“Agreed,” Toby said.
“Are you fighting Corbyn, Stafford?”
The man who had asked that question dropped down beside Anthony.
“We are, Raine. Do you wish to take on the loser?” Toby asked.
“God no. I just had a match with my youngest brother.” The man looked around him. “He’s gone, thankfully, and I can now acknowledge the ache in my thighs and arm, but that is after taking him apart. Old age, you know, it comes to all of us.”
The Earl of Raine had three brothers, all younger, and Toby had never known a single one of them to take a backward step when a forward one was on offer.
“Indeed, well you sit those aging bones here beside me, Raine, and we will take a wager on the match,” Anthony said.
Soon bets were placed by more than the two lords seated in the front row.
“My aunts paid me a call,” Anthony said when Toby handed him his jacket and began rolling up his sleeves.
“How lovely for you,” Toby said.
“They are quite convinced one of those three women is to be your future wife, Tobias, especially given that you have Florence in your household now. I tend to agree, in fact—”
“One more word and I will skewer you,” Toby snarled. He then stomped away to where Jamie was still lunging. “For pity’s sake, man, you look like a… actually, I have no words for what you look like.”
Jamie looked from Anthony and back to Toby. “What did he say to annoy you?”
“Nothing,” Toby snapped. “Stop lunging and start fencing.”
“En garde then, my surly friend,” Jamie said.
Toby cleared his head and focused. His friend liked to attack. Hefenced like he did most things, with skill and speed.
“Excellent parry, Corbyn!” someone called out as he took offensive action to deflect Jamie’s attack.
“You have improved,” Jamie said, barely out of breath.
“Or you’re slowing down,” Toby wheezed, lunging.
“Nice riposte!” Anthony called.
They turned, they lunged, and they retreated, and soon Toby’s shirt was sticking to him and he’d forgotten all about the irritating Liberty Talbot… damn, she was back. Jamie took advantage of his mind wandering and struck.
“You were doing so well for a while there,” Anthony said, wandering over while Toby bent at the waist sucking in air. “I almost believed you’d beat him.”
“He lost focus,” Jamie said now swinging his blade from side to side as if he’d not just fought Toby. “I saw it and struck. I wonder what he was thinking about?”
“I detest you,” Toby said when he could breathe again. His friend smiled.
“Well done, Lord Corbyn.”
Toby took his time turning to face the man at his back. Lord Michael was with his two friends this time. Mr. Patterson and Lord Sybil. Both were as oily and mean spirited as him, for all they portrayed a different facade to society.
“I had my money on Stafford of course. He was the sure bet.” Lord Michael said.
“Would you care to have a match, Michael?” Anthony said, his eyes narrowed and angry.
Anyone from their time in Blackwood Hall created that reaction in the three friends.
“I’m afraid I don’t have the time today. I just wanted to congratulate you, Stafford, and commiserations, Corbyn.” The smile was genuine, but Toby didn’t return it.
