“I do.”
With a resigned shrug, Trevor took the requested pace to the left and then readied his fists. The baker stepped forward and raised…good God, had he brought a cowbell? Apparently so, because he lifted it high before striking a single loud clank with a small hammer.
The crowd began to scream, Mellie felt her breath squeeze tight in her lungs, and then she watched in horror as Trevor threw his arms wide and lifted his face to her cousin. It was well timed if he intended to be flattened. Ronnie had drawn back his ham-like fists and had begun a slow but obvious blow. Even she could see it coming, and Trevor adroitly put his chin in its direct path.
She gasped, too horrified to speak. And then it happened. Ronnie’s fist connected, Trevor’s head snapped back and spittle went flying, and then Mr. Anaedsley, grandson to the Duke of Timby, went flying backward to land in a rather large and obvious pile of cow dung.
So that was why Ronnie wanted him to step to one side. So Trevor would land there. Of all the dishonorable, despicable—
The crowd roared and surged forward, carrying her with them, but Ronnie didn’t stop. He stepped forward, dropped to one knee in the muck, and raised his fist again. Trevor was just coming back to himself, groaning as he raised a hand to his jaw. He’d barely managed to open his eyes before Ronnie grabbed him by the collar and lifted him into better striking position.
“What?” Trevor asked, but there was no time as Ronnie’s fist landed again with a sickening thud.
Trevor’s head snapped back, and the crowd roared its approval. Mellie saw blood splatter and smelled the stench of the offal. She was furious at Ronnie, and yet wasn’t this exactly what she’d known he would do? What he’d said he would do? He was going to beat Trevor senseless, and from the way he was lifting the man up and readying his fists, that’s exactly what he was about to do.
Trevor managed to rally. He raised his arms and blocked the punch as it descended. But he was slow and clumsy, obviously still reeling. At best he managed to grab hold of Ronnie’s lapels and use his arms to keep his head clear of the blows. In retaliation, Ronnie grabbed his opponent’s arms, gritted his teeth, and tensed his whole body. With a bestial roar, he hauled backward, lifting them both off the ground much to the crowd’s approval.
They made it to their feet, both men staggering. But a moment later, they recovered, though Trevor looked a great deal worse for wear. Nevertheless, he raised his fists, though his expression was still somewhat confused.
“You have the won the bout,” he said through his bloodied mouth. “There is no need—”
Apparently, there was need because Ronnie swung again, but Trevor was prepared this time. He ducked, he weaved, and he staggered about the field while her much larger cousin pursued.
The crowd started rumbling, disgruntled that no blows were landing. Ronnie was certainly throwing them, but Trevor was lighter on his feet and managed to avoid everything.
“Hit him!” screamed Grace where she still clutched Trevor’s clothing. “Show ’im what for!” The sentiment was echoed all around until Mellie actively hated them all.
Then Trevor struck. The jab was quick and drew nothing but a surprised grunt from Ronnie, but the crowd thought it wonderful, especially as he followed it with a half dozen more in rapid-fire succession.
Ronnie might have been surprised, but that didn’t last. He soon started punching, each blow heavy, now with increasing speed. The fight was on in earnest, and Mellie watched in horrified fascination. Her cousin had size and power. Trevor had speed, connecting twice as many times as Ronnie. Though his blows were not as powerful, the cumulative effect was beginning to take its toll. He also had a fox’s speed as he ducked and twisted all over the field.
It was after ten more agonizing minutes of this that Mellie finally began to relax. It’s not that she was enjoying the fight like so many of the crowd. Far from it. But she understood finally what Trevor had been trying to tell her. It was boys fighting in the school yard. Bloody and violent, to be sure. Especially since they were grown men. But no one was likely to die or even end up needing a surgeon. The two were well matched. At least that’s what she saw with her very limited experience. Which is when things went horribly awry.
Trevor stepped in a hole.
It was Ronnie’s doing, she was sure of it. He probably thought himself clever, but Melinda thought him a beast for it. After all, he knew this field. Had played here as a boy. He’d no doubt arranged for other pugilist matches on this very location. He likely knew every hole, every rock, every cow pie in a quarter mile and must have maneuvered Trevor to step in exactly that spot.
Trevor cried out in surprise and pain, crumpling quickly—in part from being off balance, in part because he was ducking to avoid Ronnie’s fist. Thank God he was wearing boots, otherwise his leg might have snapped in two. As it was, he was perched precariously, one leg ankle deep in mud while the crowd roared in bloodlust.
Trevor held off Ronnie as best he could, blocking blows aimed at his head. He needed enough space to regain his footing. He found it a moment later, lucky that Ronnie was a big man who tired quickly. Her cousin couldn’t keep up his rain of blows for long, especially with his lungs working like great bellows. Ronnie paused, pulling back his arm for another blow, but obviously slow from exhaustion.
Trevor took that moment to wrench his leg free, but when he stepped down on it he continued to fall. Damnation, his leg had given out! He must be hurt in earnest.
Mellie saw the realization hit both men at once. Trevor grimaced in dismay, doing his best to roll with the fall. Ronnie, on the other hand, saw his moment of triumph. His lips pulled back in an ugly grin, and she knew what he intended to do.
Trevor was down. Ronnie was going to finish the fight. But he hadn’t reckoned on Melinda. She’d been an unwilling participant in this whole disgusting display. Well, if her cousin wanted a Cheltenham tragedy, she would bloody well give him one.
She surged forward, having no need to fake the desperation in her voice. “Stop it! Ronnie, stop it now!” And when he didn’t hear her, she said the words she’d never thought she’d utter in her entire life. “My love!”
That got his attention. His fist was raised, but he looked to her, his eyes alight with excitement. “Mellie!”
She flung herself forward. Dropping to her knees, she slid in the mud, coming to a stop just where she’d intended—right beside Trevor’s head. Ronnie reached for her, but she pushed him away as she wrapped herself around the fallen lord.
“Stay away, you brute!” she practically spit at her cousin. Then she used her cloak to dab at the blood on Trevor’s face. “My love, my love, are you alive? Oh God, someone fetch a doctor! Please, someone!”
Her words were ten times more dramatic than were needed, but she’d learned that the best way to deliver a message to her cousin was in the most theatrical tone possible. So she cradled Trevor in her arms and crooned like any heroine in the most lurid gothic romance.
Trevor’s face was indeed a battered mess, but not so unrecognizable that she didn’t see the gleam of appreciation in his eyes or the mischievous smile that pulled at his swollen lip.