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Bram managed to get another solid shot at the butcher’s chin. This time, O’Leary didn’t so much as wobble.
Lady Richardson had called on Bram yesterday, wringing her hands. The more he delayed making an announcement, the more anxious she became. Wasn’t the whole purpose of choosing Rosalind so that hedidn’thave to court her?
“Haven’t you had enough yet, Torrington?” Hagerty said over the ropes. “I’d rather O’Leary here not be tried for the murder of an earl.”
Unlike most of the finer gentlemen’s boxing establishments in London, where dandies pranced around each other and threw punches no more painful than a slap, Hagerty’s served a different sort of clientele. The sort that hit hard and drank hard. The first time Bram had entered Hagerty’s, he’d been barely ten and his father had not yet inherited the title. He’d learned the proper way to not only box but to protect himself with his fists. Boxing was also excellent exercise if one didn’t have to be pulled out of the ring unconscious.
It had only happened to Bram once.
O’Leary, whose fists resembled the slabs of beef he cut with a cleaver at his shop, grinned at Bram, showing several missing teeth. Bram wasn’t a slight man. He was above average in height and kept himself fit. But the Irishman had three inches and about fifty pounds on him.
What the hell am I doing?
Bram lowered his fists. His head was already starting to ache, and one of his teeth felt loose. Wonderful. He’d be a toothless elderly rogue now.
He held up a hand to O’Leary. “I accept defeat, Mr. O’Leary.” Bram bowed and tried not to fall over. His eye was already starting to swell.
The butcher grunted in response.
“Wise, my lord,” Hagerty said from just outside the ropes. “You’re bleeding all over your fancy cravat. You’ll never get the blood out. And I saw the blow you took.” He nodded to Bram’s side. “Best have that looked at. You aren’t as young as you once were.”
“Neither are you.” Bram glared at Hagerty before shaking O’Leary’s hand. “Thanks for the match.”
The butcher pounded his massive fists together. Bram could well imagine his head between them. “Next time, milord.”
Groaning, Bram crawled between the ropes and stepped out of the ring, taking a towel from Hagerty. His visits to this fine establishment were fairly regular, at least once a week. But he’d been here almost daily since Rosalind’s visit.
“Drink, milord?” Hagerty pulled a cork out of a bottle with his teeth and brought out two glasses which appeared to be clean. Didn’t mean they were, of course. Hagerty wasn’t running a gentleman’s club.
Bram nodded. “I think that’s in order.” His entire left side throbbed. He may have to send for Dr. Graw. The whisky stung the cut on his lip but helped numb the pain radiating out from his ribs. He and Hagerty drank in silence for a time, watching O’Leary take on a young man whose lean build belied the strength of his fists. The butcher fell to the mat several times.
“Dunlock,” Hagerty said, nodding at the young man. “Fast, isn’t he? Only man to be able to hold his own with O’Leary. Well, him and one other.”
“Me?” Bram gave him a smile, wincing at his split lip.
“Nah. American fellow who was visiting London a while back. Laid O’Leary out flat. Brutal with his fists. Can’t recall his name.” He shrugged. “Never returned, at any rate. O’Leary was looking for a rematch.”
Bram drained his glass, trying not to wheeze as he took a breath. “Thanks for the drink.”
“I’m at your service, milord.” Hagerty gave him a bow. “If you want a bit of advice—”
“I don’t.”
Hagerty ignored him. “Whoever she is, you need to either forget her or bed her. Having yourself beat to a pulp by the likes of O’Leary ain’t fixing things.”
“Sod off, Hagerty.” Bram grabbed ahold of the wall to keep from falling down as he made his way to the bench where he’d left his coat. His head was finally clear. He could think of Rosalind and what he’d done to her in the kitchen without even so much as a twitch from his cock, which was as exhausted as the rest of him.
Good.
Bram slowly made his way to his waiting carriage, one hand pressed to his side.Damn.The stab in his side made his eyes water.
His driver came around the vehicle, took one look at Bram, and flung open the door.
“My lord—”
“Not one bloody word, Carson. Don’t even grunt in my direction. I had a wonderful mother. I don’t need another.”
“Yes, my lord.” Carson tried to take his arm to assist him.
He jerked away, feeling old for the first time. “And I don’t need to be lifted into the carriage as if I’m an invalid.” Bram took his seat, gritting his teeth at the pain streaking across his side. Every turn and lurch of the carriage had him groaning.
I may have overdone things.
When Bram finally arrived home, he tripped out of the carriage, not even chastising Carson when the man caught him.
Watkins, eyebrows raised in disapproval, hurried down the steps. He took one look at Bram and yelled for a footman to fetch Dr. Graw. The butler helped Bram inside, half-carrying him as they started up the stairs, sending for Bram’s valet and a hot bath.
“I’ll have a scotch brought to you, my lord,” Watkins said as they reached the landing.
Bram patted his butler on the shoulder. “Bring the whole damned bottle, Watkins. I don’t even need a glass.”
