Pretty Persuasion (34 page)

"Eight! Nine!" Hunt's voice boomed like the toll of a death bell. Richard and Mr. Cameron hurried forward. Georgie craned her neck, but the sight of Robert's body was blocked by his seconds.

Without thought, she started to turn and run around the throng of people, but Louisa hauled her back with a tightened hold on her arm. Swallowing a growl, Georgie allowed herself to be anchored.

Standing by his seconds and flexing his hand, Phillip did not take his eyes off the opposing corner. As Robert let Cameron help him up, Georgie silently screamed at him to give up and stay safe.

"Twenty-one! Twenty-two!"

Robert was back on his feet, though he appeared dazed. Mr. Cameron seized the flask from Georgie's brother and splashed water on Robert's face. Robert lurched and blinked, then shook his head and flicked back wet strands of hair.

As he walked back to his line, his still somewhat unfocused gaze landed on her. Instinctively, in a near-panic, Georgie bent her head. When she looked up again, his attention was on his opponent, but she could have sworn his eyes flickered occasionally in her direction. Cursing herself, she prayed her presence would not prove a distraction to him.

The fight drew out, and Georgie grew tenser with each passing second. The murmur of the crowd, the sickening thuds of knuckles hitting flesh, the grunts of pain. It all crowded in on her, until she could only stand there in frozen helplessness, too numb to move or react to the brutal play taking place before her eyes.

Increasingly, the men appeared to be evenly matched. Blood spilled until Georgie's eyesight seemed tinted crimson. She flinched at each punch that landed on target, each hit that had the imagined sounds of cracking bones echoing in her head. Their fight was relentless until signs of fatigue showed in their movements.

Suddenly, a female scream rent the air, followed by peals of laughter. Robert's head came around, and a lightning bolt hit Georgie as his eyes locked with hers.

No, no, no.
She shook her head wildly.
Look at Phillip. Not me. Oh, please, dear God. Don't look at
me
!

Phillip's vicious jab to the jaw broke their eye contact.

Dead silence fell again with Robert's collapse. The audience held its collective breath as Louisa's brother grimly began the count towards the half-minute limit. Georgie dared not move while her brother and Mr. Cameron appeared above Robert. She
couldn't
move. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe as she waited and prayed fervently that he would rise, that he was not badly hurt.

An eternity passed. Robert did not budge. Georgie's sight blurred and the buzzing of the crowd receded until only a thick, dizzying silence filled her ears. She was speared by tales of prize fighters dropping dead to the ground, how a mere fraction of an inch could make the difference between a wounding and a fatal blow.

The kind of blow she was certain Phillip could deliver.

Oh, God. Sheer terror swept her up, and she fought nausea, pressing her forearm hard to her stomach. He was dead. She was sure of it. And she loved him. Oh God, how she loved him.

Her mind reeled. But it was true; it surprised her, shocked her how painfully true it was. She loved Robert. She could not deny it, could turn away from the truth no longer.

He could not be dead. He simply could not! She refused to allow that he could be gone forever before she had confessed her love for him. Before she had even acknowledged it to herself.
Oh, how miserable this feeling, to see so clearly just how important he was to her, now that it might be too late.

Stupid. So stupid.
The despair rushed upon her so suddenly she almost gagged on the lump in her throat, and she held her breath to keep back the unshed tears burning her eyes. She had been so stupid. What did traveling the world or absolute independence matter if it meant she'd never again see Robert? Never hear his laugh, never touch him or simply feel the joy of knowing there was such a man in the world as Robert and that he was hers, all hers.

She had to talk to him. She had to explain her behavior, apologize for the way she had treated him, used him. And then, if he'd still have her, they'd spend the rest of their lives together. But first he had to rise. He had to be all right. Anything else would be—

His head came up among the men inside the ring, and she could finally breathe again. Lightheaded and afraid she might faint, she waited for him to return to the line.
But he did not. A hushed argument swelled between the three men in the far corner. Robert shook his head, refusing to budge.

"Twenty-nine! Thirty!" announced Louisa's brother. "Rossemore wins the match!"

A cheer went through the crowd, with only the odd protests and catcalls. Confusion left Georgie spinning. Robert's posture was too rigid, his gaze too sharp for a beaten man. There was only one reason why he would yield, and—

"It is
not
over!"

At the sound of his furious voice rising above the noise, Georgie jerked her head toward Phillip. He had not moved from the center square, where he stood with fists clenched at his sides. One of his uniformed seconds put a hand on his shoulder, but he shook it off.

"It is not over," he repeated, looking as if he might tear across the ring and pounce on Robert. "You are perfectly able to continue, and I refuse to accept anything less than a true victory."

"And I refuse to fight until one of us is permanently injured," Robert replied, adding, "or worse."

Another wave of relief washed over Georgie.
Oh, Robert.
He was the voice of reason again, sensible and composed in ways that made her proud even as it shamed her. She had not shown much sense herself since his return to England. Tears burned behind her eyes, and invisible hands tugged on her to rush inside the boxing ring and into his arms.

"Nothing has been settled," Phillip growled.

"On the contrary." Robert accepted his shirt from Mr. Cameron. "I believe we have proven there is nothing that needs to be settled."

"The devil! If you do not finish, I shall consider it an utter concession."

Another murmur spread through the crowd, and Robert's eyes darkened. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"You know precisely what it means," Phillip sneered.

Robert's gaze fell on Georgie. She did not look away this time, and the intensity of his look sent a shudder of awareness down her spine. He fairly radiated conflicted feelings, a struggle between deep-seated passions and convictions. Shaking her head, she told him with her eyes what she was unable to say aloud.
Don't succumb. Stay where you are. Stay safe.

A commotion arose inside the boxing ring, and then she saw Anthony stride across to this brother's side. Head bent, he quietly spoke what appeared to be terse words at Robert, who frowned at Anthony for a long moment. There was something naked and tangible about the way Robert looked at his brother, and he held himself so taut she half expected him to snap in half. One moment, she thought he might punch Anthony, and the next, that he would hug him.

Finally, he turned and spoke to Richard over his shoulder, who then gave a short nod and backed away, stepping over the ropes and out of the ring. Anthony took his place beside Mr. Cameron, and Georgie drew a shuddering breath. He had switched sides to stand behind Robert, where he belonged. She almost wanted to hug him herself.

But the heart-warming moment lasted only until Robert flung aside his shirt and stepped up to the line, and the meaning of Anthony's action hit her. Her blood went cold. The fight would resume.

Would the nightmare never end?

It was impossible to tell who took the first swing. They rushed upon each other in a scurry of motion. There was renewed energy behind each punch and jab, a revival of agility in each duck and swerve.

Phillip's fists hit home more often than not. Whenever Robert staggered, Georgie's stomach dropped. She could barely stand to watch, and yet she could not look away. She saw nothing but their fists, heard nothing but their grunts. Time slowed, and she saw Phillip's deadly blow coming, knew it would be the one to finish it once and for all.

"No!" The scream tore from her throat. She broke free from Louisa's hold and threw herself forward.

Robert dodged the punch. With a low growl, he drove his left hook into his opponent's jaw. A second later, his right fist found the same target, and Phillip went flying. The ground seemed to quake as he hit the floor with a crash that echoed and drew a collective moan from the crowd.

"One! Two! Three!"

Georgie barely heard Hunt's count as she stared at Phillip's limp body.
Don't get up. Don't you dare get up.
His seconds grabbed his arms but seemed reluctant to move him. At the count of twenty, he raised his head. Two seconds later, he released a pained groan and let his head fall again.

Time was called, and Georgie's brother announced, "Sheffield wins the match!"

"Eh?" came an indignant male voice. "I say, Rossemore won it first!" A chorus of concurring sentiments burst forth. The audience became a melting pot of angry men and women, bickering and shoving their way toward her cousins and the betting book.

Georgie and Louisa were pushed toward the boxing ring, where they latched onto the rope rails. As the crowd streamed away, Georgie saw Phillip climb to his feet. In the other corner, Robert picked up his shirt and drew it over his head.

An alarm went off in Georgie's head as she caught the sight of her brother bearing down upon them, his expression thunderous. As Hunt came from the other direction, she knew there'd be a confrontation that would prevent her from doing what she desperately needed to do. Taking Louisa's arm, she said, "Stall them, please. I must speak to Robert right now, and I can't let Richard stop me."

Louisa agreed with a hasty nod. But just as Georgie turned from her friend to search for Robert among the crowd, a hand clamped down hard on her shoulder and her brother's voice rang close to her ear. "What the devil do you think you're doing?"

"I behaved badly at Lady Albermarle's ball to-night. Through curious Misfortune, I happen'd to sit next to Anthony Balfour at the supper table. He spoke not a word to me, and yet I found myself too vex'd by his mere proximity to enjoy the meal. At last, I became weary in the anticipation of an insult; and I could keep my tongue no longer. I am ashamed of it now, but really, were he not such a detestable Ass, this never-ending quarrel should never have begun."

— From the diary of Lady Georgiana Montford, aged 18

A GROAN ESCAPED Robert as he eased himself down into the cool grass and leaned his clammy and bruised body against the oak tree's trunk. His head throbbed, the ache dizzying, like the reverberations of a pealing bell. He'd no doubt feel for days the effects of the damage Rossemore's deft fists had inflicted.

Battered though he was, it caused him more pain to gaze across the clearing near the carriages where Wakehurst and Huntingfield stood arguing animatedly with their respective sisters. He didn't know why he had been so surprised to see Georgie among the audience. He ought to have expected she'd show up. At the moment, she kept pointing toward him, which he supposed meant she was trying to break away from her brother, who appeared to have a firm grip on her arm. No doubt she simply wanted to offer more excuses for her behavior, more "logical" reasons why she couldn't marry him.

Well, he'd rather be slowly crushed to death than hear it all again. No, he'd finally had his fill of rejection. It made him sick to his stomach, what she had reduced him to. She'd done it to Rossemore as well, for the young man was obviously in love with her. And like a pair of fools, they'd beat each other bloody for the favor of a woman who spurned them both.

Each punch had sobered Robert little by little until he ended up sprawling on his back, hovering on the brink of unconsciousness and wondering what the devil he was doing. Wondering how he had returned home from Barbados in search of a peaceful life and wound up in Richmond Park this day, fighting a virtual stranger for reasons he suddenly could not recall.

So he had conceded defeat, and Rossemore's refusal to accept it had not budged his decision. But then Anthony crossed the boxing ring. His brother had ordered, urged, and pleaded with Robert to not give up, accusing him of disgracing their good name. And then finishing the fight had not been a choice for Robert anymore—it became a necessity.

He had won in the end, but it was a hollow victory, for he only wished the match had never taken place. Wished there had never been a
reason
for it to take place.

Across the clearing, Huntingfield and Wakehurst were all but shoving their sisters into a closed black carriage. Robert thought he saw Georgie throw a glance at him over her shoulder, but even if she had, what of it? She had indeed made a fool out of him, and he'd allowed it. There were limits to how low he'd let himself sink, however, and he ought to have reached it long since where Georgie was concerned.

As he watched the carriage disappear behind the thick growth of trees along the road, he was beyond feeling even the slightest twinge of regret.

It was time to move on.

Tilting back his head until it met the tree, he closed his eyes and pondered how he would proceed. He'd have to go away. To a place where he would not run into her, where he could put her from his mind and restore his dignity. Where he could forget about her.

He was vaguely aware of someone throwing himself down on the ground next to him. Assuming it was Cameron, who he had last seen in the company of Tony's scarlet-clad friends, he said sourly, "If you've come to tell me what a pathetic excuse for a man I am, I'll see to it that you are unable to chew for a month."

"It's tempting, but I'm not in the habit of kicking a fellow when he's down."

Raising his head, Robert found himself staring at the profile of his brother, who had taken off his scarlet coat and flung it over his shoulder before sitting down.