Page 35

The wooden planks sank slightly as he moved his bare feet, evading MacDonald. Both men were shirtless, and MacDonald was built like a mountain, with biceps as large and hard as casks of whisky, and chest muscles like boulders. Those arms could do much damage, as Nathaniel had just felt with that incredibly powerful blow. His head spun, and the vision of the Scot swam before him slightly.

Surely not the effect of the brandy he’d drunk after he’d stormed out of his own bedroom.

The Scot’s hard eyes were on him like those of a wolf hunting prey. Nathaniel saw an opportunity and made a jab with his fist, but the Scot pulled back, and Nathaniel’s fist grazed the side of the Scot’s face.

A mistake.

MacDonald drove his fist into Nathaniel’s ribs, and something cracked and exploded in Nathaniel’s insides.

He gasped for breath, and staggered back as MacDonald’s other fist came closer, aiming to start pummeling him in the torso.

No doubt seeing Nathaniel’s error, the crowd erupted into excited cheers and shouts, with angry men waving their fists fervently. All bets were on the Scotsman, but if Nathaniel emerged victorious, he’d return home with a hefty purse. That money would be more than sufficient to repair the railing Calliope had fallen through, and to settle the overdue payments for Mrs. Nicholson and Joshua.

Circling with his back to the ring’s ropes, Nathaniel sucked in air, breathing through the pain in his side. Damn it to hell, but the man was strong. If Nathaniel didn’t go home with a broken rib, he’d be surprised.

Home… He could be in bed with his new wife, plunging into her no doubt sweet, tight depths, making her come over and over and over.

He could have changed her mind. Something had spooked her, and it wasn’t a sudden thought of her brother.

He could have turned her rejection into a yes if he’d really wanted to. He knew how.

Because he was never in love with any of his conquests.

Neither was he with Calliope.

So why did it hurt so much when she rejected him? What was he running away from?

Perhaps it was because none of his lovers had seen the raw humiliation that was the true state of Roxburgh Place.

But his wife had. She’d invaded his home with her rich clothes, with her comments of how she was going to fix everything. With her plans to improve it. Reminding him of all the wrongs he’d done his sisters by not providing them with a proper income and home.

And also…

Heavens, he wanted her to think well of him. He wanted her not to look at him with pity because of his finances and disappointment because of the lack of his responsibility. Not to look at him with fear, like he was going to hurt her—he would never.

He wanted her to want to be in his home. To be with him.

To look at him like she’d looked at him at the Royal Navy ball when they were nothing to each other but a man and a woman who waltzed.

Why he should want her beyond what he had told her back on Bond Street, he didn’t know. A womb, she had said. Well, that was what she should be to him. He had told her there wouldn’t be love. There wouldn’t be romance or happiness.

So why did he find that disappointing now? He was a fool, that was why.

MacDonald followed him as he backed away to gather his strength.

But then Nathaniel saw an opening. MacDonald was also hurting. There, he kept his left arm lower, and it looked a little limp. Perhaps that was why he had hit Nathaniel so hard with his right arm; he needed to finish the battle before Nathaniel would have a chance to fight back.

Nathaniel wasn’t the biggest boxer like this beast, but he certainly was fast, and he knew how to estimate an opponent’s condition.

He made a false lunge to his left, as if he was about to dart away from the ropes, to trick MacDonald and get him on his unprotected side.

Pushing down his pain and taking back his rage at Calliope, at himself, and at his father, Nathaniel called all the strength and power he had in him. With a quick jab, he plunged his fist into the man’s ribs.

MacDonald barely managed to cover the place with his elbow, and part of Nathaniel’s effort was gone in vain. But the man was disoriented, and he turned to Nathaniel enough for him to send his next hit into MacDonald’s bad arm.

The Scot grunted in pain, giving Nathaniel enough advantage to pull his arm all the way back and hit the man right in the jaw. There was a slight crack and a sound like a slap, and his head turned sharply to the side, saliva flying from his lips.

The crowd booed.