Stephen reached the backmost room of the clubhouse’s boxing floor, guarded by a serene-looking manservant. If anyone tried to slip into the private rooms, he would unleash deceptive strength and twist them into knots. He recognized Stephen, however, inclined his head, and stepped aside to let him through.
Inside, a man stood with his back to the door, aiming a few lazy blows at a punching bag. He glanced over his shoulder as Stephen entered, revealing thick auburn hair and heavy brown eyes.
“Tristan, you’re here already,” Stephen greeted.
“Thought I’d warm up a little before you arrived,” Tristan responded with a lazy grin. “I was in two minds about coming, what with Madeline’s condition.”
“Ah, yes, you’re about to be a father. I keep forgetting.” Stephen chuckled, letting his satchel slip from his shoulder.
Inside were his boxing gloves, a clean shirt, and a few rolls of gauze, just in case. There was also a flask of whiskey, because one never knew when a nip of something might come in handy.
“I wish I could forget,” Tristan sighed. “I’m terrified. So is Madeline. Is it normal, do you think, to be so afraid of parenthood?”
Stephen clicked his tongue, stripping out of his jacket and waistcoat. The shirt came next, baring his skin to the cool air. Goosebumps rose over his chest and shoulders, but he knew that boxing would warm him up quickly.
“I think that anyone who is not afraid of becoming a parent cannot possibly understand the difficulties of parenthood,” he replied. “Children are not easy to raise. Childbirth is a dangerous thing. I’ve been told that the worry over one’s children never quite disappears.”
Tristan grimaced. “You’re not doing much to alleviate my concerns.”
“I wasn’t trying to alleviate your concerns. I think you should walk into parenthood with a full understanding of what is expected of you. To do otherwise is to risk disappointment, don’t you think?”
“I suppose you are right.” Tristan skipped away a few steps, rolling his shoulders and aiming a few loose blows into the air. “So long as Madeline is safe and the baby is healthy, I will ask for nothing more, ever, in my life.”
“A dangerous promise to make. Now, are we sparring or not?”
“Just a moment,” Tristan laughed. “I haven’t seen you in weeks. You plan to get straight to sparring, and not bother with a single detail about your life? It’s not as though you and I can sit in the clubhouse and take tea.”
Stephen bit the inside of his cheek. If he wished to keep his anonymity, there was no way he could openly consort with the other leading club members, lest they speculate about who he might be.
Tristan, of course, was aDevil. They ought not to be friends at all, being from rival clubs. Stephen thought it ridiculous, and so did Tristan.
That would put an end to the foolish rivalry between our clubs,he thought, biting back a smile.Orion himself meeting with one of the Devils’ leading members for tea and cake.
“You don’t know that,” Stephen countered. “I might invite you to my house for supper.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say no. Madeline is keen to meet you properly. She does not know who you are,” Tristan added hastily. “Although if she were to question me about it, I’m not sure I could lie to her. You’re not married, so of course I don’t expect you to understand, but it’s not the done thing, you know.”
“I don’t believe that one has to be married to understand that lying to one’s other half is not recommended,” Stephen responded sardonically.
He stepped into the ring, shaking out his arms and shoulders. The familiar looseness spread through his body, his limbs falling into an easy boxing stance.
This was not going to be a vicious match, of course. Not like the underground matches he’d fought, with money at stake and his pride nailed to the wall. No, this was more of a friendly match than anything else.
Just as he formulated that thought, Tristan’s gloved fist whistled past his temple, making him flinch.
“Wake up, old man,” Tristan taunted, baring his teeth in a white, vulpine grin. “Or I’ll wake you up myself.”
“Oh, I see. It’s like that, isn’t it?” Stephen shot back, rolling his shoulders and lifting his gloves.
The men danced to and fro, seconds stretching into what seemed like hours. Stephen landed a powerful blow to Tristan’s side, only to have his ears boxed the next minute. Sweat poured down their bodies, their skin steaming in the cool air.
After a handful of minutes—time always dragged on when they boxed—they drew apart, panting and sweating.
“You’re getting old,” Tristan remarked.
“No, I thinkyouare,” Stephen laughed. “I can’t be long. I’m having supper with my grandmother tonight.”
Tristan frowned. “So you really won’t have time to spend with me today.”
