Chapter 37
Thirty-Seven
“ W ell,” Belleville said, “if Lord Rashford intends to test our patience further, perhaps we should set up a picnic. A duel at dawn implies punctuality, does it not?”
Cedric didn’t answer. His gaze was fixed on the horizon, where the faint light of early dawn began to crest over the fields. The chill of the morning air clung to his skin, but he barely noticed it. His jaw was tight, his hands clenched at his sides. The pistol at his hip felt heavier than it had ever been.
Belleville sighed dramatically, brushing a bit of nonexistent dust from his sleeve. “No response? Haremore, this stoicism of yours might make you seem like a hero in some cheap romance novel, but it’s dashed boring for the rest of us.”
Cedric turned his gaze toward him, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Must you always talk?”
“Always,” Belleville said brightly. “Otherwise, you might forget I’m here. And then who would you have to ensure that this mess doesn’t end with your head on a pike?”
“I should like to remind you,” Cedric said sharply, “that it was your idea to act as my second.”
“And I stand by it,” Belleville replied smoothly. “Though I must confess, I didn’t expect the cad to keep us waiting. Not exactly sporting, is it?”
Cedric didn’t reply, his attention snapping back to the horizon. Two figures emerged from the faint mist, their forms growing clearer with each step. Rashford and his second approached with deliberate slowness, as if the longer they took, the more Cedric’s anger would simmer.
It didn’t work. His fury was already at a boiling point.
Belleville adjusted his cravat with an exaggerated flourish. “Ah, finally. And here I thought we’d have to duel ourselves to pass the time.”
“Stay here,” Cedric said curtly, his boots crunching against the frost-covered grass as he stepped forward to meet his opponent. The sound of his footsteps echoed in his ears, steady and deliberate, grounding him against the chaos swirling in his mind.
The seconds exchanged formalities, their voices low and clipped as they negotiated the rules. Thirty paces. Turn at will. One shot each. It was standard protocol, though Cedric noted Rashford’s smug expression with a sharp pang of mistrust.
Rashford’s second stepped forward, holding out the pistols for inspection. Cedric took his, its cold weight settling into his hand like an old companion. He met Rashford’s gaze, his own steely and unyielding.
“Ready when you are, Haremore,” Rashford said, his tone light as if this was nothing more than a gentlemen’s game.
Cedric said nothing, his grip tightening on his pistol. He didn’t trust himself to speak, not when the fury coursing through him threatened to spill over. Instead, he took his position, his boots digging into the damp earth as he waited for the signal.
“Gentlemen,” Belleville’s voice rang out, unusually sharp, “on my count.”
Cedric inhaled deeply. He thought of Audrey—her voice, her touch, the way she had looked at him with such quiet hope. He thought of her words, her pleas, her tears.
And then he thought of how he had failed her.
“One,” Belleville called.
Cedric’s jaw tightened.
“Two.”
His fingers flexed around the pistol.
“Three.”
He stepped forward, each step measured and deliberate. The frost crunched beneath his boots, the sound loud in the otherwise still morning. He felt the weight of the pistol in his hand, the tension coiling in his chest with every step.
At step twelve, a shot rang out, the sound shattering the quiet. Cedric froze, his heart leaping to his throat as a cloud of dirt exploded near his foot. He looked up sharply, his eyes narrowing on Rashford, who stood smirking with his pistol raised.
The bastard had fired early.
Belleville swore loudly behind him, but Cedric barely heard it. His blood roared in his ears, his anger sharpening to a dangerous edge. Without hesitation, he lifted his pistol and fired.
The shot was clean, grazing Rashford’s thigh and eliciting a sharp cry of pain. Rashford stumbled, his hand clutching his leg as he glared at Cedric with shock and fury. But before Cedric could react, Rashford straightened, his hand moving to his coat.
A second pistol.
Cedric’s breath caught as Rashford raised the weapon, his expression twisting into something cruel and vindictive. Cedric’s pistol lay useless on the ground, discarded in accordance with the agreed-upon rules. But Rashford had no intention of adhering to those rules.
Time seemed to slow down as Cedric surged forward, his body a blur of motion. He had no plan, no thought beyond reaching Rashford before the second shot could be fired. His boots pounded against the ground, his focus narrowing down to the man in front of him.
And then, suddenly, an arrow sliced through the air, embedding itself in the earth between them.
Both men froze, their heads snapping toward the source of the shot. Cedric’s heart thundered in his chest as his gaze locked onto a figure on horseback.
Audrey.
She sat on the horse with an almost regal composure, a bow still raised in her hand. Her expression was icy, her gaze sharp and unyielding as she stared down at them. Behind her, several men on horseback galloped toward the scene, their uniforms marking them as members of the Bow Street Runners.
The Runners dismounted quickly, their boots hitting the ground with practiced efficiency as they moved to surround Rashford.
One of the men stepped forward, his sharp gaze darting between Cedric and Rashford. “What is going on here?” he demanded.
Audrey dismounted gracefully, and Cedric struggled to tear his gaze away from her. He took a breath and tried to answer the Runner. “This was meant to be a duel,” he said. “But Lord Rashford did not abide by the rules. He fired early and concealed a second pistol.”
The Runner’s gaze snapped to Rashford, his expression darkening. “Is this true?”
Rashford’s second hesitated, but Belleville stepped forward, his tone as light as ever. “Oh, it is quite true,” he said. “Haremore could have been killed twice over by now if the rules meant anything to Rashford.”
Audrey cut in. “And this is not the first instance of Lord Rashford’s dishonorable behavior. He has a history of luring young ladies into dark gardens, isolating them, and compromising them. This man has no honor. He is a scoundrel who uses all opportunities to prey on women.”
“That is a lie!” Rashford shouted, his face reddening. “I have done nothing of the sort!”
Cedric took a step forward, and his voice rumbled low and lethal. “You are speaking to a duchess.”
Rashford snapped his mouth shut, but his eyes burned with impotent fury as the Runners surrounded him.
The lead Runner turned to Audrey, inclining his head respectfully. “We will take him into custody, Your Grace. The King will decide how to handle his misconduct.”
Audrey nodded curtly, her demeanor remaining as cold and composed as ever. “See that you do, please.”
As the Runners escorted Rashford toward the waiting horses, Cedric turned to Audrey, his heart aching at the sight of her. She looked magnificent, her poise and dignity a sharp contrast to the chaos around them. But she was colder than he had ever seen her, her gaze not once meeting his as she prepared to mount her horse.
“Audrey,” he said softly, taking a tentative step toward her. “Thank you.”
“This was not for you,” she said simply, her voice devoid of emotion. Her gaze flicked to his for the briefest moment, distant and unyielding. “It was for my sister. To ensure that she would not be tied to a man like that.”
“Audrey, I?—”
“It is done now,” she said, cutting him off. “And so are we.”
Cedric felt as though the ground had shifted beneath his feet. “You don’t mean that.”
Her lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. “Don’t I? You made it clear where you stand, Cedric. And I have no interest in being tied to a man who sees me as nothing more than an obligation.”
“That is not what I?—”
“Please,” she interrupted, her voice soft but firm. “Do not insult me further.”
She turned and mounted her horse, her figure growing smaller as she disappeared into the distance. Cedric remained rooted in place, her departure settling over him like a shroud.
He had wanted to protect her. To keep her safe. And in doing so, he had driven her away.
For the first time, Cedric realized the true cost of his choices.
And it was far greater than he had ever imagined.