Page 33

" S teady on, Oliver!" Alexander called from where he leaned against the ropes of the sparring ring, towel draped around his neck. "Are you trying to knock poor Nicholas out? Save some of him for the rest of us."

Oliver had just ducked under a left jab from Nicholas, his sparring partner for this round, and countered with a swift right to the midsection, pulled at the last instant to avoid truly winding his friend.

Even pulled, the blow landed with a satisfying impact, making Nicholas grunt and stagger back a step.

He had decided that a meeting with his dear friends would be the best way to clear his mind after all that clouded it this past week.

Oliver stepped back, lowering his gloved fists to signal a pause. "Fine, let us have a break then."

"Good," Nicholas, red-faced but grinning, raised a hand in acknowledgement that he needed a breather. "You seem to have woken up at the wrong side of bed this morning."

"Forgive me," Oliver said, though a smile tugged at his lips. "I was…distracted."

In truth, he had been channeling all his restless energy into each punch. The events of yesterday's picnic and the emotions stirred there still coursed through him, seeking an outlet.

Peter, who had only been watching on, spoke up.

"Distracted, he says. I'd hate to see you when focused, then. I value my ribs unbroken, thank you."

"I'm fine. Though I'll gladly yield my place to someone fresher." Nicholas waved off the concern, and peeled off his gloves to step out of the ring. "Peter, he's all yours. Do try not to provoke him overly."

Oliver rolled his eyes as he leaned down to swab sweat from his brow with a spare towel.

"You lot are exaggerating. I wasn't hitting that hard."

"You were hitting like he owed you a debt," Alexander quipped, handing Oliver a cup of water. "Might one inquire what fuels such intensity this morning? Or should we chalk it up to newfound marital changes?"

Peter let out a cackle at that, stepping into the ring.

"I told you all, marriage has put fire in his blood." He gave Oliver a wink. "The aloof Duke of Redhaven turned into whatever this is meant to be almost overnight. What else could explain it but the inspiring company of a lovely wife?"

Oliver felt warmth creep up his neck, half from exercise. drained the water and ignored the bait. Stepping back into the center of the ring, he assumed a ready stance.

"I would not say too much if I were you," Oliver countered with ease. He was still not over the annoyance at Peter from earlier.

In earnest, he did not even wish for him to come. But he could not uninvite him at the last minute.

"Come on then, Peter. Let's see if your footwork is as quick as your tongue," he challenged him.

Alexander and Nicholas exchanged amused glances as Peter hopped in place, shaking out his limbs.

"Careful, Morton," Nicholas drawled. "You might not be prepared."

Peter didn't seem perturbed. He raised his fists and began to circle Oliver.

"I fancy my odds. After all, he'd never hit his dear wife's most loyal admirer too hard, would he?" He shot Oliver a mischievous grin.

Oliver narrowed his eyes, tracking Peter's movements. He knew exactly what Peter was about: dangling the topic of Alethea to get a rise out of him. And damn it all, it was working.

At the mere mention of her, an image flashed in Oliver's mind: Alethea dancing with Peter. He had hated the sight then, and it had taken everything inside of him to not go there and separate the two of them. But at the time, he had opted not to make a scene.

Now though, there was not much that was holding him back.

His momentary distraction cost him as Peter darted forward with a combo that clipped Oliver's shoulder and grazed his jaw. It wasn't painful, but it snapped him back to focus. Oliver retaliated with a quick jab that Peter barely dodged.

"There it is," Peter crowed, dancing out of reach. "All I have to do is say ‘wife' and you see red."

"Don't be ridiculous," Oliver gritted his teeth, advancing carefully.

"No?" Peter feinted left, then struck from the right. Oliver blocked it, their forearms colliding with a thud. "Then perhaps if I mention how utterly enchanting Her Grace looked at the ball. Or how I had the pleasure of dancing with…"

Oliver lunged, a flash of irritation flaring in his chest. Peter twisted aside at the last second, causing Oliver's fist to swing past harmlessly.

"Touched a nerve, have I?" A knowing smirk lit Peter's face.

Alexander covered a laugh with a cough. Nicholas winced in sympathy for what was likely to come. Oliver reset his stance, muscles taut.

"You are really pushing your luck," he muttered at Peter.

"Admit it," Peter taunted lightly, stepping in to throw a body blow. Oliver deflected and countered. "You were brimming with jealousy that night."

Jab.

"Nearly crushed my toes when you cut in on our waltz."

Another jab.

"And glaring daggers whenever I so much as smiled at her."

A hook.

Oliver blocked each strike but the truth was that Peter's teasing hit uncomfortably close to home. Oliver had been maddeningly, irrationally jealous at the ball. The memory of Peter dancing with his wife still made Oliver's fists clench.

He felt heat rising in him now.

"Drop it, Peter," he warned.

But Peter went on breezily. "Why should I? It's not every day I get to witness the cool Duke transformed into a green-eyed monster." He danced around another punch, laughing. "You should thank me, I likely hastened your realization of your own feelings!"

Oliver's composure finally snapped. With a growl, he surged forward and landed a solid glove-square on Peter's chest, shoving him back into the ropes. Peter let out a surprised oof, eyes wide. In the next instant Oliver had fisted the front of Peter's shirt, pinning him to the ropes.

The room seemed to go utterly still. Alexander straightened from his relaxed pose and Nicholas rose as well. Peter himself blinked at Oliver, momentarily speechless.

Oliver's blood pounded in his ears. He hadn't exactly intended to grab the man, but impulse had overtaken him. Peter held fast in Oliver's grip, Oliver's breath coming harshly between them.

Peter recovered his voice first, though it came out slightly strained.

"Careful, Your Grace," he joked weakly. "If you mar my devilish good looks, the ladies of London will riot."

Oliver realized abruptly what he was doing. With a muttered curse, he released Peter and stepped back, chest heaving.

What in blazes had gotten into him?

Embarrassment flooded him as he became aware of Alexander and Nicholas staring, and Peter rubbing the back of his neck where his collar had dug in. A tense silence followed. Oliver flexed his fingers, trying to dispel the adrenaline.

Peter studied him for a long moment, then a triumphant grin spread on his face. "I'll be damned," he declared. "You are in love."

Oliver opened his mouth to snap a denial, but the words caught. The last days played through his mind: his jealousy and the way that he had kissed her. It all pointed to the same undeniable fact.

Peter saw the flicker of admission in Oliver's eyes and crowed,

"Aha! He's finally realized it!" He flung his arms wide as if announcing to the heavens. "Oliver Lockhart, Duke of Redhaven, is head over heels in love with his own wife. Would you believe it?"

"Shut it, Peter," Alexander interjected, though he was grinning widely now. He clapped his hands. "I think that's enough sparring for one day, gentlemen."

Nicholas hopped into the ring, placing himself between Oliver and Peter lest any further scuffle resume.

"I second that. Truce, yes?" He eyed Oliver questioningly.

Oliver exhaled, the fury draining out of him as quickly as it had come. He felt oddly lightheaded, whether from exertion or from the weight of his own unspoken confession finally surfacing.

"Truce." He glanced at Peter. "Forgive me, Peter. I overreacted."

Peter hopped off the ropes, patting Oliver's arm.

"Think nothing of it. I knew the risks of poking the bear. And might I just say, I knew it. I am just happy I was able to help you come to the realization."

Oliver shook his head. Leave it to Peter to celebrate nearly being choked as a personal victory. Alexander and Nicholas now clambered into the ring. Alexander seized Oliver's hand and shook it in mock congratulation.

"Well done, old friend," Alexander said warmly. "I suspected as much when I saw you at that ball. You looked at her as I look at my own love."

Nicholas chimed in, "And as I at my Isadora. The look of a man thoroughly besotted."

Oliver felt his cheeks heat. Hearing it put so plainly made him feel almost shy.

He, who had prided himself on being aloof to love's folly, had apparently been broadcasting his feelings to every witness.

How had Alethea not seen it…or perhaps she had? The memory of her shy, hopeful glances lately suggested she might at least suspect. He cleared his throat.

"It would seem I'm the last to know my own heart."

"Better late than never," Alexander replied, slapping him on the back. "I'm happy for you. Truly."

Oliver mustered a faint smile. He was happy too, he realized. Now that the truth was out in the open, at least among his friends.

He loved her. By God, he loved Alethea. Saying it in his mind made him want to shout it aloud next, consequences be damned.

Peter tossed an arm over Oliver's shoulders. "First rounds at White's tonight are on me, in honor of Oliver's declaration of love."

Nicholas started unlacing his own gloves. "The real question, Oliver, is have you told her yet?"

Oliver sobered slightly, stepping away from the group to tug off his gloves. "No. Not in so many words." He ran a hand through his damp hair. "I believe I am only finding out myself now."

"So you do admit it?"

"Yes," Oliver sighed. "I suppose there is little utility in denying it."

"Then tell her, man," exclaimed Peter, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "From what I've seen, she's half in love with you too, or entirely, more like. She just needs to hear it."

Oliver blew out a breath. His friends' enthusiasm was encouraging, but they didn't know the complexities of their arrangement.

The matter of children…his decision that they would never have any…that still hung between the air. Could he truly offer her his love without that? Was it fair to declare himself if he still intended to hold to that course?

Perhaps, a voice whispered inside him, that course is what needs rethinking.

The memory of Alethea's face when he'd shut down the topic of children pricked at him. She had looked hurt, frustrated. And he had hated seeing that expression, knowing he caused it.

Alexander must have noticed Oliver's silence. He nudged Peter to quiet and addressed Oliver kindly, "Are you all right?"

"Just have a lot on my mind," Oliver managed a tight smile.

"It's a life-changing thing, accepting love," Nicholas gave a sage nod. "Especially if one fought it."

"No backing out now," Peter teased. "You've admitted it to us, you can't keep the lady waiting."

"I would never…" Oliver bristled at the implication he would toy with her feelings.

"Peace, Peter," Alexander cut in with a chuckle. "Let him process at his own pace."

"But do consider telling her sooner than later, my friend. Not all of us get second chances when we delay too long." He turned to Oliver, and spoke from experience. Oliver recalled Alexander nearly lost his own wife once by hesitating due to a foolish betrothal contract.

"Yes," Nicholas agreed quietly. "Don't waste time. Time is a luxury, in love."

Oliver drew a deep breath and straightened his spine. They were right. Fear or not, he owed Alethea honesty. And he yearned to know her heart fully—did she indeed love him, as his friends believed? He dared to hope it was true.

"I love her," he said under his breath, testing how it felt. A grin tugged his mouth as he turned away. It felt damn good.

But despite what he felt, he still had to hold true to his principles.

He would never be able to give her children.