Chapter 5
“The Duke of Rivers told me this is the only good place in town to get a fight; is that true?”
The place was, of course, one of the most exclusive boxing gymnasiums in town, a place where Skyburn and his friends came to work out their difficulties every day.
Peter lifted his gaze and caught sight of the owner of that dark, edgy voice. He knew the man somehow. A name snaked across his brain, but he wasn’t certain of it. It was like a whisper of something long ago.
“I’m sorry. Who are you exactly?” he asked.
The man arched a brow. “We need formal introductions. Is that it?”
“I don’t fight just anyone who wanders off the street, sir.
” Skyburn folded his arms across his broad, linen-covered chest. He was already in the ring, waiting for the Earl of Seaborough, but the man was late because he was so enamored with his new wife.
“I wouldn’t like to wipe the floor with you and then feel great regret over having upset some proud little lordling. ”
Whoever the fellow was threw back his head and let out the driest, most caustic laugh. Skyburn found himself laughing too.
“I have indeed come to the right place,” the man said happily. “I am the Duke of Windbourne. And I am at your service, sir.”
“You?” Skyburn rasped.
“Me,” the duke replied, inclining his head. “I’m sorry, have we met?” the duke asked.
Skyburn let out a sigh. “No.”
“Have I slept with your mistress?” the duke asked.
“No,” he said, nearly choking on the word.
The duke shuddered. “Good, because I’ve only been in town for about two seconds, and the idea that I would have already caused a duel is just too upsetting. The English seem so delicate compared to the people that I am used to being around.”
“Yes,” Peter said, again laughing.
The people the duke was used to being around were legendary. He was legendary. And at last, it seemed he had returned to England, as some legends finally did.
But Peter wasn’t entirely certain London was going to be better for this man’s presence.
“Your horses,” Skyburn said. “They’re causing quite a hullabaloo.”
“My horses,” the duke echoed, his dark eyes shining. “How is it possible that my horses have caused any difficulty whatsoever? They are angels. Fiery angels. But angels nonetheless.”
“A young lady I know was most put out that the Arabians had not arrived yesterday. She was hoping to purchase one.”
The duke looked amused, his grin almost catlike as he began to peel off his dark gloves. “A young lady who has wished to purchase one of my ponies like a hat in a shop.” The duke laughed again. “She is extremely misguided.”
“I don’t think she is,” Peter countered ruefully. “You’re going to have quite a treat if you try to tell her no.”
“A willful little thing, is she? I’m sure that I shall—”
“Willful is not the word,” he said, rather indignant that anyone should speak of Lady Ruby thus. “She’s like a man.”
“Oh,” the duke replied, “that’s easy then. I’ll just tell her I don’t negotiate with young men who have no titles and no fortune.”
“Well,” he said, laughing, “she’s a young woman who has a fortune and will soon have a title of her own.”
“I see,” the duke said, his brows arching up to his thick hair, which tumbled over his forehead. “I had no idea my morning was going to be so interesting. And what are you? Her lap dog?”
Peter started to cough. No one had ever dared accuse him of such a thing in all his life. “Excuse me?”
The duke shrugged. “Well, you do seem to be taking her part. Are you concerned for her? Are you already giving her everything that she wants, or does she need someone else to do that?”
The hackles went up on Skyburn’s neck. “Forgive me. You wanted to fight, didn’t you?”
The duke drew in a breath which expanded his rather large ribcage. “Indeed I did, and it looks like we’re about to have a good one.”
And just as the duke was about to climb in the ring, The Duke of Westfort strolled in along with the Duke of Rivers, each of them drinking coffee from cups they had brought with them from the local coffeehouse.
Westfort stopped dead in his tracks as he caught sight of the two of them. “I say, is blood about to be drawn?”
“Of course,” Skyburn said. “This is a boxing match. Maybe a tooth will be loosed as well.”
Rivers laughed. “I do love the jests of men in the morning. No teeth missing,” he said. “After all, Skyburn, aren’t you sitting for a portrait later?”
Skyburn shuddered. “Yes,” he said, “I am.”
“Funny that,” the Duke of Windbourne added, “so am I.”
“And who’s going to be your portraitist?” asked Westfort.
“Stevenson,” Peter said.
“Hilarious,” the Duke of Windbourne said. “Mine too. Rivers suggested him.”
Skyburn shot Rivers a glance. “I’m sorry. Are you best friends with the duke and I’m just finding out about this?”
Rivers shook his head quickly. “The duke and I have only exchanged letters for the last few years.”
“I see. Correspondents, is it?” Skyburn asked.
Westfort’s gaze swung from man to man as he drank his coffee. “My goodness, this is better than any gossip rag. What’s happened? What did we miss? Why the animosity?”
“Oh,” the Duke of Windbourne began lightly, “the man here seems upset because I suggested that I could give a certain lady what she wanted if he wasn’t doing so. It was not meant as an offense. I just never pass up an opportunity to improve a lady’s life.”
“You, Windbourne, are taking things too far too fast,” Skyburn said.
“I have a tendency to do that,” the duke said.
Skyburn ground his teeth. “Let’s see how far you can take things in the ring then.”
Rivers let out a bleat. “Friendly match, of course, gents.”
“Oh yes, very friendly,” the duke said as he took off his long waistcoat and shirt, revealing a rippling Herculean frame.
But Skyburn was not intimidated. He had spent his life living like a fighting bulldog, something that not a lot of people knew.
His father had been perverse and determined not to raise a weak son.
And Skyburn, well, Skyburn moved fast, but he didn’t generally show people the brutality that he was capable of because he was always afraid that if he did, he would be routed from society.
And worse… That if he let it out, he’d never be able to put it back inside himself.
Fear was his constant companion, another thing he did not admit to anyone.
Not because he wasn’t capable, but because, since he was a small boy, he had felt fear’s cold kiss on his cheek every hour of every day, knowing that one misstep, one moment lingering too long in one place, could end in searing pain.
So it was hard to catch him, especially in a ring.
And the duke, well, he was big and looked like he might lumber a bit.
Skyburn gave him a bow. “Let’s see what you can do, Your Grace, especially for someone who has been away for so long.”
The duke smiled. “Promise me that you will not go easy on me. I do hate it when people do that.”
Skyburn cracked his neck ever so slightly, then his knuckles. “If you don’t wish me to go easy on you, Your Grace, I won’t, but you must not cry foul after.”
The duke smiled. “I would never do that.”
“Dukes often do,” Skyburn replied.
“I’m not most dukes,” Windbourne said.
Rivers let out a nervous laugh. “That’s true, very true, which is why I invited him. But I had no idea things would get exciting so quickly.”
Skyburn snorted.
Rivers should have known. It was like having two peacocks in the same area. They would fight. It’s just what they did.
Skyburn lifted his knuckles to his cheeks, ready to defend and attack, and Windbourne mirrored him.
Within moments, they were going about the ring, assessing each other, putting in jabs, dancing. And he quickly realized that the duke was not heavy on his feet. He was as light as any dancer, as if he was used to riding the wind, much like his name and his horses.
Skyburn was no stranger to this kind of movement, and so he easily avoided the duke’s blows and managed to drive in a hard one right to the duke’s cheek. Windbourne’s head cracked back. The duke’s eyes widened with surprise, and he laughed hard and fast.
“Yes,” Windbourne growled with delight. “This is what I’ve needed since coming back to this terrible cold place.”
“It’s not cold,” Skyburn said. “And you just arrived.”
“It already feels like an eternity,” Windbourne gritted as he danced around. “And, yes, it is cold, if you’ve been where I’ve been most of your life.”
Westfort snorted. “It’s hot right now.”
The duke let out another dark, rolling laugh. “It is but a chilly day, my dear boy,” he said.
And before Skyburn saw it coming, the man’s massive hammer-like fist drove right into his lower back. He twisted away fast before things could get too bad, but he nearly fell to his knees.
“Dance, dance,” the duke said, and Peter did.
This went on for several moments, avoided blow after avoided blow.
Quick pivot followed quick pivot. Sweat flew in the air.
Hair was plastered to foreheads. Darting eyes assessed.
Vicious blows were exchanged until they stood panting, sucking in air, each of them trying to wear the other down until Rivers let out a cry.
“Can we not call it quits?” Rivers called. “The two of you are clearly equally matched.”
The duke arched a brow. “Are we, Skyburn, equally matched? I don’t think so. I don’t actually think I’ve seen you begin to fight.”
“You’re wrong, Your Grace,” Peter said swiftly, stunned at the man’s words, and yet still unwilling to let his beast out. “You have seen my best.”
“Well then,” the Duke of Windbourne said, “if that’s what you’re willing to do today, then let me at least buy you a drink. Let’s go down to a tavern and have some oysters for our lunch.”
Skyburn stared at him for a long moment. The man was mad. But fascinating. “I suppose I can do such a thing for a gentleman who fights as well as you do.”
The duke nodded. “Good. I’m supposed to make friends. That’s what Rivers said. Will you be my friend?”
Skyburn choked. “I’ve never had anyone ask me so directly before, but if you’re going to be my friend, let’s not have any more saucy comments about Lady Ruby Reynolds.”
Rivers’ eyes swung right to left. “Lady Ruby?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” the Duke of Windbourne said, jumping out of the ring. “She sounds like quite a feisty filly, just like the sort of woman I might need for my wife.”
“What?” the Duke of Rivers asked, his voice shooting up a surprising octave.
“Yes,” the Duke of Windbourne said, picking up a linen towel and dabbing the sweat from his hard body. “I need a woman like the one Skyburn described.”
“The devil you do,” Skyburn retorted. “You’ve not even met her.”
“The devil I don’t,” the duke returned. “And who needs to meet the woman one will marry? My father married by proxy, as did his father before him. If the lady has the right background, that’s what matters.”
The Duke of Windbourne studied Peter for a moment, then said mischievously, “Unless, of course, you want her? I don’t want to get in the way if that’s what you want.”
Skyburn sucked in a sharp breath. “I—”
Windbourne tutted. “Oh dear, you don’t know, do you? Well, that’s all right,” the duke said. “We’ll let the lady decide. And just like in nature, you and I can peacock about for her and see who she chooses.”
Skyburn’s eyes narrowed. “That won’t be necessary,” he said.
“Why? Because she’ll definitely choose you?”
Skyburn ground out. “I’m not looking for a wife this year,” he said. “She’s all yours.”
Rivers let out a groan.
“You all right, Rivers?” Westfort asked, his own face a mask of shock.
“The coffee disagrees with me,” Rivers replied. And he did look like he was going to cast up his accounts.
“Oh, I had no idea you’d give up so quickly,” the Duke of Windbourne said.
Peter shook his head. “You can’t give up something that you weren’t trying for.”
“You keep saying that, old boy,” the duke said. “You keep saying that.”
And a muscle in his jaw twisted because, in that moment, he hated the Duke of Windbourne.
Somehow, the man saw exactly what he wanted and who he was.
Peter wanted Ruby. But his past was one of dark memories and he feared drawing her into its shadow.