It took the Scot several moments before his wits returned and panic took over, enough for him to try slamming the door in Anthony’s face. A single hand was all it took to prevent the door from closing. A forceful shove and Geordie lost his hold on the handle, cringing as the door slammed into the wall.
Fury and anxiety mixed sickeningly in Geordie’s gut. The Englishman hadn’t looked this strong froma distance. He hadn’t looked this dangerous either. And he was supposed to be dead, or at least seriously wounded, at the very least intimidated by knowing he had a deadly enemy in Geordie Cameron. Roslynn was supposed to have panicked and left the protection of the house on Piccadilly, and Wilbert and Thomas Stow would be there to grab her. The Englishman wasnotsupposed to show up at his door, looking disgustingly healthy, lips turned up in an ominous smile that did more to shake Geordie than anything else.
“I’m glad we don’t have to waste time introducing ourselves, Cameron,” Anthony said as he stepped into the room, forcing Geordie to back up. “I would have been disappointed to have to explain why I’m here. And I’ll give you a sporting chance, which is more than you gave me this morning. Are you gentleman enough to accept my challenge?”
The quiet, nonchalant tone gave Geordie back some of his belligerence. “Hah! I’m no’ a bloody fool, mon.”
“That’s debatable, but I didn’t think we’d do this in the usual way. So be it, then.”
Geordie didn’t see the punch coming. It caught him square on the chin and sent him careening into his small dining table, breaking the spindly legs, and knocking over both straight-backed chairs as the table collapsed, Geordie on top of it. He leaped to his feet instantly, to see the Englishman calmly removing his coat, in no hurry. Geordie wiggled his jaw, found it still intact, and eyed his own coat on the foot of his bed across the room. He wondered how much chance he had of reaching the pistol in its pocket.
None at all, he discovered as he turned toward the bed, only to be spun back around. A fist slammed into his midsection; another connected with his cheek.He was on the floor again, not so quick to rise this time. He couldn’t breathe either. The bloody bastard had rocks for fists.
Anthony came to stand at his feet. “That was for this morning. Now we’ll get down to the real issue.”
“I’m no’ going tae fight ye, mon,” Geordie spat out, tasting blood where his teeth had cut into his cheek.
“But of course you are, dear boy,” Anthony replied in the lightest tone. “It’s the only choice you have, you see. Whether you defend yourself or not, I’m going to wipe the floor with your blood.”
“Ye’re crazy!”
“No.” Anthony’s tone changed, all humor gone. “I’m deadly serious.”
He bent over to lift Geordie to his feet. Geordie kicked out to keep him away, but Anthony blocked with his knee, yanking him up anyway. And then he felt those rocks slammed against his jaw again. He only staggered back this time, and had time to raise his own fists before Anthony reached him. Geordie threw a right and struck nothing. He doubled over as two successive punches sank into his stomach. Before he regained his breath this time, his lips were smashed against his teeth.
“En-ough,” he tried to get out.
“Not even close, Cameron,” Anthony replied, not at all winded from his exertions.
Geordie groaned, and groaned again with the next two punches. He went a little crazy then from the numbing pain. He’d never experienced a beating before in his life. He didn’t have the character to take it like a man. He started screaming, throwing wild punches. He laughed when one finally struck, only to find, when he squinted his eyes open, he had hit thewall, breaking three of his own knuckles. Anthony spun him around, and this punch cracked his head back into the wall. His nose was also broken, he realized as he slowly slid to the floor.
He thought that would be the end of it. He was beaten. He knew it. He hurt all over. He was bleeding profusely. It wasn’t the end. Anthony pulled him up by his shirtfront, stood him against the wall, and simply pounded away at him. And no matter how Geordie tried warding off the punches, they kept coming, kept landing unerringly.
Finally he didn’t feel them anymore. Finally they had stopped. He was slumped on the floor again, siting up only because the wall was supporting his back. Blood was splattered all around him from his mouth, nose, and several cuts on his face. Two ribs were broken. The little finger on his left hand was broken too, from one of his attempted blocks. He could see out of only one eye, and what he saw was Anthony staring down at him in disgust.
“Bloody hell. You give a man no satisfaction at all, Cameron.”
That was funny. Geordie tried to smile, but he had no feeling in his lips, couldn’t tell if he had managed it or not. But he did manage a single word.
“Bastard.”
Anthony grunted and hunkered down in front of him. “You want some more?”
Geordie moaned. “No—no more.”
“Then pay attention, Scotsman. Your life may very well depend upon it, because if I have to come looking for you again, I won’t use my fists next time. She’s mine now, and so’s her inheritance. I married her a week ago.”
That penetrated Geordie’s fuzziness. “Ye’re lying!She’d no’ have wed ye unless ye signed that stupid contract of hers, and nae mon in his right mind would’ve done that.”
“There you’re wrong, dear boy. I did sign it, and in front of witnesses, then promptly burned it after the ceremony.”
“Ye couldna. No’ wi’ witnesses.”
“Did I neglect to say the witnesses were related to me?” Anthony taunted.
Geordie tried to sit up farther, but couldn’t. “Sae what? She’ll still be having it all back when I make her a widow.”
“You just don’t learn, do you?” Anthony said, grabbing hold of Geordie’s shirtfront again.
