Chapter 13

13

The fist cameat Nathaniel’s stomach and the whole left side of his torso exploded with pain.

Good.

Anything to distract him from the fact that his gorgeous new wife didn’t think he was worthy to bed her unless he delivered the information she sought.

The crowd in Portside erupted in bloodthirsty cheers around him.

“Noble Knuckles!” he heard a small part of the crowd cheering for him. “Noble Knuckles!” He grimaced at the embarrassing nickname, though he truly appreciated the support.

All bets were on his opponent tonight—a huge Scotsman a whole head taller than Nathaniel—a MacDonald from Islay with striking black hair and brown eyes.

“MacDonald!” the majority of the club cried. “MacDonald!”

Noble Knuckles was a distant call in the sea of voices cheering for the Scotsman.

Nathaniel welcomed the challenge. Not only would it allow him to win a larger-than-normal sum, but there also couldn’t be a more worthy opponent to beat the thoughts of Calliope out of his mind. To replace his burning desire for her with pure pain.

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.

Nathaniel saw the man’s eyes rolling back as he shook his head, swaying, struggling to stay on his feet. But Nathaniel needed the money. He needed this victory. Something to give him hope.

Stretching his other arm all the way back, he hit the Scot in the cheekbone, the impact reverberating in his bone marrow. The man crashed like a felled tree, sending tremors through the floor.

* * *

Nathaniel woke up the next morning in his own bed. He hadn’t removed his clothes last night, nor had he wanted to bother Joshua to prepare his bath, so he stank quite badly after the sweaty match.

He was already quite late, he knew, glancing at his pocket watch as he stood next to his bed in the bright daylight pouring from the bare windows. The bed he should have awoken in with Calliope. The bed where he should have brought her her first breakfast as his duchess.

The duchess of the poorest duke in England.

He needed to take that bath now, actually. He’d just go down to find Joshua. Then, once he was clean and properly dressed, he’d go to the Admiralty and speak to Bartholomew. He walked out of his room, brushing his tangled hair over his aching head.

As he approached the dining room, he could hear the chatter of his sisters and the clanking of cutlery against plates. “…here you go,” he heard Calliope’s voice. “You work so hard, I think it’s fair to give you a raise.”

He turned the corner and saw Calliope giving banknotes to Mrs. Nicholson and Joshua, both of whom eyed her with such adoration Calliope may as well be a goddess.

Rage hit Nathaniel through his whole body like churning butter. “What are you doing?”

They all glanced at him, and silence fell over the room.

Calliope, however, turned to him with her gorgeous face calm and her chin up, her long neck perfectly straight. Her eyes slowly glanced over him, and one eyebrow cocked as her mouth curved downwards.

“Good morning, husband,” she said. “I see you just came home from…wherever you’ve been.”

He could just see himself from her eyes. He’d walked out of their wedding night and spent it somewhere else. His hair was disheveled, his clothes untidy and crumpled, his face unshaven…and that reek of sweat and vanilla and brandy. He could smell it on himself, and he was disgusted.

“You did not answer my question,” he said. “Mrs. Nicholson, Joshua, what is that?”

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” said Mrs. Nicholson with no trace of regret in her voice. “These are our wages that were owed to us for the past three months.”

Damnation! The guilt and rage mixing within him were as dangerous as gunpowder. “I am sorry for that, Mrs. Nicholson and Joshua.” He went into the pocket of his coat and retrieved the crumpled pounds. “Here. I am perfectly capable of paying my own staff, Calliope. Please, return my wife the wages and take these.”

He shoved the money into Mrs. Nicholson’s and Joshua’s hands.

“This is too much, Your Grace,” said Joshua.

Calliope’s face was hard on him. His sisters gaped at him. Heavens, he must be quite a sight.

“Nonsense. Joshua, please prepare a bath for me right away.”

“Very good, Your Grace.”

But a bath would take at least an hour to prepare. Could he wait that long?

“Actually, no,” he said. “No. Go and saddle Hermes. I’m riding right out.”

Joshua carefully looked him over. “Perhaps you would prefer a sponge bath, Your Grace? It won’t take long—the water is already hot for the tea.”

“Hermes, please.” He stared into Calliope’s gorgeous eyes that blazed at him with anger. “A bath can wait. My wife has assigned me an urgent task that cannot.”

The young lad retrieved Calliope’s money and gently placed the notes on the dining table. Mrs. Nicholson did the same. Then they both left the room with their thanks.

Calliope’s blue gaze turned as dark as the ocean during a storm. “That is right, it cannot wait. Especially given that my husband gave me an oath of fidelity.”

Her voice trembled and staggered on the last word.

Nathaniel cursed under his breath and glanced at his sisters, who watched them both, disappointment in him apparent in their eyes.

He took Calliope by the elbow and led her out of the room.

“You refuse my money and my help,” Calliope muttered angrily. “You left me last night and didn’t sleep at home until the early hours of the morning. You come back with scratches and reeking like some sort of vanilla perfume. Where have you been?”

He stood with her in the drawing room, glaring at her. “Where I have been has nothing to do with you. You made it clear you will not let me bed you, so why do you care if I bed someone else?”

“Because you stood before a man of God and you gave me your vow,” she spat.

He glared at her, feeling his bruised chest heaving in need of air. “There were no other women, Calliope. Nor will there be.”

She kept staring at him. “Then where have you been?”

He couldn’t tell her. He didn’t even tell his sisters how he earned coin in a way that was so ridiculous and completely humiliating for a peer. How low could he fall?

No, he wouldn’t tell Calliope. She’d never look at him the same way again.

“Like I said, there are things I have to do to provide for my sisters. For you.”

She chuckled. “You don’t need to provide for me. I can provide for you. Let me help.”

Let her help? Or rather, sink deeper into his humiliation. “Your brother made sure I am not allowed to touch your dowry.”

“You will not be breaking that agreement if I give it freely, and not just to you. To your sisters. To my new family.”

His chest tightened with an impulse to agree, to let her in. To lean on her. He had been alone for so long in this, it was hard to imagine a life where he wouldn’t need to do it anymore.

But no. The only thing he had left was his pride.

“I am going to get that information to you today,” he said, more coldly than he’d like. “And once I do, I will bed you.”

Her eyes widened.

“Hermes is ready, Your Grace,” said Joshua, appearing in the doorway.

“Thank you,” he said and turned back to Calliope.

“Are you going to the Admiralty?” she asked.

“Yes. I am.”

She marched to the door. “I’ll come with you.”

Not this again. It was still dangerous for her. “No. You’re to stay here.”

“But Nathaniel—”

He turned and strode out the door.

Twenty minutes later, he dismounted, only to see a well-dressed lady with auburn hair under her bonnet descend from a carriage with the Grandhampton coat of arms.

His wife.