Yes, he and his brothers enjoyed a good row.
In that, Beatrice was not mistaken.
Kit readjusted his stance. “Right. I see what you’re hoping for. Pity the lady who loves your face, for I am about to rearrange it.”
He winked and drawled, “So you say.”
He was in a foul mood and desperately trying to hide it from his younger brothers. Brothers he’d attempted to protect from the vagaries of this world since he became the eldest.
He knew Ben and Kit would have shared his troubles if he but allowed them.
But he couldn’t explain to them that he liked Beatrice. He liked her too well. She did things to him that no woman had ever done before. It was damned impossible, and as he and Kit circled, he prayed his brother would shake her from his head.
As Kit gave him a cocky smile, he rolled up his sleeves to his forearms, readjusted his stance, then danced on the balls of his booted toes. They each made attempts, neither of them landing anything.
The exertion of the circling and darting was causing his lungs to burn beautifully, and Kit’s brow furrowed, jokes dimming now.
He was praying that Kit would get in a good blow, and soon. Because he kept seeing Beatrice’s perfect lips castigating him.
As if making his wish come true, Kit darted in, and even though he attempted to swing out of the way quickly, Kit’s right jab came forward and cracked him on the jaw.
His head blew back, and the world went dark for a moment.
Yes, this was exactly what he needed.
He could think of nothing but the ringing sound of his ears and the disappearing of the room. He had to keep moving or Kit would slam him again in another blow, and indeed he did. It came out of nowhere, right on the chin, whipping his head to the side.
He did not recover quickly enough, because so much of his brain was still trying to think of Beatrice.
But finally, as Kit pummeled him with a left hook to his rib cage, survival kicked in.
Air whooshed out of his lungs, and he began to circle fast, blinking the sweat from his eyes.
“Off your game, old boy?” Ben called from the side, grinning.
“You got in a good shot there,” Kit said, “but your age must be catching up to you. You just don’t have the legs to keep up with me.”
Will snorted and wiped blood from his lip. He darted to the left and then to the right, but Kit danced around him, circling him.
Letting out a slow breath, Will allowed himself to calm, to focus, to not let frustration rule him and chose to spar rather than to battle. “Now, Kit, I’m being kind. We can’t have you black and blue for your wedding.”
Kit’s eyes lit with love. “Margaret would marry me anyway.”
Will only just refrained from rolling his eyes. He was damn irritating, his younger brother, for the man was too happy. He was glad, of course, that Kit was making such a good marriage, and Margaret was lovely.
But she was no Beatrice, and that was the truth of it.
As he realized that thought, he began to feel a certain sense of dread. He liked Beatrice. He admired Beatrice. And Beatrice would make an excellent companion for someone. But not him.
Not him.
That was absolutely certain. He wondered who might make Beatrice a good husband. His insides twisted at the nausea-inducing idea.
And before he could think another thing, Kit circled round and slammed his fist into his lower back. Will dropped to one knee and gasped, the pain astonishing.
Kit frowned and hesitated before his eyes filled with understanding. And he let out a stunned laugh. “You’re thinking about her, aren’t you?”
Ben clapped his hands together and laughed in agreement. “Of course! He’s thinking of Lady Beatrice. I will never forget the look on her face last night, when she left you on the dance floor.”