Persuasion in the Pantry [Maid for More #1]

Chapter 28- Part 2: Tea and Brawls

Two men stood poised against each other with fists raised mid-strike. The leaner gentleman's head snapped to the side and he stumbled backwards spitting blood and teeth. During the brief respite of a punch landing soundly they caught a glimpse of Jay as he entered and swiftly climbed out between the ropes. Standard practice of the pub dictated that the winner remain to fight on, but both men must have discerned that death was not worth the glory.

Jay was not concerned, sooner or later one man would be foolish enough to stand up against him in the ring and then he could finally channel his slowly cold fury from the morning. He shrugged off his coat and flung it over a nearby stool. Swiftly unbuttoning his cuffs he divested himself of the crisp white linen and pressed cravat, and strode bare chested and bare knuckled to await his opponent.

Silence permeated the stale intemperate air and only the occasional shuffle or scrape of a chair leg against the splintered floor betrayed signs of life. A servant boy continued to rub a filthy cloth in concentric circles over a worn table top, polishing in yesterday's grime into the wood grain as he watched with anxious, excited eyes at the prospect of ringside seats to a worthy fight.

Jay stretched his neck from side to side, hearing the clicks as taut muscles prepared for battle. He swung his toned arms back and forth across his body, limbering up his shoulders in rough arcs. More men walked casually in and loitered along the skirting without meeting his eye. So they wanted a show? Jay was glad to oblige.

Finally a chair screeched back with the resounding call of battle and Jay directed his eyes to the man who rose, cloaked on the border of light. He emerged wrapping bloodied knuckles in strips of white cloth torn from a shirt that lay tossed on the floor. The hanging fragments of worn away flesh being swiftly covered did not escape Jay's notice as the man stepped into the arena with a cocky grin that he remembered all too well.

Perhaps this was going to turn out to be a satisfactory day after all.

"Captain." He greeted his opponent.

"Zay," came the prompt answer.

Marco ambled forward with a sailor's cynical swagger, proudly baring a sweat soaked torso and a smile. He knew full well that the Duke would be less than pleased by his use of the name he had been issued at their first fight. He moved gingerly, his muscles cramping in complaint at their morning exercise however, seeing Jacob so obviously flustered was an opportunity he found too delightful to ignore. Mischief danced in his brilliant blue eyes as he advanced closer to the ring. Yes, he decided, a little entertainment was in order.

Jay inspected the Spaniard closely; he had not remembered the dimensions of the Captain's shoulders nor the three inches of extra height that he displayed. The man was a bear and if memory served him correctly, he fought like one too. Jay felt that he himself leaned more to the motions and mind of a wolf. An Alpha male commanded a pack, and a pack could decimate a humble hibernating bear.

No poorly proportioned mammoth would get the better of him today.

Marco pushed the barrier down and stepped over the construction designed to keep other fighters out. He heard the slips of paper rustling between swiftly wagering onlookers and hoped for their sakes it kept Jay and him in.

"I thought I already told you to be careful with what you risk." Jay welcomed him into the ring with a warning.

"I believe I told you that some things are worth the risk," Marco answered, straightening into position with the flexing roll of one muscled shoulder.

"So be it," Jay commanded and threw the first punch.

The Captain deflected and slung his own right hook clipping the edge of the duke's jaw.