21. Chapter 21

Chapter twenty-one

Thursday arrived, and Robert's mood was much less sunny than his wife's, as she kept pelting him with questions on the ride over.

"Who else will be there?" she asked. The topics of her inquiries were beginning to overlap.

Norman sat out front with Robert's coachman, Gulliver. Both men were paid handsomely to encourage discretion. "Lord Griffith and several others."

"Do you think they will mind that I'm there?" She turned toward him.

"Yes," he said. "I do think they will mind. But you did not give me much choice in the matter."

"You could have ordered me to stay home."

"I could have. But that would not have endeared you to me, now, would it?"

She gazed out the window, not answering his question. Whenever he tried to pay her a compliment or move their relationship forward, that was her response. Silence.

"Seems like you would all be found out if you always use the same building," she mused as she watched the buildings pass by.

"We all have one."

"A building?" She spun on him.

He nodded. "It's a requirement to be involved. We rotate the location to keep it more discreet."

"But what is it?" she asked yet again.

"Why don't we just wait until we get there and you can see for yourself?"

"I have a feeling I know. I just cannot imagine it being true." She shifted in her seat. "And I do not like this carriage. It is decidedly less comfortable than the others."

"I cannot exactly ride the carriage emblazoned with the dukedom's crest. It would draw too much attention."

They arrived at Lord Griffith's building, and Gulliver opened the door for them. Norman jumped from his seat, slinging a bag over his shoulder as he followed them.

"Norman is coming with us?" she whispered. Her eyes darted about as if she were afraid they were doing something illegal and did not wish to be caught.

She was not entirely off.

"Yes."

"But why?"

He only chuckled at her persistence. "You will see."

Robert opened the door for Louisa, and she turned wide eyes toward him, but he only jerked his head to encourage her inside. Norman never opened doors for him at these events. It would only cause suspicion and too many questions.

Robert was met with the familiar room where several other lords had already gathered. Some sat in chairs about the space, waiting to be mere spectators, as it wasn't their turn or they had already been eliminated from the bracket and only wished to be entertained for an evening.

All heads swiveled in Robert's direction, their eyes halting on his wife beside him. "I seem to be most welcome," Louisa said with a small grin.

"Quite." Robert strode into the room and Louisa stayed on his heels.

"Where should I sit?"

"Anywhere you wish."

Norman came behind him, slipping Robert's jacket off his shoulders while Robert untied his cravat and draped it over his other articles of clothing. Louisa looked around.

"Or," he continued, "you can stay beside me for the moment. But soon I will be busy, and you will have to entertain yourself."

"It seems you gentlemen will be doing the entertaining," she said beneath her breath.

"If you feel faint at any point, herald Gulliver and he can take you home."

She straightened her shoulders, brow puckering. "Nonsense. I do not intend to swoon."

"Good. I would hate to have to carry you home." He unbuttoned the top of his shirt, and Louisa's eyes caught on the motion before jerking them away. Another hopeful sign that he tucked away to enjoy reliving later as he laid his head down for the night.

"Now," he said, his voice low as he leaned close to her ear. "Should you happen to swoon at my brute strength, that is another story altogether."

Louisa quirked a brow at him, but the grin tucked into the corner of her mouth gave her away. "You have become quite unbearable, Your Grace."

He shrugged. "When I am here, I am not the Duke of Boroux—the stuffy man who considers his actions with painstaking detail. Here, I can just be another man."

Her face softened. "Is that why you enjoy it?"

"One of the reasons, yes."

Lord Griffith sidled up to him as Louisa went to find a seat, hands on his hips as he spared Louisa a glance. "What is she doing here, Boroux?"

"She said she would follow me if I didn't take her. I didn't have much choice."

Griffith rolled his eyes, tipping his head back. "Typical female. They cannot help but meddle."

"This is likely a onetime occurrence." Except, knowing Louisa as he did, he was fairly sure it would be near to impossible to keep her home if she found she enjoyed the experience.

"It better be," Griffith all but grunted. "What kind of a men's club is this if women are involved?" Not waiting for an answer, he turned back to his own valet, readying himself.

Would Louisa's presence be a distraction? Robert hoped not, but as he dragged his eyes over to her, he worried the answer to his own question was yes.

Norman helped Robert wrap his hands, rubbing his shoulders to help him relax. Griffith did the same with his valet.

Robert shut his eyes, letting go of all distractions. Forgetting Louisa sitting only feet away, his continued confusion about their footing, his insecurities, the disingenuousness he wore when in public. He let it all melt away as he readied for the match.

"Griffith and Boroux to the scratch line," another man announced from the middle of the ring. He and Griffith went to the center, lining their toes up on the line. And then the bell rang.

They raised their wrapped hands, circling one another.

Because of their rank, and for obvious reasons of secrecy, no facers were allowed, but everything below the neck and above the belt was admissible. Their rules operated off of a point system rather than knocking their opponent out. Or, if things became heated or took a turn, one could call it off and accept his loss.

A heaviness on Robert's back reminded him that Louisa was watching. He never wanted to lose, but with her here, a win seemed even more important.

Griffith must have seen the loss of focus in Robert's gaze, for he shot a hand out, getting Robert on the right side of his ribs in a glancing blow. Robert gritted his teeth, regaining his wits. He would not look like a fool in front of Louisa.

Griffith kept his eyes fastened on him, throwing his hand forward and trying to gain another hit, but Robert deflected it with a swipe of his arm. A few shouts went up from the crowd—one decidedly female. Robert must have shown signs of distraction again as Griffith gained another hit, this one directly on his stomach.

He swallowed a grunt, his gaze hardening on his opponent.

"You seem distracted," Griffith said, smiling as they rounded each other. "Any particular reason why?"

"Just focus on the match," Robert said, his voice gruff.

"I would be distracted too if I was bedding a lovely little thing like your wife there."

Robert ignored the taunt, trying to gain a hit on Griffith's left side, but Robert's hit missed as Griffith gracefully spun out of the way.

He tried to focus, settling his breathing and anticipating Griffith's movements. Griffith got another hit just under Robert's ribs on his right side. It hurt like the devil, and Robert winced, bending over for a quick moment before forcing himself to straighten.

Luckily, the bell rang, allowing Robert a moment to catch his breath. They went to their respective corners, and Norman offered him a drink as he mopped his neck with a towel. Apparently, Louisa's presence was an issue. He had not gained a hit while Griffith's points were quickly stacking up. And he had assumed this fight would be an easy one.

The bell rang again, signaling them to the scratch line. Robert dared not look back at his wife, for if she appeared defeated or disappointed, his struggles would only become worse.

The men both raised their hands, and the bell rang again.

Robert tried to gain a hit on Griffith's center just under his ribs, but his shot was blocked again. Goodness, this was an utter disaster. A small part of him had been hoping to impress Louisa and gain some respect from her. Instead, he was missing every shot he took and getting hit himself in the process. And how many more points did Griffith need to win the match? Robert believed his opponent only needed five more hits and he would be the champion.

Robert gained a decent hit just below Griffith's ribs, then immediately blocked a swing from him. He took the opportunity of his missed swing to get two more jabs in Griffith's center.

Griffith shook his head, his eyes narrowing as he calculated his next move. Robert blocked one jab, but Griffith came right back and gained a hit on Robert's right side.

Griffith smiled, circling him like a vulture circles a dead carcass. "Well, Boroux, if your bedding is anything like your boxing, perhaps I could show your wife what a real man is like."

And just like that, Robert's world turned red, and he rammed his fist into Griffith's middle. He could feel the strength of the impact, gaining contact just under the ribs on Griffith's right side. A perfect hit. Griffith immediately bent in half, his hands on his knees as he tried to gulp in a breath. Robert bent to his ear. "Do you have anything else smart to say about my wife?"

Griffith shook his head, holding his side and wincing as he struggled to gain normal breathing.

The bell rang again, sending them to their corners for thirty seconds. Griffith sat across the ring, staring daggers at him while Robert accepted a drink from Norman. Griffith kept his hand on his side, wincing as his bottle boy touched the spot where he was hit. As Griffith swatted the boy away, Robert was fairly certain he saw him mouth "I am fine", but Robert knew what a hit like that could do. It would almost be easier to get Griffith to quit from pain at this point rather than attempt to gain more points.

The bell rang again, and they walked back to the line. Griffith tried to stand straight, but he was still favoring his right side. Robert raised his hands in front of his face, and when the bell rang again, he wasted no time. Robert's hits quickly began stacking up, his blood pumping and his hands and feet finding their rhythm. It didn't take long before Griffith shook his head, holding up a palm.

"I'm done. I'm done."

Robert leaned near his ear. "If you speak ill of my wife again, I will do my worst. Of that you can be assured."

Griffith only glared as he stood with the help of his valet, who then ushered him to a chair. He immediately wiped his neck with a cloth while his valet offered him a drink.

Robert heard feet pattering behind him and he turned to be greeted by Louisa's glowing smile. "You were marvelous," Louisa said, putting her hand on his shoulder as she pulled him around to fully face her. She didn't even flinch at the sweat coating his skin.

"Thank you." His breaths made his chest rise and fall. Boxing was both an exhilarating and exhausting sport.

"I admit I was a bit worried at first, but then you became . . . fierce!" She laughed, still gripping his arm.

"I was afraid you being here would be a distraction. And it almost was."

"Well, I hope you get over that fear, for I want to attend every match from here on out."

He began shaking his head. "No, I do not think that wise—"

"Why not?" Her brow scrunched. "It was invigorating to watch, and I promise I will keep quiet. Besides, now that I know about it, you shall have a difficult time keeping me away."

"I feared as much." He sighed, but a reluctant smile tugged at his lip. "All right. Let me get cleaned up and we can get ready to head back."

"There are no other matches today?" Her shoulders sagged as her face fell.

"No. We only do a match at a time. Less chance of being caught."

She clung to his arm, following him to his seat where his articles of clothing lay. "I suppose that makes sense. But now that you have won, what happens?"

"It is a bracket system. I can show you the drawing when we get home." A feeling much like Griffith's fist in his stomach assaulted him. Home . Their home.

"Yes. I should like that. I will call for some tea and those macaroons you like so much."

You like so much . He stared down at her, wanting very much to wrap his hand around her waist and kiss her brow. Or perhaps her lips. Or her throat . . . he scuffed a hand over his face.

"Yes. That is a good plan." He reached for a towel draped over the chair, mopping his neck with it.

"Here." Louisa took it, dabbing along his back. All he could do was awkwardly stare at Norman standing before him as the young man kept his face still, pretending not to notice. He even caught Griffith leering at him as he held Lord Fulton's outstretched hand in greeting. Robert finally decided to just stare at the floor for everyone's sake.

Louisa handed him the towel back. "Thank you," he said, clearing his throat as he wiped his brow. She seemed so caught up in the excitement that it did not occur to her how her actions might be construed, though everyone else in the room seemed to notice.

"Do you desire a drink?" She went forward and took his bottle off the floor, handing it to him.

"Careful, or you shall make Norman useless here." He grinned, taking the bottle and guzzling the last of its contents.

She looked back at his valet with a smile. "I should like that very much, actually. Then I may attend the rest of your matches."

"I may not always win," he pointed out. He almost didn't today.

She shrugged. "That does not matter, though I very much doubt it."

"I cannot promise you will be able to attend another. Griffith seemed quite put out with you being here."

"Griffith can stuff it." She crossed her arms. "What do the other men think?"

He gazed about the room at the other lords, who stood about, talking with one another. "I will have to ask, though I imagine they would agree."

"That I am not interfering and should be allowed to attend?"

"No," he said, fixing her with a stern gaze. "They will likely agree with Griffith."

She tightened her arms across her middle. "It is not fair that men should have all the fun."

"I promise to keep practicing with you. Does that help?"

Louisa sighed before looking up at him. "I suppose. But I had better be more careful next time, for I would hate to ruin that handsome face of yours." And then, as if realizing her words too late, her eyes widened.

"Is that so?" he asked with a smile.

"Yes, well." Louisa tucked her hair behind her ear. "Last time I inadvertently punched you in the nose."

"I won't let you this time. I will be more prepared."

She nodded, a faint smile across her lips as Norman helped Robert get dressed. Perhaps if he did not push her, but continued allowing her into his personal sphere, she would desire to know him more and more.

A man could always hope. And he had years to try.