His Grace, The Duke: Second Sons Book Two

“Oh Tom, are you alright?” Rosalie pushed her way through the excited crowd, throwing herself at Burke’s side as he helped Tom climb out between the ropes.

Tom sank down on the ring’s edge, his face a bloody mess. He was panting, each breath making him wince. She hated seeing him like this.

“You were doing so well,” she cried, snatching the towel from Burke’s hand to dab at Tom’s bleeding brow. “James was sure you were going to win. He can’t believe it.”

“I’m fine.” Tom wrapped his hand around her wrist.

The contact made her stifle a whimper. His knuckles were bloodied. Boxing was a terrible, worthless sport! Men pounding each other like sacks of meat, and for what?

“He’s fine, love,” Burke murmured at her side.

She felt ridiculous for being so emotional. “I saw you fall…the blood…you weren’t moving. We were all so sure you’d win—”

“He was never going to win,” Burke soothed.

“What?”

Tom took a sip of the water Burke offered, swirling it in his mouth and spitting it on the floor. The pink tint made Rosalie’s stomach churn. Seeing one of her men hurt, even when they signed up for the pain, was apparently something she couldn’t tolerate.

“Someone start talking,” she hissed, lifting the towel away to check his bleeding brow.

“Burke made me an offer I couldn’t refuse,” Tom replied with a grin.

“An offer?” Her eyes darted to Burke. “What is he talking about?”

Burke ignored Tom, bandaging his knuckles with a practiced hand. “Hart needed the win more.”

“What? Why?”

“Because the Gorgon was watching,” Burke replied. “And we needed to show our dashing Perseus in the best possible light. Losing to a lower-ranking officer in a charity boxing match was not the way to win her heart.”

She glanced between the two of them, her frustration rising. “Oh, you two are ridiculous! You cannot scheme so willy-nilly, or you risk making things even worse. Do you both now require a chaperone? Tom could have been seriously injured!”

“When it works, I expect a truly heartfelt apology,” Tom replied, dabbing at his cut lip.

“I guarantee you it will not work. Olivia will not have her head turned or her heart softened by a round of bloody fisticuffs.”

Burke put a firm hand on her shoulder, his face lowering to her ear. “Then explain that.”

She and Tom both turned to see Olivia standing before Hartington on the other side of the ring, holding a towel to his cut brow. Her blush was evident, even from this distance. As they watched, Hartington leaned in and whispered something that had her laughing, covering the proof with her yellow-gloved hand.

Rosalie’s shoulders sagged. She couldn’t bear to see the look of triumph on Burke or Tom’s face. “I hate you both,” she murmured.

“Well, let us see if we can’t just win you back before the day is over,” Tom teased.

She glanced from one to the other. “What am I missing? What else have you done?”

“It’s not about what we’ve done,” said Burke, his heated gaze locked on Tom. “It’s about what we plan to do.”