Taming Wilde (Waltzing with the Wallflower #3)(26)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

She didn’t get far.

“My lady?” It was Thomas.

“Yes?” Gemma turned abruptly before she realized it just made her look guilty.

“May I be of some assistance?”

She cleared her throat. “Yes. It is rather stuffy in here. I thought to get a bit of air, so I might do my needlepoint in comfort.” Even as it exited her mouth, she knew it was the worst possible excuse she could have made.

“Your needlepoint, my lady?”

Gemma despised needlepoint. All the servants knew it. Why hadn’t she said she was going to study her new sheet music? Why hadn’t she said the smell of the flowers on the table was making her eyes water?

She lifted her chin to salvage some dignity. He was the butler, after all. Not her brother.

“Yes. My needlepoint. This window seems to be stuck, Thomas. Open it, please.”

“Needlepoint indeed!” Hawke bellowed from the doorway. “She’s looking for an escape route.” He was dressed to kill.

Gemma swallowed the fear that threatened to overtake her and glared at him.

“Now, my dear sister, I shall take care of your precious knight once and for all. You shall marry the duke as our parents have mandated, and all shall be right with the world.”

“Hawke, please.” Her voice was a mere breath as she pleaded with her brother. “Please… don’t kill him.”

His lip curled into a vicious sneer. “Lock her in her room, Thomas. My business shouldn’t take long.”

Chapter Seventeen

In all my years, I have only attended five duels. Shocking, I know. In those times there are a few things I’ve learned, wisdom I would like to pass down. Here it is: don’t be dumb enough to get caught in the first place. A good rake is sneaky, and fades into the shadows. I was at it for quite some time and am a good shot, so I never truly cared if I was challenged. But rakes this day and age? Pathetic. It is why our kind is dying off, because they are literally getting blown to shreds. Men, if you are not willing to die for your sins, then perhaps you should stop sinning? —The Private Journal of Viscount Maddox

Colin rolled up his sleeves and pulled off his cravat. Nasty business, boxing. Always lots of blood and shouting. Though, to be honest, he’d been the boxing champion of his regiment, and he had beaten every challenger at Jackson’s. Unfortunately, it didn’t sit well with him that he would have to pummel, nay, kill his future wife’s brother. As much as the thought of driving his fist into Van Burge’s temple brought a smile to his lips, Gemma would be upset, and he loved her too much to put her out.

“His right hook is nasty,” Anthony murmured next to him. “I’ve heard he fights dirty, so do not fall for any of his tricks and—”

“Anthony, do I tell you how to seduce women?”

Anthony laughed. “I rather think not.”

“Then do not tell me how to box. I know my own business. You’ve had several black eyes to prove it,” Colin pointed out.

Anthony swore. “Yes, well, on both occasions I was feeling under the weather.”

“Right.” Colin laughed. “Whatever brings sleep to you at night.”

Anthony grinned. “Believe me, I have many ways to help me sleep at night, and none of them involve fighting… unless you take the time Bridget and I—”

“And this is where that story ends.” Ambrose slapped his brother on the back. “He’s right, though. Watch out for the hook, and do not put your hands down for even one second. His arms are longer than yours, which gives his reach a good two inches on yours and…”

“I will be fine.” Colin smiled.

“Why the devil are you smiling?” Anthony demanded.

“It is a wonderful day,” Colin answered. “And I am in love.”

“Sure hope he still smiles once he’s missing all his teeth. I’d like to see that,” Ambrose mumbled. “Now, focus and—”

Ambrose froze mid-sentence as Van Burge entered the room. “Let us get this match over with. I have a meeting with Gemma’s betrothed, and I do not wish to be late.”

Ambrose and Anthony gasped behind him.

Colin still smiled. “Shall we?”

Van Burge grinned and led the way to the ring.

“You see? You shall never have her. She is promised to the Duke of Bridgewater!” The marquess let out a laugh and swung at Colin. He didn’t duck. Instead he absorbed the blow to his face and felt the familiar warmth of blood trickle from his nose.

“What the devil!” Anthony shouted. “Put up your hands, Wilde! Merciful heavens, he means to kill himself over a woman!”

“Fight!” Ambrose chanted. “Knock him in the—”

Colin vaguely heard him say something derogatory, but a ringing began in his ears as Van Burge landed another blow to the side of his face. He fell to the ground.

“You must get up and fight!” Anthony pleaded as he knelt next to him. “You’ve the best record at Jackson’s! Why the devil aren’t you fighting back?”

Colin groaned and pushed to his feet.

Anthony cursed.

Ambrose sighed next to him. “It is as if he has finally given up. No longer a rake, no longer in the running to win the woman he loves. He has simply given up!”

One more blow to the face, and he could feign being knocked out. Colin waited for it. Van Burge smiled smugly, causing Colin to almost grin with glee, but he restrained himself as another jolt of pain hit his eye.

He fell to the ground dramatically and closed his eyes.

“Well, that didn’t take long,” Van Burge announced to everyone who would listen. “Now that I’ve dealt with this idiot, I shall be off to meet the Duke of Bridgewater, my brother-in-law. We are, after all, great friends, and I shall be announcing my sister’s engagement this very day!”

Cheers erupted.

Anthony slumped to the ground and groaned into his hands. “It is an actual nightmare. I do not understand it at all!”

Ambrose nudged Colin with his boot. “I think he may have died.”

Colin grinned and opened the eye that wasn’t swollen. “Is he gone?”

“Van Burge?” Anthony asked.

“Yes.”

“Only just. Without a scratch, I might add.”

Colin jumped to his feet and wiped the blood from his nose. “Brilliant! How do I look?”

“Do you truly want an answer to that?” Ambrose asked.

Anthony answered for him. “You look a mess.”