Part 37 (2/2)

”So, Kemp? Game for a real man's fight, as you call it? Or are you afraid it'll be too rough for you?”

For a fraction of an instant, Kemp hesitated; Leo could read the uncertainty in his eyes. Kemp was a bully, and bullies liked to be sure they had the upper hand.

But then Kemp's natural pride rea.s.serted itself; he was obviously confident that no one could best him, especially Leo.

Besides, Leo thought, they had an audience, one Kemp wouldn't be able to win over to his side so easily this time. Kemp had played the mature pragmatist during their last confrontation. This time if he retreated, he would look scared, pure and simple.

Kemp smirked again and held out his gloved hands so his servant could unfasten the ties.

”At least let me wrap your knuckles, my lord,” Jackson's man insisted. ”And yours as well, Lord Kemp.”

”Very well,” Leo agreed.

It wouldn't do him any good if he broke his hand on the b.a.s.t.a.r.d's hard head with his first hit.

A few minutes later, he squeezed his fingers open, then closed, testing the strength and flexibility of the cloth strips wound tightly around his hands. Across from him, Kemp did the same.

Voices buzzed as bets were placed by the men who'd gathered to watch the coming action. In all the time he'd come to Jackson's salon, Leo had never seen it so crowded.

He brushed all that aside, concentrating on his plan, antic.i.p.ation surging through his nerves and veins.

Then Kemp stood before him, heavier than him by at least two stone and far nastier, likely looking to any casual observer as the more fearsome opponent.

But Leo had the advantage; he had fury on his side.

He had right.

For each blow would be a blow of justice for Thalia.

Each drop of blood spilled would be in honor of the losses she'd endured, the pain she'd suffered and been unable to take recompense for herself.

He smiled and beckoned Kemp forward with a hand.

Kemp glanced around, posturing for the crowd; then he struck, his fist connecting in a hard blow against Leo's jaw.

Leo's head snapped back.

Distantly, he heard laughter.

But he barely felt the punch, ice-cold vengeance and molten hot rage burning too deeply inside him for the pain to take hold.

With a gimlet stare, he turned his head and spit out a mouthful of blood onto the floor. Then he looked at Kemp and smiled again, his teeth slick and red with menace.

The fight was on.

Before Kemp even knew what was coming, Leo struck, pounding his fists into his exposed gut in a hard, fast volley of blows. The breath wheezed out of Kemp's lungs, his face turning white, then red as he struggled for air.

But even as he managed to draw in the next breath, Leo struck again, hitting him one-two in the face, then again in his side in the same tender spot where Kemp had earlier been pummeling his sparring partner.

Kemp wavered, then held up his fists protectively, moving backward and away with several heavy, lumbering steps. He shook his head, trying to clear it so he could regain his equilibrium.

Leo came at him again; this time Kemp got in a pair of punches, striking him in the face and the stomach.

But rather than draw away, rather than take a moment to catch his own breath, Leo pursued. He hit, then hit again, striking whatever vulnerable parts of Kemp that he could reach. His muscles ached from the reverberation of the blows running up his arms, his hands turning slick with fresh blood.

Again, he barely felt the pain, pressing his advantage, every strike a victory for Thalia. He wanted Kemp to know how she'd felt. He wanted him to cower and beg, in fear for his life as she'd been for hers.

”Not like hitting a woman, is it, Kemp?” he said in a voice only the other man could hear. ”I'm not so easy to beat and abuse, am I? How does it feel to be whipped like a beast? How do you like being the victim this time?”

Kemp's swollen eyes widened with understanding and fear. And hate.

But no remorse.

Leo saw that as clearly as he saw the bruises spreading over Kemp's flushed skin.

Leo really let loose then, raining Kemp with blows that the other man could not avoid or have any hope of returning. Kemp made one last feeble attempt to hit back; then he went down, sprawling at Leo's feet in a miserable, moaning heap.

Leo nearly followed, wanting to hit him again and again and again until there was nothing left that was worth striking anymore.

But Thalia's voice rang out in his head, reminding him of his promise. His vow that he would not give in to the basest parts of his nature.

He spit again, on Kemp this time, as a sign of his utter contempt.

Then he turned away.

Chapter 32.

”Lady Frost to see you, milady,” Fletcher announced in low, dignified tones.

Thalia looked up from her sewing, then hurriedly secured her needle in her embroidery and got to her feet. ”Jane! What a wonderful surprise. I didn't know you planned to drop by today.”

Jane Frost walked into the room on a whisper of lavender silk, her glossy brown curls artfully arranged beneath her chip-straw bonnet decorated with silk flowers that had been dyed to match her gown.

Five children and fifteen years had thickened her a bit through the middle. Even so, she still managed to look as bright and lively as the girl Thalia had first known the year they'd made their come-out together.

Jane hugged Thalia, Jane's gardenia-scented perfume drifting sweetly in the air. She looked and smelled like springtime.

”I was thinking about you this morning, so I decided to pay you a call,” Jane said, moving to take a seat.

”Tea, Fletcher, if it wouldn't be any trouble,” Thalia told him.

”No trouble at all, milady.”

She waited until Fletcher had departed before resuming her own seat. ”So, what news have you come to share?”

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