Ash strode over to face his friend, his fists at the ready.
“You’re distracted,” Southbury said flatly. “And when you’re distracted, you’re sloppy.”
Ash scowled, lifting his fists. “Sloppy, am I?”
Southbury lifted his brows. “Prove me wrong.”
Ash swung, a sharp jab, then a follow-up uppercut that Griffin barely dodged. The duke let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “There’s that temper. I thought perhaps you’d be aiming it at your sister after she read you the riot act the other night for failing to find a bride at the house party.”
“The house party. Ugh.” Ash grunted. “Don’t remind me.”
Southbury arched a brow. “Still planning to give me that horse of yours?”
“I don’t see why Meredith is so set on marrying me off,” Ash said with narrowed eyes.
“Perhaps she wants our child to have cousins,” Southbury replied with a grin.
“Isn’t Gemma going to have a baby? There’s a cousin for you.”
Southbury shook his head.
The two continued sparring, moving in tight, controlled circles. The rhythmic pounding of flesh against flesh and heaving breathing was the only sound between them for a while.
Finally, as they broke apart to catch their breath, Ash wiped the sweat from his brow and asked, far too casually, “What do you think about Clare Handleton?”Damn. He hadn’t intended to be that blunt, but the question had practically leaped from his lips.
Southbury gave him a sharp look as he adjusted his stance. “What about her?”
Ash shrugged, attempting nonchalance. “You and Meredith have known her for years.”
Griffin exhaled, lowering his fists slightly. “Yes. It’s a damn shame what happened to her. If I ever spot Marsden in a darkalley alone, I cannot be held responsible for what might happen to that blackguard.”
“I only hope I’m there with you when it happens,” Ash growled.
Griffin continued, “Meredith adores Clare, you know. And with good reason. She’s loyal, steadfast, whip smart. She’s one of the few people who’s ever been completely honest with my wife, and that’s a rare thing in our world.”
Loyal. Steadfast. Whip smart.
Ash swallowed hard.
All words that described Clare exactly.
Last night she had also been wicked and wild and completely uninhibited, pressing herself against him, daring him to do his worst, matching him stroke for stroke, moan for moan. It had been the most satisfying sexual experience of his life.
His stomach tightened at the memory.
He could still taste her.
Could still feel the imprint of her body beneath his hands.
And yet, despite all of that—despite everything they had done behind locked doors at the Onyx Club—she still had to live under the double standard that ruled their Society.
Nothing had happened to Marsden after he had ruined her.
Yet Clare was an outcast.
And to make matters worse, Clare had to endure her self-righteous mother’s constant belittling, as if she had any control over how the world had decided to see her.
It wasn’t fair. Damn it.
