to begin. We can’t have you spoiling your chance at becoming a duchess.”
He was right, and yet he couldn’t have sounded any more insulting.
She turned abruptly to go but his voice mocked her one last time.
“It won’t be worth it, you know.”
Tabetha froze. “What won’t be worth it?”
“Marrying Culpepper.”
Her heart dropped for an instant but then, more determined than ever, she marched back into the ballroom.
Because marrying a duke would be worth it. It had to be.
It was her destiny.
Chapter 2
Manly Pursuits
Barefoot and crouched over, Stone bounced on his toes, pinning his gaze on his sparring opponent. Forward, back, forward—Stone extended a few inches with his left hand and then lunged again with his right.
Mantis, however, managed to deflect the punch just enough that it only grazed his jaw.
Lucky for him.
“A little slow today,” Stone’s younger brother Peter called out. He occasionally came along to observe but never participated himself. As an accomplished cellist, he refused to jeopardize his hands for sport.
“Perhaps he’s mellowing,” Greys, the Marquess of Greystone, offered as he strolled into the boxing area, followed by Chaswick and Westerley, all three still outfitted in fencing garb, having concluded their matches next door. Both Chase and Westerley’s hair sprang out in all directions from wearing masks but Greys appeared impeccable, for all the world as though his valet had just finished dressing him.
Stone pivoted in the nick of time to dodge Mantis’s jab. Then he rolled to his left, at the same time throwing a right hook. To keep from breaking his opponent’s jaw, Stone relaxed the punch an instant before landing it. They were only sparring, after all.
“A late night at cards,” Westerley provided. “I appreciate you watching out for my sister, but seeing as I’ve returned, it’s no longer necessary, you know.”
Stone stepped forward, dragging his back foot behind him, and then back again, keeping his eyes pinned on Mantis, gauging his next move.
Last spring, he’d lost a bet to Westerley, an unwinnable one as he’d realized after the fact. His penalty, nonetheless, had been to watch over Lady Tabetha for Westerley until the Season concluded. And although the earl and his new countess had returned from their wedding journey earlier than planned, Stone intended to fulfill his obligation.
He might be a lot of things, but he wasn’t a welcher.
In addition to that, as long as he was keeping watch over Lady Tabetha, he could maintain possession of Westerley’s baby—a sporty, shiny yellow curricle. Which he’d arranged to use in a race a week from Saturday. No need to mention that just yet.
“Your sister is dangling after Culpepper,” Stone grunted and ducked.
None of them exhibited any surprise at his statement.
“I’ve warned her to stay away from him,” Westerley all but growled. “As has Bethany.”
“As has Lady Felicity.” Mantis punctuated his observation with a left jab. “But your sister refuses to listen.”
“Bethany says Lady Tabetha laughed at her concerns.” Chaswick rubbed his chin. “She’s afraid he’ll net her.”
“He won’t.” Stone tightened his muscles, exhaled, and threw his right cross. He made contact before he could draw back, and the resulting crack drew a groan from all four bystanders.
Mantis followed by landing a shallow jab.
“Have a care, Spencer,” Greys warned.
“You’re certain?” Chase all but ignored the action in the ring.
“Hold up.” Mantis stepped back and bent over, breathing heavily and then wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth.
“Apologies.” Stone backed off but his feet kept him shuffling around the ring, more to keep moving than anything else. “I’m taking her driving this afternoon. It’ll frustrate Culpepper. He’s likely to look elsewhere to fill his pockets if landing Lady Tabetha becomes too complicated.”
Stone paused, located a towel, and scrubbed it down his face and then over his chest and abdomen. The apparel, or lack thereof, that fighters wore for a bout was only one of the reasons his mother disapproved of bare-knuckled boxing—the other reason being that he occasionally sported bruises and blackened eyes.
Stone enjoyed that it was the one place where nothing mattered but the man himself; his strength, agility, and ability to predict the other fighter’s next move.
“Blackheart’s sources found records proving that Culpepper’s wife died in childbirth, along with the babe.” Greystone crossed his legs, holding his sword like a cane. “So at least the man isn’t a murderer.”
Westerley tipped his head to the side, eliciting a cracking sound that had Greys visibly flinching. “My sister deserves better than some lout who only wants her for her dowry.”