Eight Hunting Lyons (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

Chapter Sixteen

F aint streaks of pink heralded the dawn as Thomas walked the dueling ground for the third time that morning. As the duel was taking place on private property, they technically hadn’t needed to set the appointed time for dawn. No one would disturb them, no constable or Bow Street Runner was going to storm in and break up the proceedings. Thomas had, however, wanted to maintain the traditional time of dawn for the duel, mainly because he simply wished to have the whole affair over with. For all their sakes, but especially for Honoria. He didn’t want her worrying one minute more than she needed to.

Geoffrey and Rochdale had duly met with Danford’s seconds yesterday afternoon in the neutral town of Cocking. As a point of form, Geoffrey had issued the challenge to Lord Danford’s seconds, even though Thomas himself had issued it directly two days before. Lord Brill and Sir William Knight had assured Geoffrey of Lord Danford’s sincere apology and shown them a sworn statement that he would henceforth abstain from all contact whatsoever with Lady Braeton. Thomas’s answer, however, to the question of his satisfaction had been a loudly resounding, “No.” He would discharge this matter only with the firing of his pistol.

Their shooting practice yesterday morning had gone a long way toward helping him make that determination. They had shot at the targets for more than an hour, and Thomas’s had been in tatters by the end. Each shot had scored a hit, only a few having strayed from the center of the circle. If he cleared his mind and focused on his opponent’s body, he doubted he’d miss.

As a result, Thomas’s peace of mind had risen to the point he’d been jovial at dinner and wildly aroused by Honoria’s charms in her bed last night. If all went well today, tonight he’d ask her to remove to the master chamber with him. If it did not, well, then he would sleep in a colder bed than previously. But he’d go to his grave knowing he’d done the best he could to put an heir in his nursery and leave some sort of comfort for his wife.

“Have you checked the pistols?” he called to Geoffrey, who stood to the side with Rochdale. Mr. Pratt had elected to wait in the carriage until Danford arrived. He’d join them all at the last moment so he could claim deniability should the matter come to trial.

“Twice.” His friend motioned him, and Thomas headed toward the two men. “They are in excellent working order after yesterday.” Geoffrey held the fine-grained walnut box under one arm. “I can, of course, take a third look if you wish.”

Thomas waved a hand at him. The pistols were fine. He bounced lightly on his toes, wanting to get on with this. Where the devil was Danford? “He does know when dawn is, I trust?”

“I imagine so.” His brother-in-law stifled a yawn. “Damned early, I’ll tell you.” Rochdale looked at the rapidly pinkening sky. “Perhaps his horses fell asleep.”

“If so, they are awake now.” Thomas nodded to the trees on their left from which an unfamiliar carriage had just emerged. A taste of metal flooded his mouth, and he wished for a mouthful of brandy to counteract the bitterness. Instead, he stood still, watching dispassionately as the carriage approached and finally halted next to his own.

The door opened, and two gentlemen climbed down, followed by Danford, who looked as though he’d not slept in days. His hair was plastered to his head, his clothing, while impeccable, seemed ill-fitting, and his complexion so pasty white, that his mouth looked like a red gash across his face, making him resemble Grimaldi’s clown. Huge black rings around his eyes completed the macabre countenance.

Thomas stepped forward. “Good day, gentlemen.”

“Good day, my lord.” The two seconds spoke as one.

Danford seemed dumbstruck, then swallowed and replied, “Good day.”

“Lord Brill, Sir William, may we have a word?” Geoffrey and Rochdale motioned Danford’s seconds to them. Making a last-ditch effort to affect an accord. Waste of time, but the formalities must be observed if honor was to be preserved.

“Braeton.” Danford spoke quietly, as though he didn’t wish the others to hear him.

“My lord?” Thomas stepped closer. Communication between the primary parties was not usual, although it was not forbidden.

“I make one last appeal to your sense of decency to accept my apology.” Danford stared unblinkingly at Thomas, his eyes wide as though he was a haunted man. “I beg of you, Braeton. I have not yet sired an heir and should I die, my lands will be forfeit to the crown, as there is no male issue in my family to inherit them.”

From any other man, such a plea might have swayed Thomas to take pity on him. But Danford’s word fell on deaf ears. “Then you should have better spent your time getting an heir on your wife than trying to debauch mine. I accept nothing from you, Danford.”

The man’s jaw went slack, and Thomas was afraid the man might actually begin to weep. “Then I give you notice, Braeton, I intend to throw away my shot. If you will keep your honor intact, you must do the same.”

Shrugging, Thomas turned and walked toward the carriage.

“Did you hear me, Braeton?” the earl called after him.

“How could anyone more than a mile away not?” Thomas muttered as he reached his carriage and opened the door. “I believe it is time for your assistance, Mr. Pratt. We will begin shortly.”

The doctor nodded and climbed down. “Thank you, my lord. I will stand behind your seconds, back turned as is the custom.” He raised his black physician’s bag, clutched in his hand. “But I will be ready to discharge my duty should it be needed.”

“I daresay it will, Pratt. One way or the other.” Thomas nodded to the surgeon, then strode forward as Geoffrey came toward him. “Are the proprieties served?”

“They are. They offered apology, we refused it,” Geoffrey growled. A fierce scowl marred his face as he crossed his arms over his chest. “We have set the firing at one shot each, the distance at ten paces, at your leisure, so you may turn and fire at will.”

“Good. I hope my reflexes are faster than Danford’s.” Thomas nodded, and Geoffrey produced the box with his father’s dueling pistols. Selecting one, Thomas hefted the weapon and sighted it. Perfect. He nodded. “Thank you.”

“N’tall.” Geoffrey closed the box and gripped Thomas’s arm. “ Bon chance .”

“ Merci .” Thomas squared his shoulders and marched to the center of the designated field of honor, a flat area where the grass had been clipped evenly by the gardeners two days ago, and waited for Danford.

For all his bluster at the Lyon’s Den, the earl seemed to have little stomach for actual combat. His face had gone paler if that was possible. His seconds were almost propping him up, and Thomas began to give himself some thought about what he would do if Danford could not stand by himself for the firing. He didn’t wish to hurt anyone save Danford, but a ball could go wide for no reason. Curse Danford. Let the man do his duty and take his punishment like a man.

At last, under his own steam, thank goodness, Danford stepped into the field, pistol clutched in his hand. Standing back-to-back, Thomas and Danford awaited the signal from the designated second, who appeared to be Sir William.

“Braeton! For God’s sake take pity!” Danford hissed as they stared at the tall Sir William. “Take anything you like of mine save my life.”

Praying for patience, Thomas let the words wash over him. There was nothing Danford possessed that would satisfy him, save his miserable life. Unless Danford would agree to quit the country or conversely remain shackled in a castle tower somewhere. Either of those remedies would assure that Honoria would be safe from future molestation, but he doubted Danford would agree to either of them. Pity. He wished to honor his wife’s wishes to spare Danford, but he simply dared not. He gripped the pistol at his side tightly, then loosened his grip. Get on with it.

Sir William cried, “Mark. One.”

Thomas stepped out, aiming to make each of his paces as long as possible.

“Two.” The second continued to count until he reached “Ten.”

The moment the word was out, Thomas spun toward Danford. If the earl threw his shot away, Thomas would be honor-bound to follow suit. But if Thomas could get the first shot in, he was under no obligation as Danford’s shot had yet to go wide.

In a smooth movement borne of untold hours of practice, Thomas raised his pistol and fired before Danford’s weapon had scarcely moved.

A piercing scream rent the air, and Danford dropped to the ground where he lay writhing. Convulsively, he pulled the trigger, putting a ball into the ground some yards away from the field of honor. He continued to scream and clutch his left leg.

Brill and Sir William ran to their compatriot. Geoffrey hurried to Thomas, and Rochdale grabbed Mr. Pratt and dragged him over to the shrieking Danford. The surgeon stooped and opened his black bag, withdrew linen, and began to staunch the blood.

Thomas stalked over to the fallen man, blood gushing from the injured knee. “I gave mercy a chance today, Danford. I suggest you take it as God’s grace, for if you ever lay hands on my wife again, I will not hesitate to put a ball in your black heart without the benefit of a duel.”

Geoffrey grabbed his arm and hauled him away from the still moaning Danford. “This way, my friend.” He pulled the pistol from Thomas’s hand. “I am astonished you decided to spare him. Why did you do that?”

Thomas sighed. “Honoria wished it and, in the end, I desired to please her more than I wished to kill him.”

“You have changed, my friend.” Geoffrey tucked the pistol into the case. “I’ll clean this later. I’ve never known you to be swayed from your purpose, no matter how hard I tried. Yet your wife can bend you to her will with ease. She is truly a talented woman.”

Thomas chuckled “Let us say she wields a weapon against which I have no defense.”

“What on earth is that?”

“Herself.” Against either her will or her body he had no resistance. He would do whatever he had to do to please her and retain her favor, even if it meant giving up his wish to have Danford dispensed with permanently. Although, in a less aggressive way, he believed he’d put paid to Danford’s debauching days. A man with a lame leg could hardly give chase to anyone.

“Huh.” Shaking his head, Geoffrey laughed as they headed toward the carriage. “Had you told me this would have been the outcome of our sojourn to the Lyon’s Den, I’d have called you lunatic.” He peered at this friend. “Perhaps you are mad even now. To be held in thrall by a woman, Thomas. You’d never have dreamed of admitting to such a thing a month ago.”

Thomas slapped Geoffrey on the back. “A month ago, I had no idea Honoria Quinn existed. Had I known her then, I assure you, I’d have admitted to being under her spell, almost from the moment we met.”

“You amaze me, Thomas.” Geoffrey stared at his friend, a mixture of amusement and pity in his eyes. “I’d never have believed this of you. And I assure you, you will never hear such a confession from me.”

“Be careful what you boast, my friend.” Thomas threw him a knowing glance and climbed into the carriage. He couldn’t wait to tell Honoria about the duel, about Danford’s final day of reckoning. More importantly, he couldn’t wait to get his wife in his bed, as quickly as possible. “You may yet find yourself having to eat those words.”