If anything, Violet’s kidnapping had given him a surge of confidence. He could do this—for the townsfolk, for the dogs, and, most importantly, for her.
“I…” Violet bit her lip, then flushed. “I believe in you, James.”
Warmth spread through his chest, and he kissed her hand.
“Just do not give in to his demands,” she murmured. “I don’t want you to give up your lifelong dream of cleaning up the duchy because of my foolishness.”
James shook his head. “You are very brave, Violet, but you must know that if push came to shove, I would choose you over the duchy.”
His wife’s lips parted in surprise, and he understood that until this moment, she had not known that.
He squeezed her hand. “You are my wife,” he murmured. “And that means everything to me.”
“Well, I assume you have a plan,” she said, “so hopefully it will not come to that.”
“No,” he uttered grimly, clenching his jaw. “It won’t.”
“All right, that’s enough,” Farrell said abruptly behind them, and they turned to see him scowling down at them.
James released Violet’s hand and then glanced around. What he saw filled him with hope. All around, the townspeople were watching them and whispering amongst themselves, their expressions concerned and kind. A few of the women were misty-eyed, while several of the men were glaring at Farrell.
James’s heart leaped.
Farrell’s plan is backfiring on him!
Violet’s Kidnapping had roused the townsfolk’s sympathy for him, he was sure of it. They could imagine how they would feel, being separated from their wives, and they believed, as he did, that one should never harm another man’s wife—let alone a lady—no matter what their differences were.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Farrell boomed suddenly, turning to the audience with a wide smile on his face. He clearly hadn’t noticed their looks of anger. “Welcome to today’s dog fight! As you may have noticed, we have two honorable guests with us today—the Duke and Duchess of Attorton. They have joined ushere today to see how our little operation works, and we are delighted to have them with us.”
There was a smattering of applause, but from the sour look on Farrell’s face, it was much less than he was used to. The townsfolk were still looking at him with stony expressions, and his confidence seemed to waver under their disapproval.
“But let us not tarry on pleasantries, or waste time when your money is on the line. Bring in the first dogs!” he called out, clapping his hands together.
The doors on each side of the pit opened, and two men came out, one from each side, both leading a dog by a leash. One was tall and lean, fast-looking and powerful, while the other was short, stout, and savage-looking.
The moment the dogs saw each other, they began barking. Spit was flying from the shorter one’s mouth, and its eyes looked wild. James wondered how long it had been starved, and how many times it had been beaten, to make it so angry and desperate to attack.
He felt his stomach twist, and he thought he was going to be sick. This was always how he’d felt when he attended dog fights in his youth with his father. And when he glanced at Violet, she had an equally repulsed look on her face.
He made up his mind in a flash. Jumping up from his seat, he leaped down the stands and then turned to face the crowd. Farrell’s eyes narrowed, and James saw him cast a look atseveral bodyguards stationed around the edge, as if to say,Be ready to seize him.
“Mr. Farrell!” James called out in his loudest and most commanding voice. “For too long you have ruled this duchy, matching dogs against one another and making them fight to the death! For too long you have extorted my people and profited off their honest labor! For too long you have allowed dogs to die while you count coins in the stands. And for too long you have hidden behind these fights, sure that you were too powerful for me to stop you.
“But I say, enough is enough! I am not afraid of you, and you are not too powerful for me. Therefore I have a proposition for you—prove your strength against mine, and meet me now, in this ring, for a fight!”
Chapter Thirteen
“No!” Violet gasped—and hers was not the loudest cry to echo through the pit at her husband’s words.
All around her, women were clapping their hands over their mouths, their eyes wide, while their husbands gazed down at the Duke in shock.
“You heard me, Farrell!” her husband shouted defiantly when the gang boss did not respond.
When Violet looked at him, Farrell had gone very still, and the expression on his face was unreadable.
“Come down here and fight me like a man!”
Farrell shifted, and his expression darkened. “This is a dog fight, Your Grace,” he spat out. “Not a boxing match.”
