Duel of Hearts (21 page)

“Where are you going?” “Home.”

“Don't tell him yet.” She raised her hands and then dropped them helplessly. “I shall tell him it was a mistake later.”

When he reached the garden gate, he stopped with his back to her. “I do love you, you know.”

She wanted to run after him—he'd said almost everything she ever wanted to hear from him. He'd promised her everything. But he hadn't mentioned Elaine Chandler. She stood rooted to the ground until long after she'd heard the gate shut.

G
il and Hugh stared at Tony as though he'd lost his mind. The first to recover sufficiently to speak, Gil gasped, “You wish us to do
what?
”

“Second for me.”

“That's what I thought you said.”

“You actually challenged Rotherfield?” Hugh asked finally. “I hope he chose swords.”

“He chose pistols.”

“The man's a crack shot! A marksman! Devil take it, Tony, but why'd you do a cork-brained thing like challenging Rotherfield?” Gil shook his head in disbelief. “You'd have been better off if he'd chosen rapiers.”

“I am an excellent shot also.”

His friends looked at each other and shook their heads. “But it ain't the same thing—shootin' a man's different from shooting game,” Hugh complained.

“Well, now, Lyndon has a good eye, come to think of it.” Gil allowed. “But can you kill a man?” he asked. “Hugh's right—and Rotherfield's as cold as they come. It don't make any difference to him that you're going to bleed.”

“I don't know. In the war, I killed several people, but I didn't know any of them.” Tony appeared to consider the matter and shook his head. “I can fire first and de- lope.”

“And he can fire the second ball into your heart.”

“Come to think of it, Tony is a crack shot. Thing is to get the first ball off,” Hugh decided.

“I ain't going—don't like blood—never did. Much as I dislike Marcus Halvert, I ain't one to watch someone stuff a handkerchief in a ball hole—even on him.” Gil

shuddered visibly. “And if ‘twas Tony, I know I'd be sick.”

“I have already named you.”

“Apologize to him.”

“Leave him be, Gil—you do not know why Tony challenged him.”

“Got a good idea. And if she was my wife, I'd take her to Lyndon Park and stay with her. She don't know how to go on, and someone needs to teach her.”

“Leave Leah out of this,” Tony growled.

“Dash it, but I like her! I mean, if it'd been Ponsonby or somebody like that, he'd have played the game right. But no—'tis Rotherfield!”

“Day after tomorrow, eh?” Hugh cut in on Gil's tirade. “I don't like it, but you can count on me—Gil too, for that matter. Thing is, if he gets you, what'er we supposed to tell Lady L. ? And if you get him, you'll have to flee the country. Don't see how you can win either way.”

“You better hope I win.” Tony favored Gil with a wry grin. “Otherwise, I shall leave it to you to make my speech in Lords for me.”

“You going to speak out on Liverpool's taxes?”

“No—chimney sweeps.”

“Chimney sweeps?” they chorused in unison. “Whatever for?”

“That, my friend, is precisely why I am doing it— positively no one cares a jot and ‘tis time someone does something about the problem.” Rising from his chair, Tony reached for his hat and set it at a truly wicked angle. “Good day, gentlemen. I am afraid I have to get my affairs in order.”

Gil eyed Tony's empty glass curiously, even going so far as to sniff it. “Sherry—that's all.” Waiting until he was certain that the viscount had left the club altogether, he leaned across the table to Hugh. “You don't think he's dicked in the nob, do you? I mean, he's been queer as Dick's hatband lately.”

“If your wife chose Marcus Halvert for her cisisbeo, you'd be ready for Bedlam yourself,” Hugh observed dryly.

“Ain't got a wife—and don't want one,” Gil retorted.

“You know, Tony just might take Rotherfield. If I was a gamester … But I am not,” Hugh decided regretfully. “No, the thing to do is go to Lady Lyndon—ten to one, she can put an end to the nonsense.”

“I dunno. Say, did you hear it? ‘Tis all over London that she ain't a Cit at all.”

“Of course she is a Cit! She's Old King Cole's daughter, ain't she?”

“No, no—that ain't it, Hugh. She's Milbourne's granddaughter—had it from Bagshot, who had it from Lady Childredge. Seems the old lord's youngest daughter ran off with Cole when she was still in the schoolroom.”

“You don't say! Well, it don't make any difference—I liked Lady L. anyway.” Hugh Rivington rose and stretched. “No time to waste, old fellow.”

The intent proved easier than the execution. The two men left White's in Gil's curricle, called at Lyndon House to discover that Lady Lyndon was not in and was not expected in, and drew up at
point non plus
. As a last resort, Gil suggested they try Tony's father-in-law in hopes that the old gent was fond enough of him to try to stop it. As Gil explained it, if all else failed, a Cit could go to the Charlies and swear out a complaint, whereas that would be an ungentlemanly thing to do.

To their astonishment, they found Leah Barsett instead. Speaking privately with her in Cole's library, Gil floundered about, seeking to tell her without precisely coming out and saying it, which would be a violation of the acceptable. By the time he was finished, she was thoroughly mystified.

“Forgive me, but I don't—”

“Pardon his roundaboutation, Lady Lyndon,” Hugh interrupted her in disgust. “The plain fact of the matter is that Lyndon is to fight a duel, and we thought—”

“A duel! With
whom?
” For a moment she thought her world had turned on its end. “You cannot be serious!”

“Dead serious.” Gil nodded. “That is, deuced serious.”

“She knew what you meant the first time,” Hugh snapped. “And Lyndon has challenged Rotherfield, so there is no drawing off from it.”

“Rotherfield?
But why?” The color that had drained from her face returned in a rush. “Oh.”

“Thought you ought to know of it—day after tomorrow at dawn out by Smithfield. Er … I trust you will not mention this matter to Lyndon? Don't want to be called out myself for telling you,” Hugh explained.

“No, of course not. I appreciate knowing of it.”

“Thought you might be able to stop it, you know,” Gil threw in.

“Got to run—promised to m'mother for a musicale tonight. Daresay ‘twill be a screeching bore, but the old girl's a widow. Come on, Gil—she cannot do anything if we are about, after all.”

Leah sat and pondered the problem, wondering how she'd brought herself and Tony to such a pass. It did not seem possible that she could love him as much as she did and still be forever at daggers drawn with him. But then she'd never quite been able to discover why it was she loved him. Neither his handsomeness nor his reputation actually had much to do with it in the final discovery. Maybe she liked what every other female liked about him. Or maybe it was that precarious balance between boyish good humor and volatile temper that gave one a sense of security and danger at the same time. She didn't know, but if she did not attempt to intervene, she just might be a widow and never again know what it was to wake up next to him.

Impulsively she slipped from her father's house and persuaded one of the grooms to take her to Rotherfield's mansion in Mayfair. Bribing him to wait, she climbed the steps of the house and vigorously applied the knocker.

“Here, now . . .”his butler complained as he opened the door. And seeing her, he nearly closed it again.

“Please, is the earl at home?”

“Not to unattended females,” the fellow replied stiffly.

She licked her lips, suddenly afraid he might not see her. “Pray tell him that Leah requests an interview, sir.”

“Leah?” The butler looked at her again. “Just Leah?”

She did not want to risk any further gossip that might overset Tony. “Just Leah.”

As fortune would have it, Rotherfield emerged from a side door and gave a start when he saw her. “Leah!”

Favoring the man who still held the door with a look of triumph, she stepped past him. Rotherfield, who now stood watching her with a faint lift of an eyebrow, nodded curtly to the butler, dismissing him.

“Er … you find me surprised, my dear. I would offer you some ratafia, but I have none.” He opened the door to a front saloon and stood back to let her pass. Closing it after them, he turned to face her. “Is aught amiss, Leah?”

“Yes. Marcus, I have come to you because you are my friend,” she began.

“Won't you sit down?”

“No—I have to think.”

“And you cannot think seated,” he murmured.

“No.” She paced before the empty fireplace, twisting her handkerchief nervously in her hands. “We are friends, are we not?” she asked soberly.

“Of a certainty.”

“Then will you mind very much not killing my husband?”

He gave a start at the directness of her appeal. “I had the distinct impression from Lyndon that you had left him.”

“Well, I have, but that is nothing to the point.”

“I see.”

“Then you understand more than I do, my lord, for nothing is quite plain to me anymore.” She caught herself and took a deep breath. “We quarreled, you see, over you.”

“I collected he did not challenge me for any other reason, my dear.”

“It was because I would not give up my friendship with you. You see, Marcus, I quite like you,” she attempted to explain. “I still do—I always will—but . . .” She was suddenly aware that he was watching her in a way that had nothing to do with friendship. And to her horror, he was moving closer. “But what I wish to say, my lord, is that … that if I must choose between being friends with you and losing Tony …”

There was a hunger in his black eyes that almost frightened her, but she held her ground. Looking up at him with pounding heart, she found it almost impossible to finish. She'd brought herself and him and Tony to this pass with her foolish jealousy. His eyes burned as he sought something, some answer in hers.

“You are choosing Tony,” he decided.

“I don't want to! Why cannot I have both?” she cried, echoing the age-old dream of women who think they can be friends with men. “You are important to me! I care that you are received! I … I like your company! I treasure the time we have spent together, Marcus.”

“Then … ?” Hope flared briefly in the black eyes.

“But I love Anthony Barsett, Marcus—I love him dearly. And if he is lost to me, I do not think I can love another in quite the same way.”

“I want more than friendship, Leah,” he told her harshly. Moving closer, he lifted her chin, imprisoning it with long, strong fingers, holding it until he hurt her. And then his mouth came down on hers savagely, passionately, as though he could bend her to the greater will. And when he released her and stepped back, she wiped her bruised lips with the back of her hand.

“I'm sorry, my lord—truly sorry.”

“So am I. I had thought to make you countess to this unworthy earl, my dear—at whatever the cost.” A sad, ironic smile twisted his sensuous mouth as he looked at her. “But, alas, I could not abide loving someone who yearned for another—my pride could not stand it.”

“I wish I loved you.”

“Why did you leave Lyndon?”

“It doesn't matter—I'd not discuss it.”

“If it was because of Elaine Chandler, the fault was mine.”

“Yours?” Her eyes widened in disbelief. “How in the world could you think the fault yours? 'Twas not you who took her to King's Theater … ‘twas not you who stayed the night with her … and ‘twas not you who flaunted her in my face, my lord,” she blurted out, giving voice to her hurt.

“I paid her a thousand pounds to do it.”

“You?”

“Sometimes when one wants something too much, one does not act wisely. Anthony Barsett's little affair with Elaine was over from the beginning.” He turned away to avoid her. “Elaine is marrying Lord Carrington, she tells me, because she wearies of being spurned. “Tis I who should be begging your pardon, Leah.”

“You paid her to throw herself at Tony's head?”

“Yes. Now, you'd best leave before I tire of being noble, my dear.”

“Oh, Marcus.” She came up beside him and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “I have always known you were a better person than is thought.”

“You don't hate me?”

“Hate you? Of course I do not hate you! You are quite my dearest friend—you have given me back Tony! And you have given me my grandparents—though I am not precisely certain what to do with them,” she admitted.

“You are most welcome,” he muttered dryly.

“You aren't going to meet him—Tony, I mean?” she remembered suddenly.

“If you wish it, I will delope.”

“And let him kill you? Do not be ridiculous, my lord? Just don't meet him.”

“Unless he withdraws the challenge, 'tis a matter of honor between us.”

“Unless he withdraws the challenge? Oh, he will—he
will,
I promise you! And you will cry friends with me, will you not?” she pleaded earnestly. “I shall miss the balloon ascensions and the drives and—”

“So should I, my dear.” He turned around and opened his arms. “Friends.” And as his arms closed around her, he wondered if he would ever find another like her.

I
t was dark when Jeptha Cole's coach drew up at Lyndon House, where there was a dearth of lights. For a moment, Leah worried that he might not be home, but then noted the faint glow from his library windows. Leaning over, she kissed her father's cheek.

“D'ye want me to go in and beard him with you?” he asked gently.

“No.”

“Well, I am glad for you, my dear—knew it was a good thing from the beginning. And now, with the babe and all … well, you'll see. Boy's got a good head, Leah. Paid me back down to the last farthing already. Damme if I don't mean to teach him m'business so's the grandson can have it.”

“Papa—”

“It ain't going to be like this forever, puss,” he continued, ignoring her eagerness to see her husband. “Time's coming when money'11 tell as much as Quality, you know, and then my grandson'11 have it all. Or the granddaughter—I guess I ain't too picky in the matter, when all's said and done. You been a joy to me—stands to reason a girl'd suit Lyndon fine, 'cept for the name, of course. But you go on—out with you.”

“Thank you, Papa. I love you.”

“I know you do—just like Marianna, a few thorns with the rose.”

She found the house dark for the most part, the way it would be when neither she nor Tony was at home, with the servants withdrawing to their own rooms on the third floor. Letting herself in quietly, she walked carefully to where the light came through a slit beneath his library door. She half-expected him to be drinking or to have fallen asleep over a bottle. Indeed, in her mind she'd pictured every possible scene from all the lurid novels she'd read.

Instead, he was writing at his desk and did not look up when she eased the door open. For a time she stood there diffidently, watching him and waiting for him to notice her. But his pen continued to scratch across the paper rapidly, stopping only for a quick dip in the inkstand. She felt suddenly very self-conscious and unassured.

“Tony?”

A look of genuine surprise crossed his face, followed by a grin almost as wide as his jaw. His blue eyes sparkled, lit not only by the reflection of the candles but also from within. “Do not tell me—you are come home to finish this duel of hearts between us,” he guessed. “You cannot leave me to my painful peace.”

“Yes.” Relief brought an answering smile to her face and lit her smoky eyes.

“And the battle is rejoined.” His chair nearly overturned as he arose eagerly, boyishly.

“Well, I hope ‘tis not always to be a battle,” she offered.

“What—no citadel to be stormed?” he teased, crossing the room in easy strides.

“The defense is minimal, sir.” She took a half-step back just before he reached her. “But before I capitulate entirely, I have something to say.”

He stopped and nodded, the smile still on his face. “Say it now then, for the siege is about to begin.”

“About Lord Rotherfield …” She hesitated, aware that his smile had vanished, and then forced herself to explain quickly. “Tony, I know you do not understand it, but he is a particular friend of mine. He is. And just because I love you does not mean I will give him the cut. I still mean to go about with him from time to time, but I hope you will understand that I do not love him. I never did.”

The sound of insistent banging on the front knocker interrupted her. Coming from outside, they could hear the shouts of Gil and Hugh as they attempted to raise the servants. Tony padded in his stockinged feet to let them in. The two of them looked from Tony to Leah, and Gil grinned. “Glad to see you at home, Lady L!”

“Listen, you two, as much as I like you, you are decidedly
de trop
. I was just about to show my wife my speech.”

“Now I know that for a hum,” Gil protested.

“Won't be staying,” Hugh explained. “About that little matter we discussed concerning day after tomorrow …” He looked up into Tony's frown. “Oh, it don't matter- she knows of it. Anyway, got to thinking—deuced silly to fight a duel when it was all a mistake, you know. Anyway, the short of the matter is that I sent a note of apology to the earl.”

“You sent Rotherfield an apology? Why? The quarrel was not of your making, you know.”

Hugh coughed apologetically and stepped back a safe distance. “Well, I did not say I was sorry actually—said you were.”

“
You
what?”

“And I signed your name,” he added in haste, still backing away. “Well,” he continued defensively, “stands to reason he don't know your script, don't it? And I am like Gil in this—don't want to plug holes in either of you.”

Behind them, Gil appeared to be having some sort of fit, going off into paroxysms of coughing that threatened to strangle him. Hugh turned around and snapped. “Now what the devil's the matter with
you?”

“Sent him a note also,” Gil choked between coughs. Catching his breath, he realized that all three of them were staring at-him with expressions that ranged from incredulous to downright irate. “Well, dash it, Hugh! How was I to know you'd done it?” he demanded with a decidedly injured air. “If you'd a
told
me what you was doing, you'd a saved me the trouble.”

About to deliver a scathing set-down to those who would meddle in his affairs, Tony suddenly noted that Leah had succumbed to a nearly hysterical fit of giggles. “I suppose you think ‘tis amusing, but I—” He rounded on her wrathfully.

“ 'Tis worse!” Leah burst out, gasping. “
I
sent him a letter also, assuring him 'twas but a mistake, and I signed your name to it! Oh,
Tony!
” Overcome again, she succumbed to whoops of laughter.

The ridiculousness of the situation came home to him then and his anger dissolved as he joined them, laughing to the point of tears. “I shall look like the veriest cake,” he groaned when he finally wiped his streaming eyes. Sliding his arm around Leah's still-shaking shoulders, he confessed, “ ‘Tis as well that Marcus does not gossip in the clubs, love, for I have written him also—four apologies in all, in four different scripts. Poor Marcus—I doubt he will know what to think.”

“You were not going to meet him then?” she managed to say as she mastered her breath. “Oh, Tony!”

Hugh perceived that she was going to throw her arms around her husband in front of them in an unseemly display of affection. Hastily jamming Gil's hat on his head, he turned him toward the door. “No harm's done then, I daresay—just did not wish to lose a friend, Tony. Your servant, Lady Leah. G'night. C'mon, Gilbert—we are de trop, I think.”

“I was afraid you would be so angry with me,” Leah admitted, her face against her husband's shoulder as she heard the door close.

“Angry? How can I be angry? I had already decided that climbing boys were more important than quarreling with a man certain to put a hole in me. Besides, it is comforting to know that there are at least three people who value my skin,” Tony told her. “And now, my love—did you wish to see my speech?”

“I had not finished mine when we were interrupted,” she reminded him.

“Well, as I recall, you were being apologetic and humble.” he prompted her with a devilish gleam in his blue eyes.

“Yes—and ‘tis said that confession does make one feel better, does it not? Besides, I
have
thought a great deal about what you said earlier today.” She wavered under the warmth of his gaze. “I—I don't want to reform you— truly I don't. I like you the way you are—no, no, that is not precisely right—I
love
you the way you are. There. I have said it. You may storm the citadel whenever you wish,” she finished quickly.

“Alas, but you are too late.”

“Too late? But I—” for a moment, her face mirrored her consternation, and then she perceived he was funning with her. “Tony!”

He nodded toward the desk. “In the morning, my dear, you may begin editing my speech.”

“I do not believe you.” Brushing past him, she went to look. Two separate sets of papers rested on the desk. A quick glance revealed that one of them was indeed a speech on limiting the ages and working conditions of climbing boys. The other was a handwritten draft of a will.

He followed her gaze and saw her wince at the sight of the latter. “I know,” he consoled her, squeezing her shoulder. “It sobered me also—made me think that there are more important matters that need attending between us ere I am ready to cock up my toes.” His eyes twinkled as they met hers and he nodded. “But you will have to edit my speeches, you know, else Max will have me a positively rabid Whig.”

“Morning will be quite soon enough, my lord,” she answered saucily. “Right now, I am more intent on making Papa happy.” Her ringed grey eyes met his and she could not resist adding, “Little Anthony Charles Edward Robert—or Marianna, as the case may be—is already in a fair way to being a rich merchant in Papa's mind, you know. I think we should attend to that matter first, do you not?”

“That is Anthony Edward Charles Robert, my love,” he reminded her as he began removing pins from her hair. “And I am committed to making him fact.”

Her arms circled his neck and she leaned back to savor the love and desire mirrored in his handsome face. “At least we have four names with which to begin—and Marianna, of course,” she whispered seductively.

For answer, he bent his head to hers, brushing her lips with tantalizing tenderness at first, while his hands twined in her loosened hair. And, as his kiss deepened, she answered it wholeheartedly, responding with an eagerness that matched his, savoring the strong, warm, masculine feel of him, knowing he was the grand passion of her life. There would be battles between them, verbal duels, skirmishes to be won and lost, she knew, but just now there were no words for what she felt for him.

When he raised his head at last and looked deep into her smoky eyes, his own smouldered with the intensity of his desire for her. Wordlessly, he swung her up into his arms and carried her from the room, not bothering to snuff the brace of candles that flickered behind them.