Chapter Twelve
One Week Later
There was only one rule at Brookhaven’s prestigious club when one decided to fence: no practice weapons.
The danger of that, the demands it entailed, that was exactly what Chase needed to find control again. And nothing—certainly not a bit of surprise desire for his wife—was going to shake that.
Fists were not enough today. And he found himself damn glad that Brookhaven had made a place that embodied all the aspects a man might require to exercise his mind, body, and keep his skills honed.
Without a second thought, he tore off his coat, unbuttoned his waistcoat, and hurled them to the bench beside the rack of rapiers.
He picked out a Spanish steel blade. He eyed the hilt, allowed himself to test the weight, and then headed toward the dueling strip that lined the floor.
There were at least half a dozen other men in the club this morning, all working out their daily cares.
Going back and forth, making sure they kept in martial form. Several of them were lords. Several of them were the most powerful men in the land. All of them were damned determined to make sure that they were as strong of body as they were of mind.
Here in Brookhaven’s, they could test themselves against one another and their own self-will in a way that they could not out in the world.
For the world bowed to them. The world scraped to them and would allow them to win…sometimes at any cost.
In here, under Brookhaven’s rules, there was no bowing. There was no scraping. And there damned well was no allowing of winning.
No, here one might have their nose bashed in or their flesh sliced open if one took one misstep.
That was the way Chase liked it. For it was the only way to stay fully present in a world so often shaken by pain.
Wordlessly, Brookhaven met him on the dueling strip with his own cutlass, the one that he had favored since boyhood, in his hand.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Brookhaven tsked.
“And where exactly should I be?” he countered, shifting back and forth as he found a good, balanced stance.
“With your new wife,” Brookhaven pointed out.
“It’s an arrangement,” he gritted. “You know it.”
“So I do,” Brookhaven drawled as he stretched his arm, then brought it back, the steel glinting in the morning light. “But I can see that you really should be with her and not with me. My embrace is far different than hers.”
“And yet yours is the one I need,” Chase barked. “I won’t be embracing my wife anytime soon, as you damned well know.”
Brookhaven shook his head, a look of faux horror upon his features. “Now, now. We don’t want the world knowing your secret. You’re being rash, man.”
Chase scowled. He didn’t think that the other men in the club would pay much attention, not to this particular conversation. They were all self-absorbed, ensuring they kept their bellies from being sliced open.
“You’re sure you’re up for this?” Brookhaven’s gaze narrowed. “If you are not in control, you should turn around and go elsewhere. Go for a long walk or a horse ride. But don’t choose this.”
Chase squared his jaw and rolled his shoulders back. “This is exactly where I need to be. Now, show me a damned hard time.”
“You know I’ll do that for you, old boy.” Brookhaven grinned—his daring grin. The one that said he’d happily pull out your insides for you to gaze upon. “Come along, then.”
Brookhaven strode forward along the strip, pulled at his breech leg, then took his stance.
Chase mirrored him, allowing his weight to rest over his hips. He rocked back and forth again, getting a feel for the floor beneath his booted feet.
Much to his horror, fury welled up in him.
Fury at memories that he’d somehow managed to keep contained for quite some time.