Alexander dipped his chin once as he took off his jacket to roll up his sleeves. “Set it up, Johnson. He shall be aworthyopponent.”
Alexander had changed into his signature boxing trousers that were scarlet red. Hence his nameThe Scarlet Duke.Although, he wasn’t ashamed to admit he liked the notion that his boxing nickname bled over to the aristocracy. He liked keeping people on their toes.
“Ah! The infamous Scarlet Duke!” Duc d’Orlèans yelled from across the ring.
“Duc d’Orlèans, it is a pleasure to fight you tonight.” Images of the man with Miss Dowell flashed across his mind and Alexander’s fists clenched.
“The pleasure is all mine, gladiator!” The Frenchman winked at him.
“I wish you luck!” Alexander stared at his opponent and tried not to laugh.
Without the mask, Duc d’Orléans’s forehead was large and jutted out from the rest of his face. His nose was piggish and his lips swollen. His misshapen face was proof of his ability in the ring. One could not live with such features, continue to fight, and not win.
Alexander rolled his shoulders, relishing in the pops that released the tension gathered there as the cacophony of the crowd grew louder. He was more on edge than usual and this fight was definitely needed. The referee stood between the two men and went over the rules. Alexander smirked. The man could prattle on all night. They all knew there were no rules other than don’t kill each other. And sometimes that was a hard rule to follow.
Alexander heard the ring of a bell and lost all cognitive thought. His body responded to the sound by shifting to his left to avoid a quick right jab from Duc d’Orlèans.
The two men danced around one another, both throwing out punches to test each other’s abilities.
No matter what Alexander did, Duc d’Orlèans blocked or moved away from each of his punches. It was like the man was inside Alexander’s head and knew his move before he made it.
Energy swirled in his stomach and shot up his spine. His heart began to race. Visions of his sister sitting in her room by herself followed by Spencer’s look of disappointment from earlier played repetitively in his mind, distracting him. Miss Dowell?—
“Oof!”
The Frenchman’s fist rammed into Alexander’s ribs, throwing him backwards into the rope. Pain exploded from his side, blurring his vision. Alexander heard faint cheers and hollers from those gathered around the ring.
Damn it. Wake up, you bloody sod! You are better than this. Focus!
Alexander bounced off the ropes and lunged at his opponent. He threw a quick right hook before thrusting his fist into two rapid left upper cuts that left Duc d’Orlèans falling backwards to the ground. The sounds of Rosalind’s cries and pleas filled his ears as he pounced on the man and began to deliver punch after punch until his arms shook. Each strike was a release from his troubles and temptations that left him craving more.
“No!” he roared as a couple of hands grabbed his arms and hauled him off the bleeding Duke.
Just as they had when he tried to crawl his way to the overturned carriage all those years ago, tears stung Alexander’s eyes.
“I think you are done for the night, Scarlet Duke!” Johnson hollered into his ear.
Duc d’Orlèans rolled to his side and groaned. Alexander wiped the sweat from his brow and looked around. He was not done yet; he could go another round. He took a deep breath and almost doubled over in pain.
Perhaps not.
“I think you are right,” he said as he wrapped his arm around his middle section. “I think the bastard may have broken one of my ribs.”
Johnson waved it off. “I have seen you fight in worse conditions, but you almost killed the man. Take the rest of the night off. You’ve done enough for now.”
Alexander watched as two of Johnson’s handlers dragged the moaning Duc d’Orlèans out of the ring. Johnson nudged him and nodded to three women who were hovering by the other side of the ring. “Looks like the lasses are back for more, eh? Perhaps you can take your bottled-up energy out on something softer?”
He left Alexander alone standing in the middle of the ring. He looked over to the three woman throwing bedroom eyes inhis direction. Alexander lifted up the rope and gingerly ducked underneath to exit the ring.
“Ladies,” he drawled.
The three courtesans each took a step towards him, each wanting to be the first one in his sight. They were his favorites back at the brothel.
A redhead, a blonde and a brunette, the perfect trifecta.
“Good evening, Your Grace,” Tabitha, the redhead purred. “That was quite a show you put on.” Her eyes drank him in. He appreciated her hum of approval.
“What can I say? I was hoping for a challenge but, sadly, I did not get one.”
