Midnight Temptations With a Forbidden Lord (36 page)

“I’ve set a few things in motion to aid Tristan. But I cannot outright prevent a debt of honor from taking place.”

She stopped walking and turned to face her husband’s friend. His expression was kind, and when she looked at him, she knew he was a man of his word, one she could trust implicitly. “All that matters to me is that he’s spared any harm.”

“I will do my best to bring Tristan back home to you and to his children.”

“That’s all I ask.” She took his hands in hers and squeezed them. “Thank you.”

Chapter 20

The infamous Marquess of C
^____
has taken up his sword in defense of his new bride. You would be shocked to know who stood on the opposite side. Though I hear rapiers are passé and the preference these days is something much more deadly.
—The Mayfair Chronicles,
August 1846 Tristan had been forced to leave the house at four in the morning—otherwise, he might have had to face not only his sister, but his wife on where he was going so early in the day. Both women knew the duel was to happen; they just didn’t know
when
. And he’d been right to keep that information from them. He did not want his wife to watch him being shot at by her father of all people.

A physician had come in tow with Ponsley and Warren—though it was Tristan’s understanding that Hayden had requested this man’s presence. He was tall and older than Tristan by a good two decades. He had graying hair and a chestnut beard clipped close to his face. He wore a suit in brown herringbone twill and a tall beaver hat. The doctor stood next to a folding table, his hands tucked behind his back as he awaited the
proceedings.

A wooden case sat open on top of the wooden table, the black dueling pistols displayed neatly inside. Gilt decorated the nozzles, and the handles were carved wood—the set looked as old as Ponsley and hopefully was in good working order.

The cock had yet to crow this morning, and a thick fog blanketed the ground around them. It was a perfectly macabre setting for what was to transpire.

“The rules, gentlemen, are simple,” Warren said. “The field of honor was given to you, Castleigh. Ponsley will choose his pistol first.”

“Let’s be sure there is no funny business,” Hayden interjected. “The pistols came with you, so Castleigh has every right to choose his firearm first.”

Warren looked at Ponsley with a droll expression. “Do you have a preference?”

“Let him have his pick.” Ponsley crossed his arms over his midsection. “Castleigh, you’ve been a thorn in my side since your father died. It’s about time I plucked the nuisance free.”

Tristan was sick to death of the delay. He wanted this over with. He took the pistol closest to him and handed it to Hayden, who would load it for him.

“We’ve agreed on first blood, not death,” Hayden reminded everyone present.

Though that wasn’t a problem for Tristan in the least. It was a shame his wife wouldn’t forgive him if he
accidentally
grazed Ponsley. Such was life.

He had avoided marriage like the plague, and then when he finally took the plunge, he wanted nothing more than to please his wife.

“Why are you even here, Warren?” Tristan asked. “You don’t honestly expect me to believe you of all people have been wronged where Ponsley’s daughter is concerned.”

“My business is my own,” Warren sneered and looked at Tristan as if he were the lowest form of life.

“If it’s your own, then why do you stand here for his honor?” Tristan nearly spat the words at his foe.

“She was to be
my
wife.”

“I’ve saved her a great deal of misery. I should be lauded and congratulated for my good sense in marrying her.” Tristan fixed his gloves and nodded to Hayden when the pistol was loaded. “You don’t deserve her.”

Warren came forward like a barreling bull, rage clear in his eyes as he locked his gaze on Tristan. Hayden stepped forward, grabbing Warren’s arm in a viselike grip. “Stand aside and mete this out as was predetermined.”

Warren shook Hayden off and made his way back to Ponsley’s side, all the while glaring at Tristan. They spoke too low for him to hear as Warren went about his task of loading Ponsley’s weapon.

“This is a bloody joke,” Tristan hissed at Hayden.

“Just see it to the end, and all will be fine.”

He wished he was as sure as Hayden, but he wasn’t. “Let’s finish this, then. I can’t stand the build-up.”

Hayden turned to the challenger. “Are you ready?”

Ponsley nodded.

They put their backs together and stood in the center of the field, which was ten minutes on horseback to Hailey Court, should
he
need to be rushed there in the event Ponsley didn’t spare him any injury.

Tristan closed his eyes and breathed in deep. “It’s pointless to have to come to this point,” he said to his father-in-law.

“You’re no more than a cur and you need to be put in your rightful place.”

“If you want to hurl insults, you should remember that my rank and my title stretch a great deal farther back than yours. Wouldn’t that make me the better man?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Castleigh.”

“I’m not. But if I’m a cur, I’m not sure what that makes you. A mongrel, perhaps.”

“Can you be so sure you aren’t a mongrel, considering you mother’s history?”

“That’s a low blow, even for you.”

“You should have left well enough alone. I had my daughter’s future set out.”

“To benefit you, no doubt.” Tristan couldn’t keep the scorn from his voice. “She was never a good fit for Warren—and should you ever want a story of male sluts, perhaps you should ask him why exactly I loathe him so much.”

“That’s rich coming from a man that cats about Town, creating bastards at every turn.”

“Only two,” he corrected the earl. Even though there was just his daughter, he was not willing to give away his sister’s secrets to this man, or any man for that matter.

“Shut your mouth and take your paces,” the old man spat out. “I’d like to be home before nightfall.”

Tristan supposed he couldn’t talk all day and delay what was inevitable. It was a great shame that Ponsley couldn’t be sweet-talked out of the duel—perhaps if he survived this he could brush up on his skills of persuasion. With a heavy sigh, Tristan counted his twenty paces and turned to face Ponsley.

“First blood. So if he hits me, we’re done here?” he called over to Hayden.

Hayden nodded. “But you will have to take aim and shoot at the same time.”

“Bloody hell,” Tristan cursed. He’d look like a bloody coward aiming wide.

Reluctantly, he brought up the pistol and closed one eye to measure the distance. It was tempting to miss Ponsley altogether and put a bullet through Mr. Warren, but then he’d just have to explain why the blighter was being cared for under his roof when they arrived back to the house, doctor and bleeding man in tow. Tristan suspected his sister wouldn’t be too appreciative of the gesture either.

Ponsley did the same, his arm raised, and his hand steady as he rested his finger on the trigger. “Hayden, if I should perhaps be maimed beyond saving…”

“Don’t even think it,” Hayden said. “And I hear riders; this needs to be finished or we’ll be discovered.”

“We’re on my land.”

“The women?” Hayden asked.

“Shit.” Now there was a stronger urgency to finish this—before anyone could interfere. “Are you ready, Ponsley?” Tristan called to his opponent.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Both seconds moved out of the range of the pistols, standing on either side of the doctor. The hooves of horses running at full gait grew louder. Tristan pinched his eyes closed, gave a quick prayer to the Almighty Lord, and squeezed the trigger. Smoke came up from the pistol and filled his nostrils just as a bite of pain lanced his side.

He looked at Ponsley, whose pistol was still pointed toward Tristan, lowering marginally as four horses came into the clearing. Tristan brushed his hand over his side. It was slick to the touch.

Raising his hand to his line of vision, he saw the telltale signs that Ponsley’s aim was indeed true and collapsed to his knees.

“Damn that bastard,” he muttered, though he wasn’t sure the words actually made it past his lips as the pistol fell from his limp hand.

*   *   *

It was the realization that Tristan wasn’t lying next to her, keeping her warm, that had Charlotte jumping out of bed before the sun rose for the day. She’d gone straight to Bea’s room, and they’d dressed quickly as the servants were ordered to ready horses. They had taken a footman and the stablehand around the property in search of her husband and the duke.

Bea said that there were four possible places on the thirty-acre property that would work as a dueling field—all far enough from the house that the children would be unlikely to hear pistols going off or the ring of steel. The first two places had been nothing but empty fields.

As they came upon a lea and saw the dueling field, the unmistakable reports of two pistols going off gave flight to the birds perched in the trees around them.

“No!” she shouted and pulled back on the horse’s reins.

She was too late.

Her horse reared up and neighed. She held the reins tight and once the horse was on all fours again, she jumped off, twisting her ankle in mud as she hit the ground hard. But she didn’t care. Tristan fell to his knees and she knew … she knew that a bullet had found him while her father stood with a smug expression of satisfaction on his face. She picked herself up from the mud with the help of one of the staff that accompanied them, all pain forgotten in her need to be by her husband’s side.

She ran as fast as she could to Tristan. Tears streamed down her face, sobs wrenched from her throat. She thought she might have shouted something, but the only thing she could hear was her blood pounding and ringing in her ears as she ran. Faster, faster, but not fast enough.

It felt like an eternity before she reached Tristan’s side, sliding on her knees in the muck and mud. She caught him around the waist as he fell to his side, a stupid smile tilting his mouth up when he saw her.

“Don’t you dare do this to me,” she cried, touching his face, ready to smack him if he so much as closed his eyes.

“Don’t cry, Char.” His voice was so calm and steady, but the color was quickly draining from his face. “Oh, love. I’m sorry.” He reached for her face, running his knuckles along her cheek before his dead weight took them both down to the ground.

“Tristan!”

Taking his shoulders in both her hands, she shook him.

When he did not wake, she started pulling off his clothes; she had to find his injury.

“You cannot leave me when we’ve only just fallen in love. You told me no harm would come to you.” She ripped his coat as she pulled it back over his shoulders, but it got stuck midway off.

She turned to Hayden, tears blurring her vision. “Help me!”

Bea was next to her in the mud. “Here, let me help.” She pushed her brother to his side and pulled his frock coat the rest of the way off his arm. “Can you see where he’s injured?”

His left arm was clean, but a dark stain of red bloomed at his side. She wasn’t sure where her strength came from, but she ripped his shirt open from the center down and spread the material wide. She moved slowly and carefully, feeling around where she thought he’d been shot.

A man she did not know knelt next to her with a white cloth in hand. He pressed it to Tristan’s side, dabbing away enough blood to see the wound caused by the bullet her father had so callously put there. The man leaned over and prodded at the raw wound.

“It’s no more than a grazing,” the man said to her in a calm, even voice. “Bullet only skidded across his ribs.”

Despite the good news, Charlotte was still worried, but her sobs were less of fear and more from her relief that her husband wasn’t seriously injured. “Why isn’t he awake?” she asked, still not fully convinced of the doctor’s prognosis.

“Could be the shock,” he said.

“The blood,” Bea said, taking Charlotte by the shoulders, urging her to her feet, and moving her away from Tristan. “Let the doctor look him over. We’ll be back at the house soon enough—you can fuss over him there.”

She felt numb and let Bea pull her into a comforting hug before she turned and looked her sister-in-law in the eye.

“He is going to be fine,” Bea said, her voice surprisingly steady. “The best thing we can do right now is get him home and comfortably situated before the children are awake. They need not know of the ill-conceived vagaries of men.”

Charlotte nodded. Bea was right. “How long will it take to bring the carriage around?”

“Not more than fifteen minutes,” Bea said. “I’ve already asked the stablehand to have it hitched and brought immediately.”

Charlotte looked around her; light was finally stretching across the sky and dissipating the fog that lingered on the ground. The ground seemed so cold and lifeless where her husband lay. The doctor had a listening device stuck in his ear and pressed to Tristan’s bared chest, right where his heart was.

Turning, she saw the duke discussing something with her father and Mr. Warren. They were responsible for this. She’d nearly been widowed … and for what reason? There was no reason good enough to take away the man she loved.