Page 56 of Defending the Duke (The St. Clairs 4)

Anthony opened the door to the drawing room and came to a halt. The scene before him didn’t make sense.

Gentleman Jack stood at the far end, demonstrating how to throw a punch. He was bent slightly at the waist, as he taught all the men who came to his boxing club to do. Laurel imitated him. The former boxing champ drew back his arm and thrust it forward. Laurel did so, as well.

“Do the sequence,” Jack commanded.

Laurel commenced moving her feet. Her slippers moved forward and back and then from side to side, her face flush from the activity.

“That’s good, Your Grace. Add the rest.”

She struck her imaginary opponent with a straight on punch, followed by an uppercut with her left, her feet dancing all the while.

“Oh, this feels marvelous, Mr. Jackson!” she proclaimed.

Anthony strode across the room. “What in bloody hell is going on? Have you gone mad?”

She ceased moving though her bosom heaved as she panted. Wisps of hair had come loose from her chignon, framing her face.

“I’m learning how to box, Anthony,” she declared, a radiant smile on her lips.

“No, you are not,” he said firmly. Turning to Gentleman Jack, he said, “What were you thinking? Get out!” he shouted and glared at his wife.

Her smile fell. For a moment, she looked as if she might cry. Then he watched as a steely resolve entered her eyes.

“Thank you for the lesson, Mr. Jackson. We can continue this—”

“There’s no continuing this,” he roared.

The former boxer ignored him. Looking at Laurel, he said, “I regret that we won’t be able to pursue further lessons, Your Grace.”

“You’re afraid of him?” she asked, astounded. Then her eyes narrowed. “No, I know you’re not. You’re only afraid of losing his business. Or that word might get out that you had the audacity to instruct a female. I am sorry, Mr. Jackson. Terribly so. You are an excellent teacher. I wish you well in all future endeavors.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Gentleman Jack bowed to her and left the room.

The moment the door closed, Laurel shouted, “How dare you treat him so poorly!”

“How dare he come to my home,” Anthony snapped. “What were you thinking, Laurel? Are you mad? Boxing lessons? What a disgrace.”

She marched to him, standing so close her breasts brushed against his chest. “Yes, I am mad. Not insane. Just extremely angry. At you.”

“Boxing lessons are not appropriate—”

“Don’t, Linfield,” she said. “I don’t need this lecture from you again on how a duchess—your duchess—is to act. You already lied to get me to marry you.”

“I lied?” he asked, astounded. “About what? And we had to wed. Else your name would have been dragged through the mud by theton.”

“Oh, that’s right. Place all the blame on me. All because I kissed a man even though it was a private moment. I never should have married you. You told me I could be my own woman and make my own rules but all you do is want me to behave like every other silly female in Polite Society. I would rather have had tongues wag. Another scandal would have come along soon enough and I wouldn’t be saddled with you. Or you with me.”

Angry tears splashed down her cheeks. “I only wanted to learn about boxing because you’re interested in it.”

“I don’t want you interested in my life!” he shouted.

His words hung in the air. Anthony regretted them the moment they left his lips. He saw Laurel’s face twist and knew he’d hurt her deeply.

Without a word, she fled the drawing room.

“Blast it all.”

He went and poured himself a drink, downing it quickly and then sinking into the nearest chair.

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