Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Knox hadn’t really been telling a lie when he said he had somewhere that he had to be.
He needed to work off some aggression after what Astara just told him and since he was in between mistresses and didn’t feel like visiting a bawdy house, he decided he would better spend his time at Gentleman Jackson’s salon.
He was granted afterhours access, not just because he held a ducal title, but because the owner was a personal friend.
All it took was a quick note and John was more than happy to spar at any time of day—or night.
He was a renowned pugilist who had retired from the ring and now proved his worth as an instructor of the same skills.
But just because he no longer fought for the noted pride of doing so, he still enjoyed a good sparring match.
Knox was not humble enough to say he wasn’t proficient as a boxer because he’d worked tirelessly to hone his ability, but nor would he boast to say he could ever beat a man like John in a bareknuckle match.
The man was an absolute beast. Lord Byron had gone against him more than once in his fervor and found himself backing down after a few swift punches.
Tonight, however, focus was not on Knox’s mind, which was what it might take to actually defeat Gentleman Jackson.
Instead, Knox wanted to pummel something rather mercilessly.
While it wasn’t the man he yearned to punish for unnerving Miss Smith that evening, he decided to ensure he was up to the task when presented the opportunity.
He wished he’d had the chance to give the bastard a proper set down for frightening Astara.
Granted, she hadn’t wanted to make a fuss over the interaction, preferring to brush it off, but he could tell she was truly shaken by the interaction.
And the fact the scoundrel actually had the audacity to accuse her of spying for the French?
The door opened and Knox saw red. He had already removed his formal attire, clad only in his small clothes, and held up his hands in a fighting stance as he bounced on the balls of his feet.
John chuckled as he noticed his eagerness.
“Are you that prepared to get beat down?” the man asked calmly.
He was wearing trousers and a plain shirt that he ripped off to show his broad chest. The large muscles alone should have told Knox that he was challenging a formidable opponent, but at the moment, his anger did not care to listen to reason.
As soon as Jackson’s fists were up, Knox threw the first punch. It connected squarely with the man’s jaw, kicking his head back on his shoulders.
John touched his chin and worked it back and forth, as if testing the durability. “Not bad, Hampton. Now it is my turn.”
When the blow struck Knox, he bent over, his breath effectively rushing out of his lungs although the meaty fist was centered on his solar plexus.
“I did not want to scar that pretty face,” Jackson teased.
“Do not hold back on my account,” Knox retorted with a laugh.
This sparring match went on for about another half hour, until sweat poured down his face and his shirt was damp with his exertions.
Knox was feeling the burn, not just in the muscles of his arms, but his legs as well.
Not to mention that his knuckles were cracked and bloody and his entire upper half pulsed with pain.
No doubt he would be pleasantly bruised by the morning, if not already.
The only thing that made his current discomfort worth it was seeing the signs of exhaustion on John’s face as well.
It wasn’t often that the Gentleman tired, finding his way around a boxing ring several times over, but with the way Knox was throwing out those punches without restraint, it had taken the older man a bit more time to keep up.
In the end, they both decided the match was a draw, equally ready for the bout to cease. John gave a chuckle. “It must be a woman that has put you in such strong spirits this evening.”
He grabbed a strip of linen from the edge of the room and wiped his face with it before draping it around his neck.
He handed another to Knox who wiped away the worst of the perspiration still clinging to his hair and dripping down the sides of his face.
He took a moment to respond, not too comfortable with the fact he might have been so easy to read.
Of course, he denied any such frustration.
“If only it were as complicated as that. I fear my upset has more to do with what is transpiring with the French.”
The boxer gave an understanding nod. Although he did not know about Knox’s tie to the Lion’s Watch, he likely thought his annoyance came from Parliament and the recent decisions that had been made.
Granted, they needed to act for the good of all, including abolishing the horrific pattern of slaves who had been forced into servitude for entirely too long.
But with that bold move, divisions had been drawn and not everyone was pleased with England’s stance by passing such a definitive act.
“These are certainly perilous times, Your Grace. But if anyone can be diplomatic and get others to see sense, it would be you.”
Knox snorted. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, but while I might be able to offer a strong argument in most cases, even I cannot bring about miracles when it comes to peace and unity.”
“Aye,” the other man said with a heavy sigh.
“It does seem that history has a pattern of finding ways to repeat itself at every turn. We might claim to be a changed society in most regards, altering our thought processes to something more forward with the turning of the wheel, but there will always be those who would challenge progress and claim it is anything but that.”
Knox inclined his head. “I am very much inclined to agree with that.” His mouth reluctantly kicked up at the corner when an image of Astara’s flashing green eyes entered his mind.
“Perhaps the best choice would be to have all the men step aside and allow the women to rule. No doubt things would soon be called to order and anyone thoroughly chastised if they dared to object to that authority.”
“Heaven help us if that were to happen,” John mumbled. “Then again, we were led by fierce queens in the past and that was just one woman on the throne. Can you imagine a room full of powerful ladies eager to make their mark on the rule of government?”
Knox could easily see Astara in the role of a leader, and for some reason, that made his blood run hot. “Yes. That would be quite something to see.”
* * *
The next morning, Astara was reclining in a peach morning dress with delicate lace trim and embroidered flowers about the hem, reading the latest edition of the Times in the front parlor where she was sipping some tea when the Duke of Hampton intruded on her sanctuary.
She lifted a brow when he strode inside as though he had every right to be there. “Is it not customary to be announced?” she chided lightly.
“Not when I own the house in question and you are here because I allow it to be so.” He settled himself on the settee and clasped his hands before him.
Astara calmly folded the paper and set it on the side table beside her then lifted her cup to her lips.
Making sure to keep her pinky finger extended in a show of blatant defiance, she murmured, “Forgive me, Your Grace. I seem to have forgotten your kind benevolence on my behalf. I was under the misconception that the Lion’s Watch was responsible for my current comforts. ”
“That is true as well,” he confirmed. “If you were merely here on my behalf, we would not be doing much talking but rather spending most of our time upstairs in the bedchamber.”
She nearly choked on her tea. It was only due to a firm determination on her part that she did not splutter the liquid halfway across the room.
She slowly set down the cup, praying that her hand would not rattle the saucer.
“How crude you are this morning. Was your evening not as productive as you had anticipated?”
She hoped that the bitterness she was feeling did not completely fill her tone.
After they had parted ways last night, she considered the prospect that he was going to visit a female companion, and while that should not concern her in the least, she found she did not like the image of him wrapped in another woman’s arms. What was worse: she wanted to be that woman.
“Indeed. After a successful bout of boxing, I went home and slept like a babe.”
She blinked, not expecting a reply that sounded truthful. “Oh.”
“Had you expected another outcome?”
She could feel a flush beginning to creep up her neck.
“Of course not. Why should I care what you do on your own time?” She sniffed, only able to pray that her acting talents were on point.
Desperate to change the subject before she waded into waters that were quite beyond her area of expertise with such a virile specimen, she turned the topic to something much safer. “What is on the agenda for today?”
“Other than your ride with Lord Midvale this morning, you mean?”
She had nearly forgotten about her conquest from the night before as soon as Hampton arrived. “Naturally.”
His dark eyes were intent on her, as if he were trying to solve a particular puzzle.
She prayed that her expression did not give away too much of her fascination away for him.
“There is a musicale that I thought we might attend. It is not the crowd that you saw last evening, and I am told that Lord Montrose will be there. It would be helpful if you could win him to your side as easily as you seem to have done with Midvale.”