Chapter 5
Stage Four: Jealousy
Mechanism: Territorial Resource Guarding
Aim: To prove that the “sting” of seeing Subject with another is a primitive reflex to protect a perceived asset.
Method:
Observe emotional response to perceived competition.
Compare to reactions in non-romantic resource threats.
Expected Conclusion: Possession, not affection.
The smell of sweat and blood hit Alexander, making his shoulders instantly relax.
Grunts and groans were coming from further within the crowd where two boxing rings were outlined in the underground training club.
Not many people ventured to this part of town in the daytime, let alone at night, which was fine with him.
The Iron Pit was like a second home to him.
While practicing boxing wasn’t illegal, official matches were, which was why when he happened upon this specific boxing arena he was thrilled.
Rosalind and Spencer had shown their displeasure over his pastime, but he was drawn to it.
He could not explain why. It would take too much time to unravel that string, so he simply enjoyed the rush of taking his aggression out on his opponents.
“Aye, is it the Scarlet Duke I see?”
Alexander turned to see a rotund man with his signature cigar hanging from his mouth.
“Johnson! Got anyone for me tonight? I am feeling a bit wound up this evening.” Alexander rolled his neck.
Johnson chuckled. “I have a few lads that need to be knocked down a peg or two. You interested?”
Johnson was in charge of the Iron Pit when the boss, Rowan Hale, was not around. Alexander mulled it over. He was looking for a challenge, someone who would push him past his limits.
“Anyone else?”
Johnson looked down at the paper in his hands. He flicked it with his finger. “Ah. Yes, I do. The Frenchman, Duc d’Orlèans, is here, tonight.”
Alexander’s eyes brightened. He remembered the wiry man at the masquerade and how his hungry eyes had roved over the sorceress’s body.
Miss Dowell.
The thought of her made his blood hot.
Duc d’Orlèans was a notorious fighter because he was quick on his feet and his hands moved faster than most. Fortunately, he was not as fast as Alexander. Rowan had mentored him well.
Alexander dipped his chin once as he took off his jacket to roll up his sleeves. “Set it up, Johnson. He shall be a worthy opponent.”
Alexander had changed into his signature boxing trousers that were scarlet red. Hence his name The 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 in his 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.”
Alexander began to unravel his sleeves. His coat was slung over a chair next to the ring. He picked it up and hung it over his arm. There was no way he would attempt to put it on with his rib in so much pain.
The three women looked at each other. The brunette, Diana, stepped forward and ran her fingers up his shirt before snaking her arm around his neck.
“We missed you, Your Grace,” she whispered seductively.
“If it is a challenge you are up for, my friends and I can help with that,” Selina, the blonde, added as she twirled a strand of her long hair between her slender fingers.
Alexander waited for the familiar rush of heat and excitement to fill his veins, but, surprisingly, nothing happened.
He gently removed Diana’s arms from around him and placed a soft kiss on her hand. “Not tonight, my doves. I have something I need to attend to.”
The ladies pouted but he did not regret his decision.
“You know where to find us, Your Grace,” Selina said in a sultry voice when he walked away from the sirens.
As Alexander made his way towards his carriage, thoughts of bewitching green eyes and blushing cheeks filled his mind.
“What a peculiar little sorceress indeed.”
* * *
“Welcome home, Your Grace.” Mr. Carson, Alexander’s loyal butler, met him at the front door. “Did you enjoy your evening at the party?”
Mr. Carson caught on quickly to Alexander’s habits and pastimes when he became the Duke of Hawthorne. And the elderly man had learned not to inject any opinions.
“My goodness, Your Grace, what happened to you!” His housekeeper, Mrs. Weller, on the other hand, did not learn that sentiment.
Mr. Carson gave Alexander a look of solidarity but leaned in and whispered. “Your sister has kept her up with worry.”
Mrs. Weller’s face puckered. “I may be old, but I am not deaf,” she spat at the butler before turning towards Alexander. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but I am very worried about your sister. She did not eat much today and now I see you and you look like you were attacked by ruffians.”
“Just one,” he murmured.
Despite her older age, her eyes were still bright with little crinkles in the corners as she tutted over his appearance.
He took her hands to stop her from inspecting his injury. “Mrs. Weller, I am fine. I promise. Is Rosalind in her room?”
Mrs. Weller shifted on her feet. “No, Your Grace. She was feeling a bit cold, so we set her up in front of the fire in the parlor.”
He nodded to both of them before walking down the hallway to the parlor. The room was lit only by the fire, and his sister was propped up with pillows and blankets in her favorite reading chair.
He took in her features as he approached her. The light from the fire deepened the hollows of her cheeks. His heart squeezed. Though no physician had a diagnosis for what ailed her, no one could look at her and avoid seeing that she was in pain.
“Rosie?” He knelt in front of her and laid his hands on her knees.
Her eyes stared into the fire only a few feet away, yet they looked as if they were staring into the abyss. She made no movement to acknowledge his presence or his words.
“Rosalind?” He shook her knees a bit which seemed to snap her from her thoughts.
“Alexander, when did you return?”
She sounded weak.
“Not too long ago.” He perceived the bags and dark circles that formed under her eyes. “Mrs. Weller said you did not eat much today. Shall I fetch you some cheese or biscuits?”
Rosalind’s head barely moved. “I am not hungry.”
“Rosie, you must eat something.” Alexander pleaded, “Please. For me?”
His sister’s eyes drifted back to the fire. “I am actually quite tired, Alex. I think I will go to bed now. It is late.” She sighed as she tried to sit up.
Alexander applied pressure to his hands on her knees. “Wait. We need to talk… again.”
Rosalind sat back and rested her head against the side of the chair.
“What now?” she asked groggily.
Alexander pursed his lips as he stood and paced in front of her. He could never stand still when he spoke to her about her behavior.
“You need to eat. You need to take care of yourself. You need to get out and meet people. We have been here for a while now and you rarely leave this house.” He stopped and looked at her.
“You would have loved the party tonight. All the different costumes and dancing, it was exactly the sort of thing you would have loved to do before.”
A small smile cracked her lips.
“Before,” she whispered.
Alexander’s fingers itched to reach out for her. It seemed like every time he saw or spoke with his sister he was reminded of his greatest failure.
He dropped his head. “Yes, before.” His words were soft, devoid of emotion. He wished he had not left the boxing ring. He still had much more fight left in him, broken ribs or not.
He released her hands and wiped his own on his trousers. “Well, your debut Season has begun, so we will need to get you up and moving. Why don’t you and your lady’s maid make a trip to the modiste tomorrow so you may order a few new dresses?”
Rosalind sighed. “I know that it is my debut, but…” Her voice trailed away as she dropped her eyes to her fingers which were playing with a string from the blanket. “Could I not wait another year?”
Alexander’s heart sank. “Rosalind. This will be good for you, I promise. I was told that you are at a very delicate age and you should be out amongst your peers.”
“Who told you that?” she asked.
“Spencer.”
Rosalind snorted. “Yes, he should know what he is talking about.”
Alexander looked at his sister and saw something resembling a smile though it did not reach her eyes.
Yet it reminded him of their relationship before the accident.
One where she looked up to him as if he hung the moon.
They got on well back then when she was young and innocent, and he enjoyed spending time with her as the elder brother she looked up to.
He blamed himself for her growing up to be a frail, echo of a young woman in front of him.
“I know. I was surprised at his insight as well. But he is right. I think you need to be around young women your age. Buy ribbons, drink tea, or gossip.”
Rosalind raised a slender brow in his direction. “Your knowledge about women and our interests is lacking.”
Alexander chuckled. “Well, to be fair my interest in women lay elsewhere.”
Rosalind scrunched her nose. “I do not wish to know what you mean.”
“Nor do I wish to tell you.” He returned to his kneeling position in front of her, carefully adjusting his weight not to aggravate his ribs.
“Enough is enough, Rosie. I am your brother and I think I have given you adequate time to acclimate to the changes we needed to make. If you are not going to leave this house to seek friendship, I shall bring friends to you.”
Rosalind sat straighter in her chair. “You jest.”
He shook his head. “I do not. I will bring young women to you, and you will talk to them. It will be good for you.”
Rosalind pushed the blankets off her lap causing Alexander to stumble backwards. He righted himself before he fell completely but not without his rib stabbing him with pain.
“What are you doing?” He shouted with stars dancing in front of him from the pain.
“You expect me to entertain strange women in this house in my current state? Are you mad?” She said with disdain.
Alexander stood up, grabbing at his side. “Yes, I am mad. Furious even. I have had enough of this behavior, Rosie.”
Rosalind moved her head slowly side to side. “I will not meet them.” A single tear fell from her eye.
Alexander’s heart clenched more painfully than his rib. He took a step towards his sister, but she ran off and left him alone. His jaw clenched and so did his fists.
If she will not adhere to my plan then I shall go ahead with it, regardless.