Authors: Stella White
Andrew was experienced, that much was plain, and if they were going by just skill, he would be the winner. But Dominick fought with something else, something other than skill. He had fury. He was angry, and though his blows missed and were easily parried, they were strong and brutal. When his blade met Andrew’s, the roar of the metal striking metal was almost like a beast screaming out in pain.
Dominick went on the offensive, and he hammered the Duke back. Over and over his foil clashed against Andrew’s. And just when it looked as though Dominick might get a blow past the other man's guard, Andrew dashed out with a wild thrust, which pierced Dominick’s stomach and made him lose grip of his weapon.
“No!” Catherine yelled, and she almost stepped forward, but her father put his hand on her shoulder, keeping her back.
Dominick’s shirt was stained crimson as his blood poured freely. He fell to his knees, and Duke Rotham stepped forward, holding his blade at the boy’s neck.
“Do you yield?” he asked.
Dominick looked up to him. “You’ve taken everything from me, what is my life?”
“If she knew the man you were, if she knew the truth, she wouldn’t want to be with you,” Rotham said.
“What does he mean?” Catherine called, stepping away from her father. Dominick looked to her, sitting on his knees with his hand on his wound. Blood poured from between his fingers.
“I could never tell you,” he said.
“Tell me, or I could never love you,” Catherine countered.
“If I tell you, you will never love me.”
“Let me be the judge.”
Rotherham stepped back, allowing the young man and the young woman a bit of privacy though the crowd pushed in to hear.
“Ginger Street. We were upon it, and some man, a blacksmith I think it was, he came at us. We never learned why, but some people hate the army. Some slight perhaps, or maybe his son was killed in battle. He came, and we killed him. Not me, but one of us. We are brothers. After that, the street, just this one little street in one little town, it erupted, and the people who lived there, they attacked us. I had to kill some of them.”
“Why would that make me hate you?’ Catherine asked. None of it made sense. It was certainly a horrible story, but not one who made her think any less of Dominick.
“My company stayed there. We were ordered to. That night, on that street, after the skirmish, we found these three girls. The blacksmith’s daughters. They were young, thirteen at the least, and sixteen at the oldest. We hated them upon finding them. Three of our own company had died in the fight. We… we took it out on them. We had our ways with them, one girl with two or more men on them sometimes… and then after, we killed them.”
Catherine put her hand over her mouth. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. It was all too horrible, so much worse than she could ever imagine.
“I’ll leave,” Dominick said, and he stood and turned. He left drops of crimson on the stone behind him as he walked. Catherine watched him go.
“You can go after him; the marriage can be off,” Duke Rotham said, he was suddenly beside her. “I want you to marry me because you love me, not because your father loves my title.”
Catherine looked up at the man, and then back to Dominick. When she turned away from Dom, she knew it was the last time she would ever see him. That thought saddened her greatly, but she knew it was the right decision. She wasn’t sure if she would ever come to regret it, but somehow, she didn’t think she would. He had lied to her, had kept such dark things from her. If he could do that, for so long, maybe it was true that she never even really knew him.
And the Duke. He was an honorable man. He had been patient and had weathered her childishness with maturity. Images from that day on the long sofa rushed into her mind, and she felt his lips upon hers, his gentle movements inside her.
She put her arm around Andrew’s and led him to his manor.
“We have a wedding to plan,” she said.
*****
THE END
To Seduce a Scoundrel – A Regency Romance
1
David Weatherby stood near the fence that separated the wooden stands from the dirt racing track where the horses ran. The stands were full, despite the overcast sky, thick with dark gray clouds that promised rain at any time. David stood alone, dressed smartly, a hat upon his head, the brim pulled low in an effort to hide his eyes, which were tired looking, with dark circles beneath them.
It had been some time since he had slept. He often went a day or two without rest, so caught up in his carious gambling that he couldn’t find the time to lay his head upon his pillow. The way his gambling had been going of late, he had probably already bet his pillow and lost it, so there was nothing at home for him to lay his head upon.
The horse race would be different however, he always did well at the sport. They were gathering the horses at the starting line now, and they would run once around the circuit, ending at the same line they began from.
David could see the horse he had bet on, and he had bet heavily upon it. He had a meeting to play cards later on in the evening, and it was his hope to go into the meeting with a heavy purse, full of winnings from the race. He had bet on a horse which was a long shot, but as always, David had some information the other men in the stands did not.
And there were not only men in the stands. A few women were there as well, and one came up behind David and spoke, her voice high pitched and pleasant.
“Mr. Weatherby,” she said, and David turned to see Caroline Hampton standing before him. She was dressed in a light blue dress, the skirt rustling lightly in the considerable breeze. Her hair had a reddish tint to it, and it was piled in ornate designs upon her head. Her bosom was ample, and that’s where David’s eyes travelled to first. The woman noted this, and she blushed.
“Ms. Hampton,” David said, finally looking at her eyes. He took her hand and bowed his head to kiss it, and she curtsied as well as she could between the first row of benches and the fence.
“I was hoping I may see you here,” the woman said.
“And why were you hoping that?” David asked.
“Well, it seems as though after finally taking me to your bed, once I allowed it, you have little interest in speaking with me again,” the woman said quite plainly, and David had to hide a wince.
David Weatherby had a reputation around the city, and it was twofold. One: he gambled often and won and lost huge sums of money. As of late, there had been few wins and many losses. Two: he charmed most women he met, and they lowered their defences eventually to his charms. He used them in a way a man can and then moved on to his next conquest. So far, there had only been one woman who proved immune to his ways, the one who was betrothed to him, and had been since they were both teenagers.
Now, at just twenty, David’s list of conquests was lengthy, enough so that uncomfortable meetings like the one he was having at the race track were growing rather common.
“My lady,” David said softly as he grinned. “Surely you think nothing unkind of me, it’s simply my business endeavors that have kept me away. I wish it wasn’t so.”
“Is this a business endeavor?” the young woman asked, motioning to the horses.
“Of course it is. How’s this? Tonight, I will pick you up at your home at seven thirty, if you’ll agree to accompany me to dinner. We can spend some of the considerable sum I am about to win.”
“How do you know you will win? Isn’t a horse race a game of chance?” the young woman asked.
David laughed and shook his head. “Some may accept that it is a game of chance, but I do not. See my horse there?” David asked, pointing to a tall horse the color of deep chestnut, with a rider upon him and a purple sash about his neck. “I know that he will win, though he is what is called a long shot.”
“How do you know he will win?” Caroline asked.
“His trainer has found a new supper for him,” David said quietly. “I will say no more.”
“A new supper?”
David nodded and leaned toward the woman. “It is of utmost importance what these great beasts eat. It can give them quite an edge if their diet is looked after. This horse's trainer has found a new mix of oats and grain, which is said to provide an energy to the horse that few can match. He will be faster than the others.”
“We shall see,” Caroline said. But she didn’t sound convinced, and David turned away from her to watch the race, more than a little offended and annoyed.
“Here they are now,” he said needlessly, and the crowd behind them grew quiet for a moment, and there was a firearm shot into the air, and the horses were off.
David often forgot himself while at the horse track, and he was slamming his hand down upon the top of the metal railing as he watched his purple sashed horse surge out of the gate and take an early lead.
“I told you!” David couldn’t help but gloat over his shoulder.
And then, disaster. Halfway around the track, David’s horse tripped up and fell. His rider went flying, and there was a massive gasp from the crowd. The other horses surged around the fallen one, and the rider who had fallen scrambled to the safety of the fence, throwing himself up and over it. David’s face was a shade paler than normal as he turned to the young woman who was still standing beside him.
“I shouldn’t expect you for dinner, then?” she asked.
David glared at her and then made his way towards the exit, even as the race ended behind him and the crowd gave up a great cheer.
“You’ll never be anything!” a hurt Caroline yelled after him, and though she had hoped her brash words would be drowned out by the crowd, David Weatherby heard them all too well.
2
David had some time before his card game, so he took a carriage to his father’s house, hoping for a meal, and perhaps even a quick nap. His father was a large round man with a booming voice and hard eyes. He sat in the library, reading as he so often did, a large leather bound book open in his lap. He was contemplating something when David found him, the book face down, open to hold his place, and his eyes set on something outside of the window besides which he sat.
“Father,” David said as he came up on the older man. He took a seat across from him.
“Son, what have you been doing today?”
“I was at the races,” David said.
“I wanted you to go into the bank today, if you remember,” David’s father said.
David nodded. “I know, I was hoping it could wait until tomorrow.”
“It will wait, as I wait for you to come to your senses, take over the bank, marry that wonderful girl, and build a life for yourself and a family,” David’s father said. His name was Curtis Weatherby, and he owned and operated one of the most well-known banks in London. He was ready to retire and enjoy the wealth he had built, without the stress of running the business, but his only son was dragging his feet on growing up.
“I’m sorry father, I simply…” David said, but he didn’t know how to end the sentence, and so it trailed off into the air, like a line of smoke from a candle, twisting up higher until it vanished completely.
“How much money did you lose today?”
“I’m going to win it back tonight,” David said quickly.
“I doubt that very much, son,” Curtis said. “You have not been winning as of late.”
“You never seem to complain about my gambling habits until I’m losing, father,” David said.
“You like to gamble? Here’s a gamble for you then,” Curtis said, setting the book on his lap on a table beside him. “If you go to that card game tonight, and you don’t bring home the money you lost at the horse race today, I will cut you off. You will not spend my money anymore, you will not sleep in my home, nor eat my food.”
David couldn’t keep his mouth from hanging open. “But father!” he complained. “Surely you jest.”
“I do not,” Curtis said. “Of course, you can choose not to go to the game, and tomorrow you will accompany me to the bank and begin the transition so you may take over within a year.”
David stood up, shaking his head. “I don’t not want to run the bank,” he said shortly.
“Then I hope your card game goes well,” Curtis said, and he watched his son go from the library with his hard eyes.
David went into the kitchen in hopes of finding food, but the staff wasn’t there, being between meals, and he had to satisfy himself with some bread and butter he found on the counter. He ate two pieces and then went up into his room. He undressed and lay upon the bed.
When he woke, the sky outside of his windows was dark, with hundreds of shining stars blinking down tired light. David washed up at the water basin, splashing his face and drying off, before dressing in one of his finest suits, and hurrying out to find a cab. He did not come across his father, nor his mother or sisters, and for that he was thankful. It was a short ride through the city to Brook’s, a popular gentleman’s club which always had a number of card games going on.
David had been invited to play by a man everyone called Red because of his bright red head of hair. He was Irish, fair skinned and quick with a joke. He drank a lot, gambled a lot, and whored a lot, and there weren’t many in London who didn’t enjoy his company, one way or the other, depending on their sex.
David had befriended Red at a horse race the year previous, and they had gambled together often. Where David went in ups and downs, it seemed as though Red was always down. He lost often, and lost a lot, but there always seemed to be more money in his purse, and so he kept losing.
David arrived at the club and paid the driver before stepping inside and handing his coat and hat over to a young man who stood waiting to take it. He then made his way towards the back of the establishment, into a small room where Red usually played. There were three men in total around a small circular table, each of them preparing to play. Red saw David and stood and clapped his hands together.
“Finally we may start!” he said as David made his way to the empty chair beside his friend and they shook hands. David knew the other two men by name, and he bowed his head to them slightly as Red introduced each. Then he sat down, and they began to play.
The game of the night was Whist, and David played with a man named Samuel Carlyle as his partner. He was thankful it had worked out this way, he knew playing with the unlucky Red would be his downfall.
And indeed in the beginning, it looked as though he was well on his way towards winning back the money he had lost at the horse race, along with much more. And then his luck changed, and he and Samuel couldn’t win a hand in ten straight. His purse felt lighter and lighter, until finally, it was empty.
Despair and panic set in.
“I need a loan,” David said, turning to Red.
The Irish man laughed and shook his head, taking a moment to sip from a glass of brandy that had been brought to him by a pretty young woman earlier in the night.
“I think not,” Red said as he put the glass down. “You are my friend, and I do not want to mix business and friendship.”
“Please,” David said, leaning to the side, closer to Red. “My father…”
He trailed off, and Red shook his head slowly. “Is no concern of mine,” he said. “If you have no more money for me to win, perhaps you should leave.”
Red looked at David with narrowed eyes, and then they flicked to the doorway that led back towards the main hall of the gentlemen’s establishment. David was being dismissed, and he knew it. He stood, mustering up courage to keep some dignity intact, and he bowed his head after gathering his hat from a nearby rack.
“Gentlemen,” he said, and then he left.
Outside of the club he pulled on his overcoat, and went to stop one of the passing cabs. Though it was late, the sky fully dark with an inky black and tiny pinpricks of light, the cabs were heavy in this area, as popular as it was. One pulled to a stop in front of David and the driver looked to him.
“Where to, sir?” he asked, and David was about to tell him as he stepped forward and placed his hand on the frame of the cab to steady himself as he climbed in. He stopped though, and stepped back, looking up to the driver as he realized he had no money now, and couldn’t pay for a ride home.
“Never mind,” David said, shaking his head. “It’s a nice night for a walk, I think.”
The driver shivered in the cool air as the wind picked up, and he smirked. “Sure,” he said, and with a crack of the reins the carriage rumbled off down the street, and David began to walk. He was worried what his father would say.
3
Elizabeth Crawford was nineteen, three years younger than the man who loved her. He was named Rupert Eastman, and sat in the Crawford garden with Elizabeth as they drank tea, and he tried to steal glances of her long slender neck. Her neck was the most attractive part of an attractive package, at least in Rupert's eyes. She was fair skinned and fair of head, with long blonde hair which often sat flowing down her shoulders and to the small of her back. He body was shaped like an hourglass, with a thin waist and robust hips, and a large bosom. Most men looked there, Rupert new, at the top of her pale breasts as they sat in the low necklines of her gowns and dresses. But her neck was what he enjoyed most.