Chapter 9
Nine
“Moreham! How dare you enter my personal apartments uninvited?”
“After the injury you and your brother have done to my sister, Anne, there is little I would not dare to restore her honor.”
“Her honor, Moreham?” Anne’s shock faded, and as her color returned, she gave a brittle laugh. “Elizabeth was an unruly child, and now she is an unruly young woman. If it had not been James in the library, mark my words, it would soon have been another.”
“But it was James.” Rafe strode across the cream and gold Aubusson carpet, until he reached Dinsmore. The two men stood, face-to-face. “And it is James who owes me satisfaction.”
“A duel?” Anne said, her voice full of scorn. “Don’t be absurd, Moreham. How barbaric, how old-fashioned. Do you think waving pistols at dawn will stop people from talking?”
“It will give them something different to discuss,” Rafe said, never taking his eyes from James. “Your brother’s death.”
“You will not kill him. He will never accept such an outrageous challenge.”
“Name your second, Moreham,” James replied coolly.
“Davenport. And yours?”
“Grenville.”
“Lord Grenville?” Rafe arched a brow. “Ashton and Lounsbury will be devastated at being passed over. Grenville is far more respectable a choice than I would have expected from you.”
“That’s always been your problem, Moreham, so set in your expectations, so certain you see the right of things—”
“I see the right of you, or rather I should say, the wrong of you.”
“Naturally, you’ve always looked for the worst in me. And in Elizabeth,” he added softly.
“Don’t speak her name, Dinsmore.”
“She wanted him, Moreham. Think on that.” Anne’s voice was vicious. “I saw her. Everyone saw her. She—”
“Enough, Anne,” James said firmly, never taking his eyes from Rafe’s.
“Choose your weapons, Dinsmore.”
“I’ve heard you’re an excellent marksman.”
“You’ve heard correctly.” Rafe smiled, a curve of the lips that was anything but warm. “I take it, then, that your choice will be swords?”
“Do you take me for a coward?”
“I take you for a dishonorable cur.”
James’s smile matched Rafe’s. “I choose pistols.”
“Pity, I should have preferred to slice you with a sword, to leave your flesh as tattered as your honor.”
“You’re an animal, Moreham, a bloodthirsty animal!” Anne grabbed Rafe’s arm. “It’s no wonder you’re so at home with the French. To imagine I ever considered you for a husband!”
“Even more incredible,” Rafe said, removing her hand, “is that I ever considered you for a wife.”
“Leave my sister be, Moreham,” James demanded. “Whatever has gone before, this quarrel is now between the two of us. If you wish to fight with swords, so be it.” He dipped his head, his tone deceptively polite. “Never let it be said that I denied satisfaction to a Harcrest.”
Rafe inhaled sharply. “I will send word of the appointed place and time. You’ll understand if I do not wish either of you a good night.”
“You’ll be the laughingstock of the ton, Rafe Harcrest,” Anne called after him as he strode toward the door.
“Perhaps.” His voice was cold. “But I promise you, Anne. You won’t be laughing with them.”
The slamming of the door echoed throughout the room.
When it faded away, Anne faced her brother. “I’ll find a way to stop this, James, I promise you. I know the right people, I will speak with them.”
“You’ve spoken with enough people, Anne.” James’s mouth was a tight line. “I’ve agreed to meet Moreham and I will.”
“But you could be killed!”
“It’s reassuring to know you have so much faith in me.”
“It’s not that I don’t have faith in you, it’s just that…”
“It’s just that you don’t have sufficient faith,” he finished the sentence for her. “Apparently a widely held opinion.”
“Not one that I share,” she insisted.
“Ah.” His tone was mocking. “But I do. I am thinking it might be better for everyone involved if Moreham did kill me. The earl would have his satisfaction, Elizabeth her honor restored.”
Anne hugged herself. “And what about us? What would we have?”
“Why, Anne, you’d have everyone’s sympathy, and I…”
His customary expression of studied boredom faltered. He looked momentarily perplexed. “Why, I suppose I’ll be rid of this damnably unfamiliar sense of guilt.”
She was excited, dressed for a party. Everything about her looked perfect, she knew it.
She entered a ballroom. People started to laugh.
She asked them why, but they turned away.
Again and again. She searched desperately for someone who would talk to her.
And then she saw James. But he was far away, she couldn’t reach him.
She fought through the crowd to find him…
there he was! Holding out his arms to her!
Then he turned and swept up another woman—
Elizabeth sat bolt upright in bed, clutching at her chest, with a pain as fierce as if her heart had been torn in two.
She wouldn’t let herself think this way.
James Dinsmore would come for her. He would.
Something special had happened between them in the library, just as she had always known it would.
She knew he wouldn’t realize it right away—he was so jaded about love, about life, her James.
She wanted to explain it to him, what she felt for him and why she had gone into the library with him.
But everything had happened too fast. And then the door had opened.
She could tell by the light in the room that it was late; much later than she usually rose. She’d had such trouble falling asleep. She would dress carefully and she would wait. She’d be more patient today and she wouldn’t go out. She had no desire to face more snubs.
When she entered the breakfast room, wincing at the brightness of the sunlight that spilled from the long-paned windows, she found Alix sitting by herself at the table.
“Good day, Alix,” Elizabeth said, motioning for a maid to bring her some chocolate.
Alix nodded stiffly. “I see Rafe has gone out already.”
She nodded again.
Alix was never particularly talkative in the morning, but she usually could muster a greeting. Was Alix snubbing her, too? Elizabeth tried again. “Has he gone riding?”
“He’s gone to Monsieur d’Elon’s.”
“The fencing master? It’s been ages since he’s practiced with the sword.” Thank God, Alix was talking to her! Elizabeth took a slice of bread from a silver basket and began buttering it.
“He’s not practicing.”
Elizabeth looked up from her bread. “Then whatever is he doing there?”
“Preparing for a duel,” Alix said harshly.
The butter knife clattered against the plate as it slipped from Elizabeth’s fingers. “James Dinsmore?”
Alix nodded again, but this time her eyes focused on Elizabeth. They were full of pain and anger.
“I’ll talk to him, Alix.” The words tumbled out. “I’ll make him stop, I’ll make him see it’s not necessary…I’ll tell him it was all my fault, that I’m sorry, so, so sorry. I—”
“It’s too late for all that, there’s nothing you can say or do now that will change his mind.” Her voice was bitter. “I was up half the night trying to convince him not to risk his life for…”
“For me.”
“He said it was a matter of honor.”
“But I am the one who should pay the price. Not Rafe, not you, Alix…Alix, I never meant—”
Alix held up a hand. “I understand. You never meant to cause harm. But you did. And it cannot be undone.”
“I am the one who should pay the price,” Elizabeth repeated.
“You will.” Alix’s eyes fell, and her hand drifted to her belly. “We all will.”
Rafe’s arm swept up and his blade thrust at Cole’s neck.
Cole parried the blade, sweeping downward toward Rafe’s belly.
Rafe parried. The blades met on guard. The two men stepped back, circling each other warily.
Both were breathing hard; beneath their fencing vests their shirts clung like second skins to their sweat-drenched bodies.
Rafe lunged upward to the right, to the left, and then to the middle.
Cole countered all three and lunged forward, his blade striking Rafe on the hip.
“Enough.” Monsieur d’Elon, a compact little man dressed in scarlet, clapped his hands. “Salute and retire, gentlemen.”
“Have you had enough?” Cole asked Rafe.
“Have you?”
“You both have.” D’Elon clapped again.
They saluted and sheathed their swords.
Cole clapped Rafe on the back. “Monsieur was trying to save you embarrassment, my friend.”
Rafe raised an eyebrow. “Monsieur was trying to spare your pride to ensure you would return and continue to squander your fortune on lessons…”
D’Elon himself interrupted, “Monsieur believes you both are excellent swordsmen, well-matched, and hopes you both return to demonstrate to the rest of his students how the art of fencing should be practiced.” He swept an arm toward a table set with pitchers of ale and glasses. “My lords”—he smiled—“en garde.”
Cole filled two glasses and held one out to Rafe. “To more such bouts,” he said, smiling, but his eyes were grim.
“Do you doubt it?” Rafe took a deep swallow.
“I do not doubt that you are the better man.” Cole lowered his voice so their conversation would not be heard above the din of swords and the occasional coaching shouts of tierce, quatre, en garde. “But such encounters at dawn have been known to go amiss.”
Rafe pulled a kerchief from his waistcoat pocket and mopped his brow. “That’s why I’ve asked you to be my second. You’ll keep a wary eye on him.”
Cole nodded. “And kill him if he kills you.”
“No,” Rafe said firmly, “not if he fights with honor.”
“After the way he’s behaved towards Elizabeth, do you imagine the man has any honor?
” Cole continued without waiting for an answer.
“It’s a shame he didn’t choose pistols; you could have shot him through the heart and have done with it.
But then he’s probably heard of your reputation with pistols and hoped you’d prove less skilled with the blade. ”
Rafe shook his head. “He did choose pistols. I asked him to alter his selection.”
“He must have been relieved.”
“In truth, he didn’t seem to care.”
“I’ve heard he’s a passable swordsman.”
Rafe shrugged. “Then it’s to be hoped you’ve found a passable physician to attend us.”
“Better than passable, the finest surgeon in London.”
“Very good. And there are some papers I’d like you to look over, as well.”
“What sort of papers?” Cole asked.
“I’ve made you executor of my will.”
“Haven’t you some Harcrest relative who’d be better suited?”
“I can see you’re honored,” Rafe said dryly.
“I am, Moreham, indeed, I am, but your business dealings are, how shall I put this, rather complex?”
“Afraid to soil your hands with work, Davenport?”
“That’s not it, and you know it. I respect what you’ve done, Moreham, respect it a great deal. I’d feel dreadful if I ran it all into the ground. I’ve not got the sharpest head for business, you know. Haven’t got your patience for long-range planning.”
“Not to worry, my friend,” Rafe replied. “I’ve made arrangements for the business. It’s my family I’d like you to keep an eye on. Louisa and Elizabeth—”
“Elizabeth? Upon further reflection, I might have better luck overseeing the Byzantine workings of your financial empire—”
“Nevertheless,” Rafe continued, “if anything happens to me, I’m entrusting you with the guardianship of Elizabeth, Alix, and the babe.”
“Elizabeth is with child?”
“Davenport.” Rafe shook his head. “Don’t make me challenge you to a duel as well. My sister’s virtue is intact.”
“Then what…then who?” He stared at Rafe as awareness dawned. “You’re going to be a father!”
Rafe smiled, his first genuine smile since the night of the Dinsmores’ assembly.
“Damn it all, man, you should have told me sooner.” Cole raised his glass.
“To your health and to Alix’s.” He took a swallow of ale and raised his glass for another toast. And then he paused.
“Moreham, if Alix is carrying your child, perhaps it might be better if you reconsidered your challenge to Dinsmore.”
“Do you think I will lose?”
“I think if Elizabeth married…”
“To James Dinsmore?” Rafe made no effort to conceal his disgust.
“It wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen…”
“I cannot imagine anything worse.”