"The man cannot hit the side of a mountain," said Max. "I've seen him shoot at Manton's."
"This isn't Manton's Shooting Gallery," said Tristram, reaching out and rearranging his brother's collar.
The surgeon was standing by. The crowd quieted. Palmer, looking a little pale, walked to the center of the opening where Max waited calmly. Back to back, they began to walk.
"One . . . two . . . three . . ." Until finally, they reached ten.
Max turned and raised his pistol. Palmer did the same, though his movement was jerky. Max waited, grimacing when Palmer closed his eyes to pull the trigger. The sound was deafening. The ball found its mark in the top of Max's left arm. Palmer let out a squeak of horror. His pistol as steady as ever, Max pointed it up and fired into the air. Senseless, Palmer slipped to the ground while the crowd voiced their approval of Max's action.
The surgeon hurried to Max's side. Barton, who had insisted on accompanying his young masters, was already helping Max out of his coat.
"Sorry, Barton. I'm afraid it is quite ruined."
"I shall have it rewoven, Master Max. Do not trouble yourself."
"How do you feel, my boy?" asked his father.
"How do you think I feel?" he snapped. "Tris, get me to the carriage. I would hate to faint dead away like Palmer."
"Just so," said Tristram, putting his arm around Max and leading him away with the surgeon following.
By the time the surgeon had pronounced it a minor wound and had bandaged it, the clearing was empty. Only O'Connor, the viscount, the surgeon, and the brothers remained.
"Tris, I'm afraid I cannot drive us home. You're going to have to do it."
"Me? Are you trying to make me faint?" said the horrified Tristram. "You know my driving skills are almost nil."
O'Connor spoke up and said, "I'll drive you home, Max. Tristram can ride with your father, your servant, and the surgeon. Let me tie my hack to the back of the curricle."
"Thank you, Mr. O'Connor. I was surprised to see you here, but I appreciate your standing by me."
"A pleasure, my boy. You handled that situation just as you ought."
Max smiled and settled onto the seat with a sigh. He had never been shot before. It was not a pleasant sensation. His shoulder was on fire, and the surgeon's mixture of water and laudanum was having its way with him.
"You know, my boy, I am very sorry that you have to wed money. I understand, of course."
"Do you?" murmured Max.
"Yes, one wants to do right by one's family. But it is a shame. You and my Kate would have gotten along famously together, I'm sure of it. As a matter of fact, I think even now she cares more than a little for you, if you do not mind my saying so."
"Hmmmm." Max's head lolled against the Irishman's shoulder, and the only sound to be heard was the jingle of the harnesses and the horses' hooves as they carried them back to London.
Eighteen hours after being shot, Max was restless and ready to resume his life. There was no place to
go, however. It was close to midnight, and he had just awakened from his drug-induced sleep. His head hurt from the laudanum and his arm ached, but he was little the worse for wear. Tristram was out, and Barton's constant hovering was driving him mad.
"I am going out," he announced to the servant.
"But, sir, how will you get into a coat with your shoulder hurt? It would be best to wait until tomorrow like the surgeon said."
"I will simply put my arm—ouch! Blast! Help me with this, Barton."
"I will try, Master Max, but do tell me if I hurt you."
"Ouch!" yelped Max. "Oh, devil take it, man. Never mind. I'll go for a stroll in the garden."
"You should wear your greatcoat around your shoulders, sir. It is rather chilly."
"Nonsense! And do stop fussing over me, Barton. I am not a child. Just leave me alone. Go to bed. Go to a tavern. You are dismissed for the night!" barked Max, taking the blanket off his bed, throwing it around his shoulders, and stalking out the door.
Through the drawing room and down the short hall to the garden he marched, coming to rest finally at the small bench beside the garden wall.
Not that he had any hope of a reply, but he called softly, "Iseult? Are you there?"
"Max?" He could hear her moving quickly to the gate and opening it. Then she was in front of him, her anxious gaze searching his face.
"You were wounded," she whispered.
"Only a little," he replied, feeling much more the thing.
"Oh, Max!" she breathed, throwing her arms around his neck. He groaned, and she withdrew in horror. "I
have hurt you. I am sorry, Max. Come over here and sit down," she said, picking up the blanket she had knocked off his shoulders and following him to the bench.
When she had gently placed the blanket around his shoulders again, she said, "There. Is that better?"
"No, but this is," he said, turning and taking her into his arms for a breathless kiss that seemed to go on forever.
When he finally drew away, Kate was left smiling contentedly.
Her contentment vanished as Max said, "Kate, I am sorry. I shouldn't have done that."
"I understand," she said, her voice hollow.
Max shook his head and took her hands in his. "No, you don't. I didn't mean... devil take me, Kate, I have tried not to think of you, to think of doing that with you, and it is impossible. Knowing you are just next door is torture for me. Do you feel it, too?"
Her smile reappeared, and she nodded, moving closer until she, too, was under the warm wool blanket, resting her head against his broad chest.
"How did we get into this mess? We both know it is impossible," he said, stroking her hair and kissing the top of her red curls.
"There was nothing we could do about it, Max. It was meant to be. Perhaps it is something to keep us warm when we are in our dotage."
"It keeps me warm enough right now," quipped Max, tilting her chin up for a quick kiss on the lips. "Where will it end?"
"It will end when you marry, or perhaps when Papa realizes I am not going to find a husband here in England, and he and Mama finally agree to take me home to Ireland."
"Ireland. That's so very far away," said Max.
Kate kissed his fingers as he toyed with her curls. "It is no farther away than a wedding bed with Miss Beauchamp."
"True, too true."
They were silent for a few minutes. Then Max said, "Are you sure you do not have a wealthy uncle someplace?"
"No, though from the talk Papa heard this morning after he spread it about that our families are well acquainted, I do have some distant cousins who are equally poor. Amazing how a simple lie can be twisted into such a tale," she added with a bitter laugh.
"Amazing," he echoed, tilting her face to meet his. After several moments, he leaned his forehead against her and quipped, "So now we are cousins?"
"Distant cousins," she said, shivering in his arms. He pulled the blanket closer and held her tight against him.
"I like your father," he said suddenly. "He is a man of honor and wisdom."
"Thank you. I like yours, too. You were asleep when my mother and I called to inquire after you, but your father was there. He is quite a charmer, isn't he?"
"When he is not gaming away a fortune," came the dry reply.
"Is he really going to marry Lady Anne Graves?"
"Not if he can escape, he isn't."
"Oh," she said, dropping her gaze again. "I thought .. . well, I should let you go back inside. It cannot be doing your shoulder any good to sit outside in the damp night air."
"I'm fine, really. Stay with me," whispered Max, and she settled into his embrace once again.
"A little while longer," she said, laying her head on his good shoulder again.
Two days later, Tristram entered the small drawing room wearing a wide smile. Max was seated on the sofa with their father by his side.
"Hello, Papa, I did not expect to find you here," said Tristram.
"Just came to visit Max for a minute."
"Yes, he wanted to know if he was any closer to my marriage settlements," said Max.
"Only Max tells me he ain't interested in setting a date just yet. Very selfish of him, I think," said Viscount Tavistoke.
"Well, never mind about Max's betrothal. Just look at this!" said Tristram, placing a leather purse on the table in front of them.
Max emptied the contents on the table and quickly totaled the coins. Glancing up in bewilderment, he said, "Where did you get all this?"
"Who cares!" said the viscount, picking up the coins and replacing them in the purse.
"Three hundred and twenty-six guineas! Imagine my little novel earning me that kind of money! It's a small fortune!"
"Congratulations, Tris. I am happy for you. What are you going to do with all this?"
"Do? Why, I'm going to invest it," said Tristram, taking the purse from his father.
"All of it, my boy? You don't want to do that," said the viscount. He reached for the purse again, but Tristram pulled it out of his father's grasp.
"What sort of investments?" asked Max.
"Do you have any idea how much money my publisher is making? And I am only one of his authors. He wants me to be his partner, Max. I could write and work with him, help him find new talent. With my connections, I can get into the literary salons and discover new poets, new novelists. Can you imagine a more perfect life?"
"Not for you, I can't," said Max, smiling at his younger brother's enthusiasm. "So how do you go about being this fellow's partner?"
"First of all, I would not receive any monies for this second novel. And I will probably need to put in some of this purse, as well."
"Not the purse, too," said their father.
"Are you sure that is wise, Tris?" asked Max.
"The two of you need to remember that I am not some sort of child. I am a grown man, and I know what I am doing."
"I did not mean to insinuate that you did not," said Max.
"And I just thought you might want to share with your old father," said the viscount.
"I am sorry, Papa. Not this time," said Tristram.
"Very well, then I am going to leave. If you and Max have any say in the matter, I will probably die a pauper in debtor's prison."
"I thought you were going to wed Lady Anne," said Max.
"If you were a few years younger, lad, I would wash your mouth out with soap! Good day to you, my fine, selfish sons!"
When he was gone, Max said, "Now, back to this business venture of yours. I do not mean to treat you like a child. I only wanted to suggest that you speak to
somebody, somebody with experience in business. Heaven knows, I am not the one to consult. I know even less about business matters than I do about love. I am the last one to ask."
"Well, I suppose it couldn't hurt to consult with someone. But who?"
"You could speak to Mr. Beauchamp. He has been very successful in business, though I have no idea what type of business he has."
"A capital idea. I will do that. In the meanwhile, why don't you and I go out and buy a coat to replace the one that was ruined? I'll buy it. No need to charge it to the marquess this time."
"No, I don't need another coat, Tris. What would be the point? I have already secured my future with Miss Beauchamp."
"Speaking of Miss Beauchamp, have you seen her since the duel?"
"No, I haven't been out since then."
"Are you not a trifle bored?"
"Not really. Actually, I have been reading your novel. It is quite good."
"Oh, uh, thank you, Max. That means a great deal, your reading my work. I really did not expect you to do so. Reading is not your typical pastime."
"But it is your book, Tris. That makes a difference. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I will go to bed and read a little more."
"Oh, of course," said Tristram.
Max slipped into his room and shut the door.
"Are they gone?" asked Kate, stepping out of the shadows.
"Tris is still here, at the desk. I'm afraid he is going to be there for some time."
"But I have to be home soon. Mama was only going to my aunt's house for the morning."
"Don't worry. If he is not gone in half an hour, I will go out there and distract him so that you can slip out unnoticed. Now, where were we?" he asked with a wolfish grin.
"Max, behave yourself," she whispered, laughter bubbling beneath the sound. "We were playing piquet for a penny a point."
"And a kiss for every ten pennies," he said, taking the seat across from hers near the table by the fire.
"Mr. Darby to see you, sir," said the starchy butler.
Robert Beauchamp glanced up, then frowned in surprise. "When my man said Mr. Darby, I assumed it would be your brother, the other Mr. Darby."
"I hope you are not too disappointed, Mr. Beauchamp," said Tristram.
"Not at all. Come in, young man, and have a seat. What can I do for you this afternoon?" asked Mr. Beauchamp, walking around his huge desk and taking a chair near the fire.
"My brother suggested that you might be a good person for me to consult, Mr. Beauchamp. He told me you are very successful in business, and since I am contemplating an investment, he thought it would be a good idea to speak to you."
"An investment, eh? What sort of investment? I dabble in several commodities and other concerns, but I am hardly an expert in all business matters."
"Well, perhaps I should explain first of all. I write novels."
"Indeed? I had no idea. How many have you written?"
"Only two so far, though I will begin my third soon."
"And you want to publish these novels?"
"No, sir. That is, they are already published. Well, the second one should be out in a month or two."
"I am impressed."
"My publisher has offered me a partnership. I am thinking about it."
"I know nothing about the publishing business, Mr. Darby, but I can tell you some of the things I look for when I am considering a new venture. Would that be helpful?"
"Oh, yes, sir. Most helpful."
"Very well. The first thing is, do you trust this publisher?"
An hour later, Mr. Beauchamp was winding up Tristram's lesson when the door opened.