A short while later, oblivious to her maid’s protests, Jessica stood on the balcony overlooking the inn’s courtyard.
“My lady, I beg you to come away,” Bridget pleaded. “It isn’t a fit sight for Your Ladyship. You’ll be ill, I know you will, and on your wedding night, too.”
“I’ve seen fights before,” said Jessica. “But never one on my account. Not that I expect they’ll do much damage. I calculate they’re evenly matched. Dain is bigger, of course, but he must fight one-armed. And Ainswood is not only well built, but drunk enough not to feel much.”
The cobblestoned yard below was rapidly filling with men, some in dressing gowns and nightcaps. Word had quickly spread, and even at this late hour, few males could resist the lure of a mill. Not just any mill, either, for the combatants were peers of the realm. This was a rare treat for boxing aficionados.
Each man had drawn a circle of supporters. Half a dozen well-dressed gentlemen were gathered about Dain. They were offering the usual loud and contradictory advice while Dain’s valet, Andrews, helped his master out of his upper garments.
Bridget let out a shriek, and scuttled back against the balcony door. “Heaven preserve us—they’renaked!”
Jessica didn’t care about “they.” Her eyes were upon one man only, and he, stripped to the waist, took her breath away.
The torchlight gleamed upon sleek olive skin, over broad shoulders and brawny biceps, and spilled lovingly over the hard angles and flexing curves of his chest. He turned, displaying to her dazzled eyes a smooth expanse of back, gleaming like dark marble and sculpted in clean lines of bone and rippling muscle. He might have been a marble Roman athlete come to life.
Her insides tightened, and the familiar heat coiling through her was a thrumming mixture of yearning and pride.
Mine, she thought, and the thought was an ache, bittersweet, of hope and despair at once. He was hers in name, by law both sacred and secular. But no law could make him truly, fully hers.
That would want a long and dogged battle.
The drunken Ainswood, she thought ruefully, stood a better chance of winning than she did. On the other hand, he did not seem overly intelligent, and her struggle wanted brains, not brawn.
Jessica did not lack brains, and the mouthwatering sight below constituted more than sufficient motivation.
She watched one of the men secure Dain’s left arm in a makeshift sling. Then the two combatants stood up to each other, nearly toe to toe.
The signal was given.
Ainswood instantly made a fierce rush at his opponent, head down and fists flailing. Dain, smiling, retreated, carelessly dodging the shower of blows, simply letting the duke come on as hard as he could.
But hard as the man came, he got nowhere. Dain was light on his feet, his reflexes lightning-fast—as they must be, for Ainswood was surprisingly quick, despite his insobriety. Nonetheless, Dain led him a merry chase. Blow after blow that seemed certain to connect struck only air, infuriating the duke.
He came on harder yet, throwing more power into the assault, trying every angle. One blow glanced off Dain’s arm. Then there was a blur of movement and a loudthwack!And Ainswood staggered backward, blood streaming from his nose.
“A conker, by gad,” Jessica muttered. “And I never saw it coming. Nor did His Grace, to be sure.”
Bloody but undaunted, Ainswood laughed and bounded back for yet another dogged attack.
By this time, Bridget had returned to her new mistress’s side. “Mercy on us,” she said, her round face wrinkled with distaste. “Isn’t once enough to be hit?”
“They don’t feel it.” Jessica turned back to the fight. “Until it’s over, that is. Oh, well done, Dain,” she cried as her lord’s powerful right slammed into the duke’s side. “That’s what he wants. To the body, my dear. The oaf’s head is thick as an anvil.”
Fortunately, her cries could not be heard over the shouts of the assembled onlookers, or Dain might have been distracted—with unfortunate results—by his dainty wife’s bloodthirsty advice.
In any case, he’d evidently worked out the matter on his own, and one—two—three—brutal body blows at last brought Ainswood to his knees.
Two men rushed forward to haul His Grace up. Dain backed away.
“Give it up, Ainswood,” someone in Dain’s circle shouted.
“Aye, before hereallyhurts you.”
From her vantage point, Jessica could not be certain how much damage Dain had done. There was a good deal of blood spattered about, but the human nose did tend to bleed profusely.
Ainswood stood, swaying. “Come along, Big Beak,” he taunted, gasping. “I’m not done with you.” Clumsily he waved his fists.
Dain shrugged, strode forward and, in a few swift motions, knocked the flailing hands away and planted his fist in his opponent’s gut.
