He crossed his arms over his chest. “This is a matter of honor, and I won’t go back on my word. I
will
fight at dawn, and I won’t discuss it anymore.” He softened his voice. “So let’s stop arguing, and go to bed. I can think of a better way to spend our last night before I fight a duel.”
She rolled her eyes. How typical of her husband to think she could just turn off her anger and hop into bed. “So can I. I shall spend it consoling my poor dear sister. If you’re still alive in the morning, you can join us for breakfast. If not…” She smiled sweetly. “Then you may go into hell with your manly urges unsatisfied. Because I am
not
sharing your bed until this is all over or you’ve come to your senses, whichever comes first.”
Then turning on her heel, she marched toward the door. She heard him sigh behind her, but knew he wouldn’t come after her. The man was too obstinate for words.
Buoyed by righteous indignation, she went straight to Juliet’s bedroom, where she found the poor girl standing at the window and staring blindly into the night. By now, Juliet had undoubtedly cried herself out.
As soon as Rosalind closed the door, Juliet said in a surprisingly calm voice, “I don’t suppose you changed his mind.”
“No. He’s as stubborn as ever.”
Juliet turned from the window, and Rosalind was surprised to see that she hadn’t been crying after all. Indeed, she looked clear-eyed and determined. “Very well. If they’re both going to be fools about it, then it’s left to us to stop the duel.”
“How do you propose to do that? This stupid male honor business seems insurmountable.”
“Not necessarily. Honor can be a double-edged sword, you know.” A decidedly devious smile crept over Juliet’s face. “Sit down, Rosalind. I have a plan.”
Nothing is got without pain but dirt and long nails.
English proverb written on a list once mounted on the Templemore schoolroom wall
S
ebastian stood in Wimbledon Common with his valet in the icy predawn, feeling more alert than he had in his entire life. He’d sat up all night settling his affairs, updating his will, and writing letters to Uncle Lew, Morgan, and the Navy Board, yet he wasn’t the least bit drowsy. Because at last he knew the truth that had eluded him from the first.
“Do you think he’s coming?” Boggs asked at his side.
“I hope not. But probably.”
“You sure you wouldn’t rather one of your friends serve as your second, milord?” Boggs asked.
“I have no friends in London.”
Truth be told, he had no friends at all. Because he had no relationships beyond those of family. There wasn’t
much to those, either—a brother he’d known only a month and an uncle he was only beginning to know well.
The realization last night that there wasn’t a single man he could ask to be his second—other than his servant—had hit him like a blow. It had prompted him to spend the rest of his night examining his life. It, coupled with Juliet’s fervent profession of love, had made him realize it was time to make some changes.
The first one was to recognize how he felt about Juliet. He loved her. There was no getting around it. Why else would he have spent half the night worrying not about whether he would die, but how to make it up to her if he survived this ordeal? How to make everything right for her?
If he hadn’t been in love, he wouldn’t have cared. He wouldn’t have considered her first in every decision.
Love. He smiled to himself. How strange that the word had stopped terrifying him sometime between midnight and dawn. And he needed the chance to tell Juliet that. So whatever happened today, he must come out of this alive.
Knighton must, too. Juliet would highly disapprove of his killing her brother-in-law. The perplexing matter was how to avoid it. Shooting Knighton in the hand would ensure that the man couldn’t fire, but he could still switch hands, and then he’d have a clear shot to Sebastian’s heart. Then again, firing wide would give him that as well. So the first alternative was the best, the one that gave him the most control over the situation. Even if it was the riskiest for Knighton.
Perhaps he’d be lucky for once in his life, and Knighton’s temper would have cooled enough so that the man decided not to show up.
That hope—slender as it was—died when the Knighton carriage rumbled up to the common, complete with attending footmen. The man himself disembarked, followed by two companions. One was clearly a doctor, judging from the enormous black bag he carried. The other man,
whom Sebastian didn’t recognize, must be Knighton’s second.
Sebastian sighed. “Good morning, Knighton.”
“Templemore.” Knighton looked unsure of himself in the faint haze of early dawn, but nonetheless carried a pistol case much like Sebastian’s own. He had scarcely made the introductions when the sound of horsemen approaching drew their attention.
No, not horsemen. Horsewomen.
“What are
they
doing here?” Sebastian asked, his blood pounding in his ears as Juliet and Lady Rosalind came into view. He didn’t want Juliet here. He could never shoot straight with her watching him.
Knighton scowled. “I don’t know. They were supposedly both asleep when I left.”
The two women reined up and dismounted. To Sebastian’s shock, Juliet was carrying a pistol case similar to Knighton’s.
Knighton strode toward his wife. “What do you think you’re doing, Rosalind? If you plan to interfere—”
“We don’t,” Juliet broke in. She held up the pistol case. “We’re here to fight our own duel. And since you’ve already had the good sense to choose a location and provide seconds, we figured we could hit two birds with one bullet. So to speak.”
Knighton gaped at her, then turned to his wife. “What the bloody hell is she talking about?” Without waiting for an answer, he asked Sebastian, “Did you have anything to do with this?”
Sebastian threw up his hands. “Not me, I assure you.”
“It’s very simple,” Juliet said primly. “If you and Sebastian insist upon this idiocy and either of you is killed as a result, Rosalind and I shall fight our own duel. If you kill Sebastian, I’m bound by honor to avenge his death and shoot Rosalind.”
“And if Lord Templemore kills you,” Lady Rosalind put in, “then
I
am bound by honor to avenge your death and shoot Juliet.”
“It’s only fair,” Juliet said.
“The right and honorable thing to do,” Lady Rosalind added.
Sebastian couldn’t stifle his laugh, although judging from Knighton’s glare, it wasn’t appreciated.
“This absurd trick will get you nowhere, Juliet,” Knighton retorted. “While it wouldn’t surprise me to hear that my wife can shoot, I know for a fact that
you
haven’t the faintest idea how to shoot or even load a pistol.”
Sebastian winced. “Um, Knighton? As it happens, Juliet knows how to do both.”
Knighton whirled on him. “What do you mean?”
“Sebastian taught me how to shoot,” Juliet said calmly. “While we were in Shropshire.”
“That’s impossible!” Knighton retorted. “That’s something we
all
would have noticed—you standing out on the lawn firing a pistol.”
Lady Rosalind stepped forward. “Don’t you remember that cottage we were discussing last night, my dear? Lord Templemore sometimes goes there for target practice. It’s well away from everything.”
“He taught me how to load, too,” Juliet said brightly. Setting down the pistol case, she opened it, then proceeded to load one of the pistols with a competence that made Sebastian proud.
Until Knighton caught him smiling and glared at him. Sebastian sobered at once, realizing that death was imminent—Knighton would strangle him before they even began the duel.
“She asked me to teach her,” Sebastian bit out. “What else was I supposed to do?”
“Tell her no?” Knighton retorted.
“Does that work with you and Lady Rosalind?”
To his surprise, a reluctant smile touched Knighton’s lips. “Not once in our entire marriage.” Then he scowled again. “Did Juliet get the pistols from you, too?”
“No! I’m not insane, for God’s sake,” Sebastian said hotly.
“They’re
your
pistols, Griff,” Lady Rosalind put in. “Don’t you recognize them? I got them out of storage last night and had one of the footmen clean and oil them.”
Knighton groaned. “Now she’s got the servants working against me.”
“She’s good at that,” Sebastian said.
“I know.” Knighton cast him a searching glance. “By the way, it seems I have you to thank for my tepid baths at Charnwood.”
Clearly Lady Rosalind had confessed all her secrets. But he couldn’t tell whether they’d softened Knighton toward him or made him only more furious. Sebastian weighed his words carefully. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have meddled in your private affairs.”
“You bloody well shouldn’t have,” Knighton said, but his tone lacked conviction.
The doctor stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, if there’s to be no duel today, I should like to return to my bed.”
Sebastian looked to Knighton. So did everyone else.
With so many eyes upon him, Knighton stiffened. “We’re fighting, make no mistake,” he said. “My honor has not yet been satisfied.”
Somehow Sebastian wasn’t surprised by that answer. Knighton was the proudest, most stubborn man he’d ever met.
But Juliet glowered at her brother-in-law as if he were the devil incarnate. Lady Rosalind merely frowned and told her sister, “Load one of those pistols for me, dear
heart. It seems you and I shall be dueling, after all.”
Knighton glanced uneasily at Sebastian. “They’re just bluffing, you know.”
“I know.”
All the same, it was rather unnerving. As the seconds went on about their business, measuring off the paces and setting the lines for where the men would stand, Lady Rosalind and Juliet did the same only a few feet away, mimicking all their movements.
Knighton was either an idiot or made of stone, if he could ignore his wife checking her weapon while her sister practiced aiming at a nearby tree. Bluffing or no, they were certainly making a good show of it. Did the man really think to have a duel with all that going on?
Apparently he did, for his second told them both to take their places. Resigning himself to his fate, Sebastian did so.
“Wait!” Juliet cried suddenly and ran into the line of fire.
“Damnation, Juliet, get out of the way,” Knighton growled.
She tilted up that stubborn little chin of hers. “I will when I’m ready. But first I want a word with Sebastian.”
Griff sighed. “Very well. Only a moment. I want this done.”
Handing her pistol to Lady Rosalind, Juliet ran over to Sebastian. Without hesitation, she took his face between her hands and kissed him squarely on the mouth. Her display of affection ought to mortify him, especially with four men looking on, but it didn’t. Not when he saw her tears.
She pulled back, but only enough to say, “Listen to me, Sebastian. I know you’ll do the right thing.”
“Then you’ll have to tell me what the right thing is, sweeting, because damned if I know.”
“You do know,” she said earnestly. “In your heart, you
know. And whatever you choose to do is the right thing as far as I’m concerned. Because I trust you. Now show me that you trust me, too.”
After that enigmatic comment, she started to walk away, but he caught her arm before she could. “I do trust you, Juliet,” he said. “And I…I love you.”
She flashed him a sad smile. “You’re only saying that because of this silly duel.”
He shook his head. “I’m saying it because it’s true.” Ignoring the impatience of Knighton and the seconds, he decided to tell her everything he’d realized last night, while he still had the chance. “I was always afraid that allowing myself to love would mean giving up control over my life as my parents did. I figured that without my control, disasters would be set in motion.”
He took a steadying breath. “You see, I’d always thought of life as a series of target practices. A man had to approach them with a clear head and a fine pistol. He saw the target and he shot, and if he had a steady hand and a gun that shot true, he hit what he aimed for.”
She stared at him, nodding as if she understood.
“And love was the sun that blinded him when he prepared to shoot, a dangerous distraction.” He shook his head at his own foolishness. “But I forgot one very important thing—without the sun, he can’t see to aim. By blocking it whenever it dared to shine, I missed what I was aiming for—security, duty, family. And for the past two years, I’ve missed the mark over and over. So what did I get? The very thing I wanted to avoid—setting disasters in motion.”
He reached out and took her hand, then squeezed it.
“But yesterday when you said you loved me, the sun cut through the clouds. Now I see things clearly. Without love, I have no security, duty is a pointless exercise, and family an empty comfort. Without your love, I might as well put this pistol to my own temple and fire, because I’m not going to hit anything else I aim for in life.”
“Oh, Sebastian,” she said, her heart in her eyes. She looked as if she might throw her arms about him, but he stayed her with a shake of his head.
“After this is over, sweeting, I intend to hold you for a very long time. But now, I have to make amends.”
She swallowed. “If you say so. Just remember, I trust you to do the right thing. Show me that you trust me, too.”
There were those words again. What did she mean?
Then as she returned to her sister’s side and took back the pistol, it hit him. Once before, she’d asked him to trust her. To trust her to know that her family wouldn’t hurt him. He looked over at Knighton.
Him
? Trust her to know that Knighton wouldn’t shoot to kill? If that’s what she was asking, it was a lot to ask. And she’d already proven herself wrong about Knighton’s willingness to fight a duel.
But she’d been no more wrong than Sebastian at guessing how matters would evolve.
Knighton’s second once again called for them to take their positions, and both men readied themselves.