” He was nonchalance in person.
Good heavens. Pen exhaled a shaky breath. Count on Fariq to save the day. A match of cards she could do. Her eyes met his. There was a twinkle in them.
“Thank you,” she mouthed.
“Wait!” Blackstone raised an arm for attention. “We have to set a time and place first. When is this duel to take place?”
“Saturday in a fortnight, this location,” Fariq decided. “Be punctual.”
“Fariq.”Pen turned to Fariq with a sigh. “How on earth do you see this happening?”
