A Masquerade in the Moonlight - By Kasey Michaels Page 0,43
like a real man.”
Thomas looked to the ring thirty feet to his left to see that Paddy was right. The two men moving inside it were hopping about like fleas, their bared fists lifted high, flicking punches at each other, then hastily dancing away. He lifted a hand to stroke thumb and forefinger over his mustache, then smiled down at Dooley. “Look a little silly, now that I’m really watching, don’t they? Not to worry, Paddy. I’ve got a plan.”
”A plan, is it? Ain’t that wonderful. You have a head as well, boyo, but then so does a pin,” Dooley countered, stepping up on tiptoe to roughly massage Thomas’s shoulders for a few moments before giving him a mighty push toward the center of the ring. “Now go kill the bastard.”
With Dooley’s last words ringing in his ears, Thomas halted two feet in front of the earl and smiled. “According to my friend and assistant, Mr. Dooley, this is to be a civilized exercise, unlike anything I am accustomed to. I take it then there is to be no gouging of the eyes, tripping, or kicking a man while he’s down. What, then, are the rules?”
The earl likewise inclined his head and said, “We shall use Broughton’s rules, Mr. Donovan. Sir Ralph will umpire, stepping between us if necessary, and once a man is down the other participant is to stand aside until it is determined whether his opponent is able to rise. As we are gentlemen, and this is only friendly sparring, I suggest that we indulge in no more than three falls and not total annihilation of our opponent. Agreed? And I give you my word as a gentleman that I will not knowingly take advantage of your inexperience.”
“Sounds fine to me,” Dooley said from behind Thomas. “Falling is always easier than rising anyway. But don’t worry, your lordship. I’ll help you up every time Tommie here knocks you down.”
“Paddy, go away,” Thomas said, trying not to smile. “Your lordship? I appreciate your consideration, and thank you for it. Ready when you are.”
Sir Ralph stood back, then motioned with both arms for the earl and Thomas to commence boxing.
Thomas stood very still, his heart pounding with expectation, his fists waist high, his knees flexed as he watched to see what the earl would do.
The man didn’t disappoint him. The moment he was given the signal, William Renfrew leaned slightly backward, chin up and head erect, his elbows bent, his fists as high as his eyes, with his fingers toward his face and the backs of his hands presented to Thomas. He looked, Thomas decided, like some sort of unnaturally stiff statue.
But he didn’t, like a statue, remain motionless. Before Thomas could react, the earl stepped forward and shot out his right fist, landing a punishing punch squarely on Thomas’s jaw. Less than a blink later, his left hand connected with Thomas’s stomach. A moment after that, he was gone, having danced away to another area of the ring. If this was “friendly” sparring, Thomas knew he would hate to be on the other end of the earl’s fists when the man was really trying.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Thomas said quietly, lifting a hand to gently manipulate his lower jaw, just to make sure none of his teeth had been loosened. “So that’s how it’s done.” Lowering his head and raising his arms only slightly —his left in front of his cheek, his right only shoulder high and partially extended—he stepped forward, knees still flexed, his eyes narrowed as he closed in on his prey. “Hardly seems sporting to hit a man, and then turn tail and run,” he said, and watched as the earl smiled.
“Perhaps, Mr. Donovan,” the earl responded, barely breathing hard, for all his exertion. “But, you must admit, it is extremely effective. Perhaps I have overestimated your ability and could end by hurting you. Do you wish to cry off?”
“I don’t know,” Thomas answered affably, flatfootedly stalking Laleham as the man danced toward the corner. “Why don’t you stop being so gentlemanly and really hit me, so I can make up my mind. So far I’ve felt nothing more than the breeze as you skip by me.”
“As you wish, Mr. Donovan,” the earl countered civilly, and then the fight was on in earnest, neither bothering to pretend this was anything less than it was, a test of just who was the better man.
The two began to circle each other, the earl landing stinging hits on