Dare flashed him a smile. Good question. “A friendly sparring match.”
“Stop standing about and fight!” Someone shouted from the crowd, the echo bouncing off the walls of the warehouse. A chorus of agreement followed.
“What’s the matter, Drake,” another man shouted. “Scared? Just knock him out already. One punch is all it’ll take!”
Laughter erupted from all sides, followed by a few whistles. A voice in the back shouted, “Come on, show ’im, Drake!” another added, “Give ’im a good thrashing!”
His cousin grinned. “Does this look or sound friendly to you?”
Dare cracked his neck left to right. “It sounds like your arse is getting a whipping,” he said tauntingly, dancing lightly from one foot to the other.
Laughter erupted, some men cheering so wildly it bordered on madness. A man from the back bellowed, “Bet you a guinea on Drake. I’ve seen him knock out men bigger than a mountain!”
Dare sneered. A mountain, heh? He continued to roll his shoulders, unbothered by the taunts, and certainly not dwelling overmuch on his own madness. He still couldn’t think what had possessed him to enter the ring without even warming up his muscles properly—whereas Drake was on fire.
Or maybe he did know what sparked it, though he refused admit it to himself. He couldn’t fault Leonora for ogling his cousin, but damn, he didn’t like it. And he’d never lost to Drake yet. Nor had Drake lost to him, for that matter. They’d been equally matched in the past, and Dare was exceedingly good at avoiding his cousin’s punches—and avoiding throwing any punches that would scar his hands. But he wasn’t fond of pain, so they didn’t spar much.
You’ve lost your mind, Dare.
No doubt, no doubt.
“Sounds like you’re about to humiliate yourself in front of your little bird, cousin. Brazen of you to bring her to such a bloody event.”
“Why? I’m here. It’s just a spot of fun,” Dare responded lightly. And Lady Leonora was anything but a fragile flower. In fact, she might be the exact opposite of one.
Drake’s eyes gleamed with something almost too sharp. “You know it’s more than that.”
“Not willing to spar with me?” Dare challenged, choosing to ignore the meaning beneath that suggestive statement.
Drake rolled back and forth on the balls of his feet, taking his stance. “This is extremely unlike you, cousin, but I can’t say I hate it.”
“It’s extremely unlike you to care, anyway.”
“You’re right. I don’t care.” A foxlike smile formed on his face. “Much.”
Dare chuckled. “I’m astonished by the warmth of your heart.”
“As am I by yours.” His eyes flicked beyond him and back. “Exceedingly so.” Drake’s smile turned even more crooked, tapping his knuckles together. “I’ve looked into the connection like you asked.”
Dare faltered, stopping himself from glancing at Leonora—though he could feel her gaze on them. “I don’t think now is the time to discuss such matters.”
A smirk. “Not curious?”
“Not enough, you arse.” Was he curious? Yes. Could he do without the information, especially just now? Also yes. But when it came to that little temptress, he couldn’t help himself most of the time. Very well, all of the time. He was like a bookworm starved for knowledge—always wanting more.
Drake motioned for him to come at him. “So fickle.”
“One of the benefits of breeding.”
Drake rolled his eyes. “Are we sparring or not?”
Bloody hell, yes.
They circled each other until the crowd grew impatient with their dancing. The spectators wanted blood. But Drake wasn’t the sort of boxer who wasted a punch, and Dare was vigilant when it came to his cousin’s fists. This was probably why they were always equally matched and rarely ever challenged each other, even to a friendly match. Every movement was calculated, every step precise, every muscle in Dare’s body tense and ready to defend against his opponent.
The air crackled with anticipation.
“The devoted followers are growing restless,” Dare taunted.
