Page 41 of Duke of the Sun

CHAPTER12

Michael could not remember the last time he had boxed. While most men and women across London favored the sport, Michael’s father refused to partake in it. He was quick to ridicule Michael’s involvement, claiming that the son of a Duke had no place in a ring where commoners and lords alike wagered on the likelihood of him winning. Michael, on the other hand, could care less about the public aspects of the sport. He rarely boxed in front of an audience, much less for petty betting.

No, there was a simple reason for why Michael enjoyed boxing.

Across the ring from him, Rhys Glowton ducked and weaved, holding the overly large gloves over his face. The reclusive Duke of Nightrow just returned from a long trip overseas, where he spent time in the Americas for things related to business. Neither Michael or Rhys cared for the financial aspects of their relationship and rarely spoke to the other about it. All Michael knew was that he received a letter from Rhys that demanded a match in the ring, prepared or not.

And with how Michael’s life had turned lately, he gladly took on the fight.

Michael threw a punch between them, the side of his glove barely grazing the scruff lining Rhys’s jaw.

“You’ll have to be quicker than that, old boy,” Rhys called out as he hopped between feet, weaving around Michael like a hare.

Michael rolled his eyes. “Wasn’t it you who recently got off a boat?”

“A mere few hours ago, as a matter of fact.”

“Shouldn’t you have more sea legs than that?”

Rhys laughed, the echoing sound filling the private training room. “Sounds to me like you regret taking me on,” he teased. “How funny. Wasn’t ityouwho demanded a match the moment I was back on English land?”

“Only you would take that as literally as you possibly could,” Michael muttered irritably.

Rhys dove forward, landing a practically unavoidable assault. He jabbed and parried, not once receiving a blow but almost managing to land one somewhere along Michael’s body. “I don’t remember you being this slow, Michael,” Rhys said with a raised brow. “What happened to you?”

“Perhaps you’re merely telling yourself the things you wish to hear,” Michael growled.

“Well, I doubt that,” Rhys said as he landed another hit to Michael’s side, receiving an annoyed grunt out of him. “I hope you aren’t letting me win, old boy!”

“I am only out of practice.”

“Out of practice?” Rhys repeated with an obnoxious scoff. “You could’ve abstained from boxing for weeks and I still never could have beaten you. Something’s on your mind, Michael.”

“Are you telling me you didn’t practice in the Americas?”

Rhys shook his head with a wry smile. “I wouldn’t have dared. Those Americans out west have got some other ideas about boxing than we do.”

“What do you mean?”

He waved a gloved hand through the air. “It’s nonsense.”

“You just don’t want to tell me you got soft overseas,” Michael teased. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

Rhys glowered. “Now you’re trying to make me mad.”

Before Michael could respond, Rhys dove forward, ducking and weaving around Michael’s persistent hits. Soon, without too much effort from his opponent, Michael was soundly out of breath, backing up till he hit the ropes surrounding the ring. Rhys steadily approached, a determined and confident look on his smug face.

“I received a letter about you,” Rhys suddenly said.

Michael raised a brow. “What letter?”

“You know,” he replied. “The sort from the Ton.”

Michael rolled his eyes again. “You can’t tell me you believe a word out of their mouths.”

“Well, not normally.” Rhys crossed his arms, barely breaking a sweat. “But when all it’s about is that darling wife of yours, I found myself rather unable to ignore it.”

The wordsdarling wifeechoed in the back of Michael’s mind like an alarm bell. He shoved himself off the ropes, pulling a fist back before soundly landing it across Rhys’s jaw. The Duke stumbled backwards in surprise, fumbling till he toppled over, one gloved hand covering the growing bruise at the corner of his face. Rhys let out a low laugh as he spit, a small ring of blood staining the boxing floor.

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