Page 39 of My Dangerous Duke

“Gloves?” Rhys asked, moving into his stance as Xander came toward him.

“I would rather not,” Xander said gruffly, moving into his stance.

“Fine,” Rhys sighed, going up to the balls of his feet. “It is your bruises.”

Xander had Rhys eating his words at first, his punches and kicks landing with force and precision as they went through the first four rounds. But, as the fifth round began, his strength no longer matched his anger, and in growing frustration, he began making mistakes. He was soon losing. Badly.

“You have had enough?” Rhys panted as he took Xander to the mat.

“No,” he said through ragged breaths, pushing the man’s hand away.

“You need to get yourself under control, Larsen,” Rhys warned as he backed up.

“Iamin control!” Xander ground out, readying himself for the sixth round.

“Yeah,” Rhys laughed bitterly as they began their dance again. “What happened at the house earlier then?”

No longer interested in talking, Xander lunged forward with a right hook. Rhys jumped back, the hit barely connecting with his jaw, and he retaliated with a solid punch to Xander’s ribs. Pain bloomed in his abdomen as he went down, and in a dirty move,he grabbed ahold of Rhys’ legs and pulled them out from under him.

“Rhys, enough, the man has lost his mind,” Patrick barked, approaching them. Rhys worked himself free before Patrick got to them and gave his friend a warning glare to stay away.

“Is this really how you want to do it?” Rhys asked, giving Xander one more chance. “You know I am not one to show mercy.”

It was too late, though, and he knew it.

“Come on,” Xander urged, raising his bruised fists as he got to his feet. “Give me everything you have got.”

Eleanor awoke to the sharp sound of something metal hitting marble, and when she opened her eyes, she noticed two things immediately. One, Xander was not in bed with her. Two, more sounds and a dim yellow glow were coming from her open bathing room door.

Eleanor sat up, straining to make out the sounds she was hearing, then jumped out of bed when she heard another clang and Xander’s growl. Her eyes grew wide with fear as she saw her devilishly handsome husband standing before her, shirtless, bruised, and bleeding. Spilling over on the counter and to the floor was a pair of small scissors, and a mess of bloodied, torn-up linens.

Behind him, she vaguely recognized an open door that she had thought was just a closet. Instead, there was a staircase behind the door, and she realized their rooms had adjoined after all.

“Xander,” she breathed, rushing toward him.

“I did not mean to wake you,” he all but whispered, catching her wrists before her hands could touch him. “Go back to bed. I will take care of this upstairs.”

“No!” She half-whispered and half-yelled as she wrenched her wrists out of his grip. “What happened to you? Where did you go?”

“Eleanor, please,” Xander urged. He looked away, leaning his lower back against the counter as he pressed a rag to a cut on his chest. She could hear his breathing starting to grow heavier, and his muscles were twitching. For a moment, she thought of obeying him. Of turning a blind eye to what she saw and going back to bed.

Only, it would repeat all again, wouldn’t it? She would wake up to another day of this strange game she and Xander had grown addicted to.No.

“In the bath,” she directed, her voice soft but insistent.

When Xander did not move, she moved to the large tub, put in the plug, and pulled down the pumps to release the hot water. As her hands moved to undo his trousers, she kept her eyesupward, focused on the array of colorful bruises that covered him. Luckily, there was only one on his face; a purple crescent moon that took up his left temple and cheekbone, turning blue close to his eyes. The pain, she realized, had to be excruciating.

“You do not have to do this,” Xander said as she went to lead him to the tub. She looked back at him, but he still would not look at her. “I can handle this alone.”

“Not this,” Eleanor said softly, reaching up to gingerly move a strand of his hair off of his bruised temple and cheek. “This time, I am in control.”

Xander finally looked at her, his eyes glistening with emotion, and Eleanor felt her heart ache for him. Her husband, theTon’smost ruthless member, had run into something he could not fix. And it was destroying him. Without a word, he let her finish leading him to the tub. When he went in, he sank down slowly, his eyes on the water.

Keeping her eyes focused on her work, Eleanor took a clean cloth and began to wash Xander down, careful to have a light touch. If he was in pain, which she was sure he was, he was not showing it. Save for the constant vibrations that came from beneath his taut skin, he did not flinch once.

When she finished, he stood up on his own and let her towel him off. Then, after rummaging through the many mirrored little cabinets in the room and finding whatever ointments she could, she began to massage each wound gently one at a time.

She was just finishing rubbing ointment on the last one; a particularly large green and purple bruise on his left pectoral muscle, when his hand came up and gently stopped her. Eleanor’s brows flew up, and relief poured through when she saw Xander’s silver orbs, once again shining with life, staring back down at her.

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