He feels a bit of heat rise in him. His pulse quickens a bit, and Benedict realizes, not for the first time, that men seem to affect him the same (if not more) than women do. He realizes, too, that he's been just as wanting towards Silver as all the women that were tittering about him at the ball, but he hadn't had the mind to think anything of it.

"Is it not a duel?"

How else is one meant to hold a sword? Benedict finds he doesn't much care for the answer as much he enjoys the rough scratch of calloused hands against his own unworked ones.