Deceiving the Viscount

Chapter 3B

Garrett eyed his sparring partner. Irving was something between an acquaintance and a friend, someone he would see at Gentleman Jackson's and occasionally at the gaming rooms of Brooks's. They'd exchanged more than pleasantries in the few years they were acquainted, for they were both fairly accomplished boxers. But this would be the first time in about a year he found himself up against the heavier, shorter man.

He was looking forward to it. And to the fact that in Gentleman Jackson's, titles meant nothing. All men were equal in the face of their opponent's fists. Whether one was an aristocrat or not mattered not when fist met flesh. Nobody's blood ran blue here.

Both were stripped to the waist, and had mufflers on to protect them from injuries, though Garrett would've preferred the feeling of flesh against flesh. He doubted the pain in his heart would dull without any sort of actual violence done by him.

"Lo, Lord Healey. Are we just going to be staring at each other all day or are we going to fight?" Irving called out good-naturedly, his Scottish accent barely noticeable.

"How about a fight with no mufflers?" He started to remove them. "Might you be willing?"

The other man grinned. "Only if you let me hit in your pretty face."

He flashed his own smile "Not if I hit you in yours first." The other man guffawed and slipped the padded shields off his hands so that his knuckles were bare. Garrett flung his own pair aside and they approached one another. A tap of knuckles against the other's and the fight began.

Irving struck first and Garrett barely managed to dodge that meaty fist and the quick footwork that had the man seemingly dancing in front of his eyes. He realised that he'd underestimated his opponent. Apparently, a heavier built did not make for heavier feet.

Garrett moved forward quickly with a punch to the man's soft sides but was blocked. He leaned back as Irving swung his fist at his cheek, knuckles grazing the skin.

The pair separated again and each of them attempted a few more moves against the other, as if they were both determining the other person's strength.

"Are we going to dance all day then? If I'd known, I'd have worn me dancing shoes," Irving teased. "Come on, my lord," the address delivered in that tone was as good as a first punch, "before we're old men."

Garrett took the man up on his taunt and launched himself at the Scot.

Many punches and two pairs of blood-smeared knuckles later, the men clasped hands and shook. "You put up a good fight, Healey." Irving clapped Garrett's shoulder. "Though I reckon you'd have more bruises than me the next morning."

The sides of Garrett's mouth started to lift but the cut on his lips stopped a full smile from forming. "I may have more but you will bigger ones." He nodded at the dark colours forming around Irving's right eye. "And uglier ones too."

"If I'd succeeded in breaking your nose, I'm certain you'd look the uglier of us two." Irving started to laugh at the rude gesture that Garrett made, then held his left side. "That hurts like the devil. Your knuckles must be made of stone, Healey, for I think you bruised my ribs."

"As surely as you've bruised mine." He shook his head at the man's feigned groans. "Go! Let your wife take care of the bruises for you."

"And I hope you find one soon to help you with your injuries."

Garrett nodded, forcing away the thought of how close he'd come to making a fool of himself just now. "If things go as planned, I might be able to introduce you to a Lady Healey before the year is over."

"Might you now?" The other man grinned at that. "It's about damned time. Is it the lass you were pining for last year when you came to London?"

Garrett shook his head. "Have I not told you? That lass is likely married now. My sister received news about six months ago that her nuptials were impending."