Page 43 of All Duke and Bothered

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Preston lunged forward, a fencing sword in his right hand. His sword clicked against Richard’s as they parried. The locks of Richard’s auburn hair fell on his forehead as he did a riposte, then grunted and launched into a counterattack.

Other gentlemen trained in the fencing club, Olympus, facing each other and swinging their swords in several lanes in a large room. The room was filled with the metallic clicks of swords, the shuffling of feet, and the grunts and sharp commands of the trainers. Most gentlemen were dressed in fencing jackets—simple white garments made of thick material with hooks on the sides of the torso. Paintings of horses and landscapes hung on wood-paneled walls. And tall windows opening onto Old Bond Street in Mayfair let in plenty of light.

Preston’s body savored the physical exercise, the strain of muscles, to make himself forget. Forget the night before, with his wife.

Because the plan to fuck her out of his system hadn’t worked. The moment he’d sunk into her sweet, tight depths last night, it had become very clear to him that he’d never have enough of her. He’d never stop wanting her.

Her sweet body, so responsive, so hungry for him. Last night, he’d gotten a glimpse of how it would be, just him and her. Of the happiness. Dinners alone together. Falling asleep with her in his bed. Waking up and seeing her face.

But none of that was possible. She would always be Spencer’s beloved, and there would always be his brother’s death between them.

Preston did a counterriposte and slashed his sword against Richard’s, but it was a weak thrust and directed too much to his right, and Richard easily unarmed him.

Richard walked to Preston’s sword. “What are you doing, brother?” he asked as he bent down and picked it up. He handed Preston his weapon. “Why are you so distracted?”

Preston’s hand wrapped tightly around the handle of his sword. “It’s nothing to worry you.”

“Is it Penelope?” he asked.

He didn’t need to talk. He needed to distract himself. “No. It shouldn’t concern you. Come on. En garde!”

Preston followed his example and stood with his knees bent significantly and his elbow bent with the sword pointing up.

“She’s the only woman Spencer ever loved,” said Richard. “That must worry you.”

Richard knew him way too well. He was always the peacekeeper. Not as competitive as his brothers, he had keen skills of observation and always seemed to know what was on one’s mind.

And while the whole ton thought Richard was yet another Seaton rake, Preston knew it was only a façade. Deep down, Richard was a true romantic, and as much as he tried to indulge in meaningless connections, he couldn’t go through with them.

Preston had always thought that Richard would be the one from the three Seaton brothers to end up happily married as he was popular among women and was a man of true honor.

But since his former betrothed had broken off their engagement, Richard had closed his heart to romance and sworn to never marry.

Preston attacked again, just to distract Richard, with his sharp eyes and his keen mind.

“Come on,” grunted Richard as he blocked Preston’s attack. They sparred in several lightning-strike attacks.

“If it worried me”—Preston slashed—“it would signify that she means something to me.”

Richard parried. “Doesn’t she?”

Preston advanced. “It does not matter. Because she shouldn’t.”

Richard lunged, and Preston was too slow to block his sword. The tip of Richard’s blade touched Preston’s chest.

“But she does,” said Richard, standing straight. “I can see that.”

Preston stared at his brother for a while. Was it even worth denying it when Richard knew him so well? What would be the point?

“She does,” Preston said.

Richard walked up to him. “I’m sure Spencer would have wanted you to be happy.”

Preston sighed. “I’m sure he would. But not with her. He loved her. She was supposed to be his.”

“Weren’t you the one who always said she didn’t return his affections?”