Free To Wed A Rebel by Sophie Dash

sickening
CRUNCH,
a crash of splinters, and then nothing.
    Gone, unconscious, immobile.
    A lucky turn for Isaac. One that kept him safe, from the Oak at least, for the crowd were not too happy with the outcome. They had wanted a more gruesome result.
    Hisses, shouts and curse words were thrown at Isaac’s raw back, but no one stopped him leaving the ring, while the Oak dribbled onto the floor. As he’d anticipated, the familiar face – one from his past – followed, all the way out into the corridor, to the narrow lane between buildings; an extension of both the bar next door and the illegal boxing venue. Broken crates were lined up in the alley, an old dog prowled the leavings and two men were slumped nearby, playing a foreign game with battered wooden tiles.
    Isaac tested his lip with his tongue and hissed at the sharp pain. “What do you want, Sebastian?”
    “I have been sent to find you by your great-aunt.”
    “You found me. Is that all?”
    “It never is.”
    “I know,” said Isaac grimly, chest rising and falling heavily, sweat leaving his hair in dark, clumped spikes across his forehead. “What does the old hag want now?”
    An annoyed twitch had the wrinkles deepen around Sebastian’s mouth. “Lady Mawes has received concerning news about your conduct.”
    “I am not the only high-born man to fight.”
    It’s all he’d done this past month, seeking out guts and glory in the grottiest south-easterly towns. Moving from place to place, making a name for himself, attempting to forget what he was running from. It was living, or it would be until his luck ran out.
    “Not this,” said Sebastian, voice as flat and drab as his clothing. “I refer to your other recent unsavoury activity.”
    “Which one?” Isaac grinned a lewd, vulgar grin. “You will have to be a little more specific.”
    “You know to what I refer.”
    It had been almost a month since Isaac had parted ways with Miss Osbourne. News, he knew, travelled fast throughout London, although he had not expected it to reach the countryside and his home for a long while yet.
    Sebastian was humourless and looked like a vulture with his black attire, thin white hair and scrawny neck. “Where’s the woman?” He asked in such a way that indicated he already knew the answer – and knew that Isaac did not.
    “How should I know?”
And why should I care?
If he sounded petulant, it’s because he was. All the other women from his past he’d easily forgotten. Not her. It didn’t matter how much he drank or how many brawls he started, the pain and the liquor did nothing to drive away the image of her and those sharp last words. God, and that look upon her face. It haunted him. Reminding him of all he’d done and all he’d take back, if only he could…
    Isaac pushed himself away from the wall and went directly towards the bar. No one stood in his way, though a few unhappy mutters were cast in his direction. There’d be a scuffle later, when the others were drunk enough to be brave and had forgotten the power Isaac held in his fists. More fool them.
    “She’s your responsibility, as far as your great-aunt is concerned.”
    “Mine?” He gestured to the barman, took a table and ignored the constant stares hurled his way.
    “Yes,” said Sebastian, following his every step. The man had always been around since Isaac was a boy, managing the Roscoe affairs – like family, only the relationship was never stated. What Isaac’s aunt wanted done, Sebastian would do. He was stern, calm and seemed to have been old for ever – or at least since Isaac was young – and to have him here brought those childhood memories racing back.
    They were not welcome ones.
    “We received word from a banker, a Mr Osbourne, about the entire sorry affair involving his niece.”
    “Why is this my problem?”
    “Because she’s to be your wife.”
    Isaac snorted, a broken laugh into the drink that had been set down before him. “Are you mad?”
    There was only