His Grace, The Duke: Second Sons Book Two

The first two rounds were over in a blink. Tom and Hartington each landed a few good jabs. Hartington was broader in the shoulders and taller. But Tom had a better center and better control in his swing. If he could stay on his feet, Burke was sure he’d win.

The bell rang, ending the second round, and Tom and Hartington split apart. Burke waited with a towel, tossing it to Tom as he approached. Other than battered knuckles, a cut lip, and being out of breath, Tom was faring well against the behemoth. He tossed the towel back to Burke, sagging against the ropes. His sides were heaving, and his chest and arms glistened with sweat.

“Christ, I forgot how hard he hits. His fists are like bloody iron.”

“You’re doing well,” Burke replied, handing over a cup of water.

Tom drained it in three gulps.

Across the way, Hartington leaned against the ropes. He had a cut on his brow. A mate had a towel pressed over it, trying to staunch the bleeding.

“He drops his left shoulder when he’s about to hit hard with the right,” Burke muttered.

“Aye, I noticed,” Tom replied through deep breaths. “I can take him down next round. God, I can’t wait to humiliate him,” he said with a chuckle. “He hates to lose.” He bounced on the balls of his feet, taking a few practice punches in the air.

Burke stood there, dazed, as an idea fine as smoke drifted through his mind.

No…no this can’t be happening.

He glanced over his shoulder to where the others watched. Rosalie was on the edge of her seat, eyes wide. On one side of her sat James, arms crossed over his chest. He gave Burke a nod of approval. Tom was doing well. But on Rosalie’s other side sat the Gorgon. He followed her gaze across the ring to where Hartington stood, flexing his shoulders. She was trying to hide it, but the worry was there. Her fan was frozen as her eyes soaked in Hartington’s muscled back.

“Goddamn it,” he muttered. Was he really about to do this? Leaning over the ropes, he snagged Tom’s shoulder, tugging him back to whisper in his ear, “Tom…you have to throw this fight.”

Tom’s neck twisted so fast he nearly gave himself a crick. “What? Why? Burke, I’ve got him—”

“Because sometimes you have to lose a battle to win the war.”

“Battle? What the hell are you talking about?”

The crowd cheered as the referee moved back into the middle of the ring, ready to start the next round.

Tom flexed his shoulders, giving the air a few more jabs. “I can do this—”

“Look at me, you bloody fool.”

Tom’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. “What—”

“Olivia is here,” he pressed. “She’s watching, Tom. She’s on the edge of her seat with worry for Hartington. You must throw the fight. You must let him win. Let her see him win. Do it for me—”

Tom shrugged him off. “I’m trying to beat him for you, you horse’s arse. A win for me is a win for you. And I’ve got ten pounds on me to win.”

“Forget the bloody money. James will pay you back!”

Tom snorted. “Unlikely. James put down fifty.”

Hartington was moving out of his corner. The referee glanced over at them with a raised brow. Christ, he was out of time. Burke had to say something to get through to Tom. Anything.

Suddenly, he grinned and leaned over the ropes. “I’ll let you call me Horatio.”

Tom looked sharply at him, then barked a laugh. “Nice try. I told you how I want to earn that right.” He turned away, ready to rejoin the fight.

Burke took a deep breath and called after him, “Then earn it!”

Tom turned back.

“Let’s go, Lieutenant,” the referee called. “Time’s up!”

Tom ignored him. He ignored everything. Burke did too. In the span of a single moment, the crowded warehouse had narrowed to just the two of them. Burke watched Tom’s shoulders tense, a question dancing in his blue eyes. These words needed to be said. They’d been choking him for days. “Everything you said that day in the alley…everything you offered…I want it. Throw the fight, and it’s yours.”

A faint smile quirked Tom’s mouth as his gaze heated. He glanced over Burke’s shoulder, no doubt seeking out Rosalie in the crowd. Then his eyes settled back on Burke. “It was always going to be mine,” he said with a confident grin. “But I’m a patient man. I’ll wait for you.”

Burke’s cock twitched, even as he forced himself to take a breath. “No more waiting. I’m all in…are you?”

Before Tom could reply, the referee was in their corner, one hand on Tom’s shoulder. “Let’s go, Lieutenant. We finishing this fight or not?”

Tom turned away without a word, following the referee to the middle of the ring. Burke could do nothing but watch as Tom and Hartington took up their stances and the referee rang the bell. The crowd screamed and the third round began. Hartington came in swinging strong, just as determined as Tom to end their dance this round. Tom took one hit but ducked the next. His footwork was excellent; he could jab in and dart, perfectly balanced on his toes. Hartington relied more on twisting from his hips.

Tom slipped in under a swing and gave Hartington two sharp jabs to his ribs. The captain wheezed, stumbling back, his left arm clamping down against his side. Tom danced away with a grin.

“Goddamn it, Tom!” Burke barked. He wasn’t going to throw the fight. He was going for the knockout. Burke seethed, feeling himself being torn apart. He wanted nothing more than to see the captain bleeding on the mats.

Well…almost nothing.

Even more than seeing Hartington humiliated, Burke wanted to see himself free of Olivia Rutledge. This sea captain had the power to free him. Olivia was a gorgon and a witch and an all-around terrible person that Burke loathed. But for some reason, Captain William Hartington liked her…hell, the confounded idiot loved her. He even proposed to her once. If the lady would just get out of her own way, she could have him and Burke could be free.

His goal was clear. He had to persuade Olivia to admit to wanting the captain. But what lady would admit to wanting a man bloodied and bruised, defeated by a lower ranking officer?

Fucking hell, Tom. Please, throw this fight. He sent out his selfish prayer, watching as Tom danced closer to the captain, ready to fake a low swing. He was going to plant a facer. It would be a knockout hit.

“No!” Burke’s shout was lost in the chaos of the crowd.

Time slowed as he watched Tom dart in, right arm kept low for the fake as he readied his left. Hartington fell for it, twisting to protect his tender ribs. That opened Tom to swing up with his left, clocking the captain on the jaw.

Only Tom didn’t take the swing. He followed through with his right hand, landing the useless punch that Hartington was ready to block. It was Hartington that got to come in swinging with his right hook, knocking Tom to the mats.

The crowd jumped to their feet, shaking the stands as Tom rolled to his stomach. The referee counted down as the crowd shouted for Tom to get on his feet. Tom let his body go slack and the referee slapped the mat.

It was over.

Behind them, the bell rang in finality.

In the flurry of activity, Burke narrowed his eyes on Tom. He waited with bated breath as Tom lifted his chin just enough to catch his eye across the mat. His mouth a bloody smile, he winked.