27. The Dreaded Duel #2
Vikram perched on a low stone wall nearby, his legs swinging with nervous energy.
He’d been thrilled when Mr. Moore had allowed him to come, to witness this preparation, though Kate suspected the boy didn’t fully understand what the practice was for.
He saw it as an adventure, a chance to learn something new and exciting.
Kate saw it as the difference between life and death.
Jason stood in position, the pistol hanging at his side, listening as Perry explained the mechanics of proper aim.
He was dressed casually, no coat, sleeves rolled to his elbows, waistcoat unbuttoned against the warmth of exertion.
In this informal state, certain things became more visible, like the slighter build beneath the tailored clothing, the feminine curves of his body, the delicate bone structure of his wrists.
Kate had learned to see these things now, had trained her eye to recognize Gina beneath Jason’s facade. Looking at him now, she couldn’t understand how she’d ever been fooled. How everyone was still fooled.
“The key is smooth motion,” Perry was saying, demonstrating with his own pistol. “Raise, aim, fire—all one continuous movement. If you pause between steps, you give your opponent time to shoot first. But let’s train that later. First, I want to see your shot.”
Jason nodded, raising the pistol Perry had provided. His hand trembled slightly as he sighted down the barrel toward the target.
“Breathe,” Perry instructed. “Exhale as you squeeze the trigger. Don’t jerk it.”
The shot cracked across the grounds, startling a flock of birds from a nearby tree. The bullet went wide, missing the hay bale entirely and embedding itself in the dirt beyond.
Jason lowered the pistol, frustration clear in the set of his shoulders.
“Again,” Perry said calmly, already moving to reload. “You’re gripping too tightly. Let the weapon rest in your hand, don’t fight it.”
Beside Kate, Mary made a small sound, not quite approval, not quite concern. “He’s too tense,” she murmured. “Fear makes the muscles rigid.”
“He should be afraid,” Kate added. “He’s preparing to let someone shoot at him.”
“Fear that shows is fear that makes you lose.” Mary’s eyes never left Jason’s figure. “He needs to master it, not let it master him.”
The second shot went closer but still missed the target. The third grazed the edge of the hay bale. Jason reloaded quickly.
The fourth shot hit the hay bale properly, though far from the marked center. Vikram cheered from his perch, bouncing with excitement. “That’s it, Mr. Moore-Sullivan! You’re getting it!”
Perry nodded approval. “Better. Your stance is improving. But you’re still anticipating the recoil—I can see you tensing just before you fire. Trust the weapon. Trust yourself.”
The practice continued. Shot after shot, reload after reload, Perry’s instructions steady and patient. The sky grew darker overhead, the threatened rain holding off but the air growing heavier and heavier.
Kate watched it all with a sick feeling in her stomach. Watched Jason’s arm begin to shake with fatigue. Watched sweat dampen his shirt despite the cool air. Watched him grow more focused, more determined, until the world seemed to narrow to just him and the target and the space between.
The tenth shot hit near center. The twelfth hit dead center. The fifteenth split the mark from a previous bullet, the precision of it drawing a sharp intake of breath from Mary.
“That’s the one,” Perry said, satisfaction clear in his voice. “Remember that feeling. That’s what you need tomorrow.”
Jason lowered the pistol slowly, his arm trembling now from exhaustion. His chest heaved with deep breaths, his face flushed from exertion and concentration. For a moment he simply stood there, pistol hanging at his side, staring at the target he’d finally mastered.
Then his head turned, his gaze finding Kate across the distance.
Their eyes met and held.
Kate couldn’t move, couldn’t look away. In that look passed everything they couldn’t say aloud—not here, not with Perry and Vikram and even Mary present. But she saw it all anyway, written clearly in his face. In Gina’s beautiful face.
Fear. Not of the duel itself, but of what failure would mean. Of leaving her alone. Of promises broken. Of a future stolen before it could begin.
Determination. To survive. To win. To come back to her no matter what it cost.
Love. Raw and desperate and absolutely certain, despite everything, despite the danger, despite the impossibility of what they were to each other.
Kate felt tears burning in her eyes but didn’t let them fall.
She couldn’t break down, couldn’t show weakness when her husband needed her strength.
So she held his gaze and let him see everything she felt reflected back—the fear and the love and the desperate, aching need for him, for her , to survive tomorrow.
Then Jason nodded and turned back to Perry. “Again,” he said with resolution. “I need to be certain.”
Kate understood. Once wasn’t enough. Twice wasn’t enough. He needed the shot so deeply embedded in muscle memory that tomorrow, with fear and adrenaline flooding his system, his body would remember what his mind might forget.
So they continued. Perry put up a new target, replacing the bullet-riddled one, and—shot after shot, hour after hour—Jason continued his practice until the light began to fade and Perry brought the session to a close.
* * *
“One!”
Mr. Moore took his first step forward, away from Ramsay’s heat at his back. The grass was slick beneath his boots, the morning dew soaking through leather. Behind him, he heard Ramsay’s heavier tread, the other man’s breathing harsh and angry even now.
The pistol felt right in his hand, weighted, balanced, familiar after yesterday’s hours of practice. His arm remembered the motion of raising it, sighting, firing. His body remembered the recoil, the kick against his palm, the smell of gunpowder sharp in his nostrils.
But his mind remembered other things too.
Kate’s face last night, barely visible through the crack Gina had allowed in her chamber door.
The desperation in Kate’s voice as she’d begged her to be careful, to survive, to come back to her.
The promise Gina had made, spoken through wood because she hadn’t dared open the door fully, hadn’t trusted herself not to pull her inside and damn everything else.
“Two!”
Another step. The distance growing. Twenty paces didn’t seem like enough space to stand and aim at another human being, to pull a trigger with the intention of causing harm. But that was the point, wasn’t it? Close enough to ensure accuracy. Away enough that skill mattered more than luck.
Perry’s instructions echoed in his mind.
Smooth motion. Don’t rush. Exhale as you squeeze.
And underneath Perry’s voice, Mary’s from years earlier.
If you’re discovered, if you’re attacked, you need to know how to defend yourself. Hesitation will kill you faster than any bullet.
Gina had learned from Mary first—how to load, how to fire, how to hit what she aimed at.
Those early lessons had been born from paranoia and fear, from the bone-deep understanding that living as Jason Moore meant constant danger.
Someone might discover the truth. Someone might attack. He needed to be ready.
Yesterday’s practice with Perry had built on that foundation, refining raw skill into something more precise. More deadly.
Dr. Hammond’s voice cut through the morning air, steady and unhurried.
“Three… four… five…” Each count was one-step closer to what could not be undone. “Six… seven… eight… nine… ten…”
Halfway through.
Mr. Moore’s breathing was controlled, his heartbeat steady despite the situation. This was just another performance, another moment when Gina had to become someone else, had to suppress her fear and embody Jason’s composure. She’d been doing it for ten years. She could do it for five more minutes.
But this performance had higher stakes than any before.
One mistake, one moment of hesitation or poor aim, and everything could be lost. Kate could be lost. Their future, their promises, their stolen moments of genuine connection, all of it hanging on his ability to raise a pistol and fire before Ramsay did the same.
His left arm ached, not from injury or training but from the phantom memory of Kate’s weight over it, her fingers trailing along Gina’s skin, her breath warm against Gina’s neck.
That was what he was fighting for. Not honor, not reputation, but the chance to feel that touch again.
To keep the promises Gina had made in the dim light inside her chamber.
“Nineteen!”
One more step and he’d be in position. One more count until they turned and faced each other. Until this became real in a way that practice could never replicate.
Mr. Moore thought of the target yesterday, the way the final shots had clustered tight around center.
Thought of Kate watching, her face pale and terrified.
Thought of the moment their eyes had met and held, that endless minute where everything between them had been laid bare without a single word spoken.
He would win. Had to win. Because the alternative was unthinkable.
“Twenty!”
Mr. Moore stopped, his position reached. His hand adjusted on the pistol’s grip, settling into the exact hold Perry had drilled into him yesterday. His weight balanced on the balls of his feet, ready to turn smoothly. His breathing slowed further, preparing for what came next.
* * *
The bathwater had long since cooled, but Gina remained in the copper tub, her knees drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs.
The chamber was quiet, save for the occasional splattering of water falling to the ground and the hissing of the dying fire in the fireplace.
She’d dismissed Mary an hour ago, insisting she needed no help preparing for bed.