“Yes,” James snarled, “and I believe that if you are willing to let dogs be hurt and killed for your own entertainment, then you should also be willing to put your own body on the line. Only a coward hides behind animals.”
Violet’s heart was hammering in her chest.
He will be killed! Farrell is at least a foot taller than him!
Farrell stiffened, and Violet could feel the anger radiating from him.
“Desist with this at once,” he shouted. “These good people have paid money to see the dogs fight. They are not interested in watching a bout between us.”
The crowd around him let out angry protests, and James smiled. “Don’t you hear them, Farrell?” He cupped a hand to his ear. “I think they would prefer to see us fight.”
A cheer went up, and Farrell flushed, his anger and embarrassment evident. James flashed a grin at the audience before turning back to him.
“And you owe me a fight,” he said, pointing at Violet. “Last night, you broke into the inn where my wife and I were staying and kidnappedmy Duchessfrom right under my nose. All night, I was in agony, sure that she had been harmed, afraid that she might be dead.”
The crowd let out more angry shouts, even a few boos, all of which were hurled in Farrell’s direction.
“What kind of man kidnaps another man’s wife?!” James shouted, and the crowd erupted in loud cheers. “It is unsporting! You and I may have our differences, but you leave my wife out of it!”
The anger in his voice was now clear, and the audience stilled as they took in the pulsating fury of the Duke. He raised a finger and pointed it at Farrell. It felt, to Violet, like a bullet aimed right at the gang boss’s heart.
“You have dishonored and insulted me and my wife!” James shouted. “And I demand retribution in the form of your blood, for the distress you have caused me and the Duchess!”
The onlookers leaped to their feet, stamping and hollering. Violet couldn’t take her eyes off her husband. He was everything the rumors made him out to be, she realized—the dangerous businessman who could manipulate every situation to his advantage, the powerful Duke before whom others quaked in fear, the leader who could bend the world to his will.
The Devilish Duke.
Her heart was beating very fast. James had never looked so magnificent, so commanding and handsome, as he did at that moment, defending her, demanding justice for the distress caused to her, willing to pay with his body for her honor.
Farrell, meanwhile, was snarling. The crowd was clearly on James’s side, and Farrell seemed to know that there was no way out of it. He would have to fight the Duke.
“Very well, then,” he said, at last. “I will fight you.”
The crowd went wild.
Farrell waved his hand, and the doors opened again, allowing the trainers to lead the dogs back out of the pit. Then he descended the stairs.
James began to undo the buttons on his jacket, and Violet tried to look away but couldn’t. Her husband shrugged off his jacket, then his waistcoat, and then, in front of everyone, he began to roll up the sleeves of his shirt.
His forearms were lean, she realized, and when he flexed them, she could see the muscles and veins bulging. In his shirtsleeves only, he looked wild, like a hero out of a romantic novel, his hair messy and his skin flushed with the thrill of an inevitable tussle. The top few buttons of his shirt were open, and she glimpsed his strong, bare chest.
Her mouth had gone very dry. She shifted on the bench, but nothing could rid her of this feeling, like her body was vibrating.
It’s just nerves, she told herself.
“Come on, then!” James shouted, jumping down into the pit. He took a couple of practice swings, then flashed Farrell a haughty smile. “What are you waiting for?”
Farrell scowled at him and then tore off his own shirt. He flexed his muscles, and Violet felt herself grow sick. The man washuge. She didn’t particularly like looking at his half-naked body, but she couldn’t deny that he was strong—so strong that even her tall, broad, muscular husband looked small next to him.
Farrell slid into the pit, and then the two men faced one another.
“Normal rules?” James asked as he began to circle Farrell.
“I don’t want none of your posh Eton rules,” Farrell snarled. “We’ll do this like commoners—first to get a knockout, or for the other to stay down for ten seconds.”
“Very well,” James said.
He didn’t look scared, but Violet felt scared for him. It took everything in her not to cover her eyes as Farrell also began to circle the ring.
