Chapter Thirty-Five #2
A group of gentlemen passed by, raucously laughing. Matthew stayed close to the wall. Vivian lifted her fan and said under her breath, “I haven’t seen him today.”
She rushed away from him, back to the ballroom, keeping her eyes downcast. Matthew placed his head in his hands, trying not to scream. Curse it all! He turned back into the hall and stumbled directly into Don Lorenzo. The other man skipped back a step and placed both hands behind him.
“Fiery, isn’t she? It’s a wonder you let her go.” He narrowed his eyes. “Or have you? Why are you hiding in dark corners with women who are not your wife?”
“I would never betray Jasmine,” Matthew ground out. “I’m searching for Lord Rothwell.”
“And why is that? Are you suddenly in the habit of making friends with your enemies? You’ve never been friendly with me.”
“It’s important I find him. It doesn’t matter why.”
“I could help you.” Don Lorenzo hummed and stared off in the direction where Vivian retreated. “If I were, what would you give me for it?”
Matthew glared at him. “What would you want?”
“That was not the question.” Don Lorenzo shook his finger. “I’m providing you with valuable knowledge. What are you willing to exchange?”
Matthew considered the question. “I have nothing to give.”
“A conversation then? Knowledge for knowledge.” With slicked-back black hair, Don Lorenzo looked like the devil himself. He extended his hand, but Matthew wouldn’t enter into another deal with anyone else.
It didn’t matter what it cost him.
“No, thank you.” He shook his head. “If you require payment, I’d rather not have your help at all. I have enough problems as it is.”
“Honorable, even now?” Don Lorenzo’s grin turned impish. “You are an interesting man, Asesino.”
With a shrug, Don Lorenzo followed after Vivian.
Bracing himself, Matthew re-entered the ballroom.
A loud clap sounded and the orchestra stopped.
Duke Kendall walked up the staircase and stood steps above the crowd.
His voice reverberated in the room as he announced, “Good evening one and all. I give my sincerest appreciation for your attendance tonight, I’m certain we will remember this evening for many years to come!
We have a full evening’s worth of entertainment planned, and first…
.” He gestured to where Matthew stood. “Please follow Lord Lincolnshire to the back terrace for an unforgettable show.”
Matthew kept his head high as he walked through the double doors leading outside.
His family fell into step behind him, along with nobles murmuring excitedly.
The gravel path crunched under his feet.
oil lanterns lit a large clearing. White chairs were set up in rows with an aisle between them.
At the front was a large golden throne, its square base sinking into the damp earth.
Matthew walked up the aisle, to where a raised stand held Duke Kendall’s pistol, nestled in its open case with gleaming cartridges…
and a long black cloth, its ends flowing in the light breeze.
In front of him was a simple target with white and black circles.
He walked the range in the little time he had left.
Twelve paces one way.
Twelve paces back.
Guests took their chairs, forming a sea of red behind him. The lanterns around him threatened to blind him before the trial had even begun. He steadied his breathing, but he couldn’t steady his heart. Nowhere in their planning had they been able to get him out of this one task.
He checked the crowd. His family sat in the front row.
Seth sat on the aisle, with Cassandra and Caroline seated between him and Jasmine.
Haughtily, Don Lorenzo waltzed up to sit next to Jasmine.
With a glower that could have lit forges, Vivian sank into the chair next to Don Lorenzo and crossed her arms.
Matthew met Jasmine’s eyes, and she gave him a comforting smile, but his strong, beautiful wife was holding herself together by the seams. The unfairness of it all crashed down on him. They had fought so hard for their happiness, he couldn’t be torn from her now.
Once all guests were seated, Duke Kendall sauntered up the aisle and lazily draped himself across the throne.
“Go ahead, Lord Lincolnshire,” he sang. “Give me a show.”
Matthew cleared his throat and gave his most devilish grin.
“Pleasant evening, ladies and gentlemen. First, I wish the happiest of birthdays to Duke Kendall.” He bowed to him. “I have a present for you unlike any other.” He paused for effect before he motioned for Seth. “Mr. Reeves, please present the pistol to the guests for inspection.”
Seth brought the case around, bringing quiet exhales and interested hums from the aristocrats. Some touched the handle, delicately running their fingers along the gemstones. After the guests were satisfied, Seth returned the pistol to Matthew.
“Everyone knows I have a reputation for inappropriately propositioning potential clients, so allow me to uphold that.” He lifted a round from the case and slid it into its slot before closing the pistol with a click. “Our newest invention, a dueling pistol. Perfectly accurate.”
Whispers rippled through the guests and he laughed.
“I know some of you might not believe me, so allow me to demonstrate.” He winked. “I am a businessman, after all. What better way to show off my talents?”
He didn’t wait for Duke Kendall’s approval. He needed a warm up, and Duke Kendall had given him the stage. Matthew raised the pistol and shot once. The scent of gunpowder and a hint of smoke rose from the barrel, and twelve paces down, there was a crack in the center of the target.
A collection of scattered gasps rang out, followed by nervous laughter from ladies and approving hums from gentlemen.
“A lucky shot, one might say,” Matthew said conversationally. “They would be wrong.”
Load. Aim. Pop. Crack.
Load. Aim. Pop. Crack.
All three rounds landed directly in the center, carving out a hole. He could do this… he could. For his family, for his wife.
Duke Kendall clapped, the corners of his lips lifted while his eyes narrowed. “That is skillful indeed, but you have a secret, don’t you?”
“I do,” Matthew agreed. “This pistol is so accurate, even a blind man could shoot his target.” He raised the black cloth. “Would you care to do the honors, Your Grace?”
Duke Kendall got up from his seat, and Matthew turned in the opposite direction.
He scanned the range, memorizing every detail, calculating distance and angle as best as he could before Duke Kendall tied the blindfold around his eyes.
Blackness surrounded him as the cloth closed tight around his head.
A whiff of Caroline’s daisy-scented perfume lifted in the air, smothered by Duke Kendall’s bitter musk.
Ice-cold fingertips grazed the back of Matthew’s neck, raising every hair on his body.
“Mr. Reeves can load the pistol,” Duke Kendall said pointedly, “Seeing as he’s the only other person who knows how.”
The scent of rosemary and a warm presence replaced Duke Kendall’s. Seth chambered a round and placed the pistol in Matthew’s shaking hands, pressing firmly to steady him.
“You’ve practiced this,” he whispered. “Straight ahead. Breathe.”
“Ah-ah, no talking!” Duke Kendall called out.
Seth stepped away, and Matthew swallowed hard.
Sweat beaded at his brow, he had lost count of how many times he had done this.
This was another practice session. That was all.
Only practice. He held the pistol like an old friend, trusting his body to perform his will and Seth to reload.
Matthew lifted the gun, and even the night bugs fell silent—as if they too were watching.
The world narrowed down to touch, smell, and sound. The familiar weight of the gun. The scent of metal and fire. The clinking of rounds being loaded, the pop of the shots, and each round hitting the target.
Crack.
Crack.
Crack.
A breath-stealing silence.
And then a roar.
Applause louder than he had ever heard echoed in the night air with the shuffling of guests rising to their feet. Clapping and laughter rose higher and higher. Matthew dared to lift the blindfold, and he nearly sank to his knees. On the target, his three shots landed within the center circle.
He released a shuddering breath.
I did it.
Duke Kendall pursed his lips, his face growing red. He curled his fingers around the arm rests of his throne until his knuckles turned white, clenching tighter with each cheer from the crowd.
Matthew gazed at Jasmine. Her expression remained guarded, but tension had eased from her shoulders. She gave him a brief nod, and he returned his attention back to the guests.
He bowed low to them. “That concludes my performance, you may all—”
“Now, now, that isn’t the entire performance.” Duke Kendall replaced his grimace with a dark grin and approached, silencing the crowd once more. He twirled his hand again, and the apple materialized in his palm.
“An outstanding display.” Duke Kendall stalked to Matthew, tossing the apple in the air and catching it as it dropped. “You’re certainly the best marksman in England. It makes me wonder… do you believe you could shoot an apple at the same distance?”
“Confidently,” Matthew replied.
“In any circumstance?”
Over the rushing heartbeat, he assured him, “I can shoot an apple, Your Grace.”
“Prove it,” Duke Kendall hissed. “Shoot an apple… off your wife’s head.”