Ben swept his slightly flopping hair back from his forehead. “Hmm, given your agitation, a lady must be involved. We all know how you feel about love.”
“Ha. Think what you please,” he replied tersely, even though his brother’s thinking was completely on the mark.
He wasn’t about to confirm that. Ben thought well enough of himself without getting the better of his elder at this moment.
After shrugging off his tailored dark blue coat and unbuttoning his simple ivory waistcoat, he placed the two down beside his brothers’ items with slightly more care.
Will faced the boxing arena—and could not wait to get into it. The best thing about this club was that no one paid attention to anyone else. Gentlemen came here to stay in form, to exercise their bodies and minds. And unlike their clubs, they didn’t sit about and gossip.
No, a man could be left to it. So, as he climbed through the ropes, he felt respite, knowing that he and his brothers did not need to worry about the men working at the end of the long, cavern-like hall.
Immediately, he began bouncing on the balls of his toes, moving his arms, and loosening his muscles by rolling his head to stretch his neck.
“My goodness, you are on edge,” Ben observed.
“Fewer words; more action,” he replied, focusing straight ahead, throwing a jab. “Who’s first?”
“Oh, you wish to face us one after the other?” Kit asked, his arms folded over his wide chest as he assessed his brother.
“Indeed, I do,” he informed, waggling his brows at his brothers, daring one of them to go first.
He needed this.
“Then we must do it by birth,” Ben said firmly, plunking himself down on the bench happily. “Kit, you’re up first.”
“Hell’s bells, Ben,” Kit lamented with faux horror. “That means I’m going to get the worst of him.”
Ben laughed and stretched out his feet before him, hooking one boot over the other. “I shall enjoy being the referee to this merry row.”
Kit sighed and climbed into the ring.
They began circling each other, eyeing where they could each make a good landing.
Will could not stop thinking about her again. It was the most infuriating thing, for he’d come here to cease thinking about her. He had gone on his ride to cease thinking about her. But wherever he went and whatever he did, Beatrice was still on his mind.
“Come on, then. Come at me,” he urged, dancing back.
Kit arched his brow and grinned. “Whatever you command, old man.”
Picking up the banter that he and his brothers so enjoyed, he returned, “Come on, then, puppy.”
Kit darted in and swung a right hook at him.
Will darted to the side and just out of reach. He only just managed to escape. But then, Kit swiftly advanced and landed a quick blow to his nose.
Pain lanced through his face, but it was not so hellish he couldn’t spot an in as he twisted to recover. He punched and hit Kit with a solid blow to his lower back.
Kit almost fell to one knee and groaned. “Not playing today, now, are we, dearest brother?”
“Always playing,” he replied. For he would never truly hurt one of his brothers. But today, he wanted Kit to give as hard as he could. And Kit could lay waste to professional fighters if he chose.
They all had reputations as excellent boxers, though none of them fought for money. They fought for pleasure. After all, when three brothers were raised together, one often found that scrapping was a common occurrence.
Even among the nobility.
Sometimes it was even encouraged. The three of them, all capable of discourse in Latin, Greek, French, Spanish, and Italian, enjoyed sometimes sorting out their problems with their fists.
They were a bane to their tutors, who were ever clasping hands trained to hold hallowed volumes rather than fight.