Behind the shield of his mask, it hardly mattered anyway.
“Always.”
“Allez!” Sidney called, in lieu of the master or a referee.
Northwich advanced first, his foil slashing forward with the motion of his body. Sidney met him with atierceparry, as ready as the duke. And it felt good, raising the foil to his defense, then countering with a lunge and an attack of his own. Northwich answered him with asecondeparry.
“You never did answer me.” The duke feinted, then parried Sidney’s renewed pursuit.
They were trapped in a sparring match that became vicious. Sidney was determined to win, and his friend seemed equally resolved to maintain his pattern of serial victories. Sidney managed to score a hit, then another. Northwich followed by a series of four, until he was within one point of victory.
When the duke attacked, Sidney parried with aseptimeand aripostethat earned him another point. In the end, however, Sidney’s distraction proved his greatest enemy. Northwich landed a hit and was the first to score five.
“That was one hell of a bout,” Sidney said as they removed their masks. “Naturally, you defeated me again.”
Northwich shed his mask and smirked. “If I allowed you to win, I would lose your respect.”
That much was true.
Still, it rather nettled that he could not defeat the duke, on today of all days.
He sighed. “I needed a victory.”
“Oh?” Northwich did not elaborate.
Getting others to speak without saying a word was another of his gifts, along with trouncing anyone who dared to stand opposite him in a sporting match of any sort. Riding, shooting, football, cricket, fencing, rowing—the Duke of Northwich was an athlete unlike any other. And a good friend, which was what made his irritating penchant for winning supportable.
“It was a woman,” he admitted, careful that no other club patrons overheard their conversation as he removed his padded glove. “You were right.”
“The reason you look like a corpse who was reluctantly called back to life?” Northwich asked with an unrepentant grin.
Did he truly look that bad? Sidney’s lip curled as he recalled his reflection in the looking glass. Yes. He did.
“Thank you for your friendly reminder concerning my appearance,” he drawled, voice dripping in sarcasm.
“As one of your oldest and best friends, I consider it my duty,” Northwich continued, grinning.
Arse.
“Do you recall the lady I told you about?” he asked his friend, trying to ignore his aching head.
“The one you were weeping about the night we drank two bottles of whisky and went swimming in the Serpentine?” the duke asked.
“I do not weep,” he denied calmly, though it was possible he had shed a tear or two. One never knew what happened when one was in one’s cups so thoroughly one could not entirely recall what had happened the day after. “But yes, if memory serves, I do think I may have mentioned her that evening.”
Northwich snorted. “And many others since.”
Had he truly spoken about Julianna that frequently? If so, Sidney was going to need to abstain from drinking spirits. Forever. Clearly, it brought out the worst in him, the decision to go swimming in the Serpentine at midnight in the middle of November aside.
He scowled at the duke. “To the devil with you. You are merely bitter because I beat you at swimming that night.”
“Treasure the victory, old chap. It was only because I was drunk enough to mistake a hedgehog for my mother. Had I been in any condition to race, I would have bested you by at least twenty paces.”
That was also true. Sadly.
But Sidney was still clinging to the positive points of that long-ago evening rather than the negatives. “Your inability to lose with grace aside, yes. The lady in question—she has unexpectedly reappeared in my life.”
Northwich removed his gloves at last, setting his foil aside. “Ah.”
