Page 28 of Wedded to the Deviant Duke

Madeline nodded, making brief eye-contact with Thalia before once more glancing away. Something in her stirred with a sense of familiarity, and Thalia found herself rising to personally greet the young woman. “I would be honored if you were to accompany us, Madeline. To be seen beside someone as kind as yourself would please me greatly.”

Madeline looked ready to faint there and then. Instead, she nodded frantically and clung to Charlotte’s arm, as if she were a life preserver amidst the vast sea.

“Now that we have our little group put together,” Charlotte beamed. “I believe it’s time we left this place. Onward; to the boutiques!”

Boutiques. Thalia did her best to remain cheerful as she was led off toward town, though a small panic had begun to spiral inside her chest.

CHAPTER13

One of the major benefits to owning a gentlemen’s club was the allowance of certain… practices, not entirely acceptable by the standards of polite society. Orion’s Hunt was one such example, as its peculiar nature would likely have never found root without the Ton’s Orions.

It certainly wasn’t anything so crass that it warranted public outcry, but Gabriel could see the more delicate of constitutions not fully understanding why the Hunt drew such interest in the first place.

The same could be said for the club’s boxing outpost, located in a long-since abandoned fishing warehouse and owned jointly by both Orions and Devils. It was an unusual purchase upon the surface, but members of both sides soon realized the benefit of having a well-maintained space to legally—and safely—express their club rivalries.

As such, when Gabriel stepped away from his own sparring match to grab a drink, he wasn’t surprised at all to spot a number of Orions in the ring with Devil opponents. Sweat-soaked and red-faced, each side seemed to have their own style of fighting, perhaps inspired by the way their leaders handled themselves during a fight.

The Devils, of course, had Tristan Lovell to observe; a brute of a man who preferred to overwhelm his opponent with an all-out offense. This reflected the very nature of the Duke of Tolford and perfectly summarized the nature of the Devils themselves as fiery-spirited individuals unwilling to back down from a challenge.

And it was that hot-blooded nature that Gabriel observed from this Devil club member, his fists a blur as he forced the Orion’s member toward the rope.

The Devil grinned, having already won the bout in his mind, and threw one more slug towards his opponent’s face. Or, where his opponent’s face should have been; the Orion seemingly pulled from an unseen reserve of stamina, darting around the jab as he rounded to his opponent’s side.

As the Devil staggered forward from the weight of his own momentum, the Orion struck fast and hard, delivering a series of punches that quickly winded and dropped his opponent against the very ropes he seemed destined to become entangled in. Their makeshift referee called the match with a sharp whistle, and Gabriel inwardly beamed with pride as his Orion offered a hand to his defeated opponent.

Raw power was one thing, of course, but not what ultimately made a predator so dangerous. To plan, to conserve, to wait until the right moment to strike; this is what the Ton’s Orions represented, what Gabriel instilled in every member. And as he finished his drink and tossed the cup into the trash, he cracked his knuckles and returned to his own corner of the warehouse, where Christian eagerly awaited for their second round.

“You certainly took your time,” Christian quipped.

Gabriel rolled his eyes, settling back into his sparring stance. He waited patiently, knowing full well his friend typically broke under the pressure and would strike first. Sure enough, Christian darted forward after a few moments passed, and their bout began once more.

It felt good to get lost in the act, feel his heart race and count the steps it took to dodge his friend. A two-step to the left, a sweeping duck followed by a shuffle—he was struck now and again, but that was more due to Christian’s talent than his inability to dodge.

Suddenly Christian pulled away from their sparring circle, hands held up to pause their bout. Gabriel managed to pull his arm back before it struck against his friend’s face, and as he followed Christian’s gaze, it became obvious why he wanted to stop. Entering through the front warehouse was the devil himself, Lord Tristan Lovell, immediately pulling the attention of other club members with his presence.

But more important to Gabriel was the dandy of a man who followed behind him, whose outfit was hardly proper for such an active place. His hair looked too light to be real, and his eyes, regrettably, gave the duke a surprising shiver at the ice they held.

“Seems the little marquess has finally made his entrance,” Christian mused, wiping the back of his neck with his towel.

Gabriel watched the pair begin to tour around the warehouse, the duke too far away to fully pick up on his conversation with the newest Devil recruit. But observation alone was all he needed to know what kind of man Giles Tilbury was.

The pronounced swagger in his step, the dramatic puff of his chest, how obviously unfitted his suit was in particular areas; all signs of a man whose wallet wasn’t close to matching his ego. Every fiber of Gabriel’s being wanted to approach the man, here and now, and show him what happened to those who tried to hunt his prey. But he kept himself grounded, reminded himself how important the first move was even outside of a sparring match.

His patience eventually paid off, as soon, Tristan’s eyes met with Gabriel’s, a glimmer of interest immediately crossing his face. “Your Graces—what excellent timing on your parts!”

The Duke of Tolford quickly crossed the warehouse, Giles stepping quickly to keep pace. “Have you met the newest Devil’s recruit? Seems our ranks continue to grow by the day—not that I can blame the young men of London for having such good taste.” He sighed lightly, as if truly overburdened by his good fortune.

“I believe industry has a phrase for just this occasion,” Christian chuckled lightly, throwing his towel to the side as he approached the group for greetings. “‘Quality before quantity’, wasn’t it, Gabriel?”

“Indeed.” Gabriel’s reply was curt, cutting; the less he had to say on the matter, the better it was for Giles’ long-term health.

The little marquess looked red in the face, though Tristan simply laughed at the response. “There’s that spirit rivalry I’ve come to love between our clubs. It’s all in good fun, Mr. Tilbury—you’ll have to gain quite the thick skin if you decide to stay with us.”

Immediately, Giles’ expression shifted, a holier-than-thou smirk crossing his face. “Oh, yes, of course. A little ribbing from the competition will hardly chase me away, Your Grace.”

“Good to hear, Lord Oslay!”

Gabriel’s frown persisted, noting a curious tone in Tristan’s voice. It was barely perceptible, though it spoke volumes as the smaller tics of his face, the posture of his body, were observed and compared beside it.

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