Chapter 15 Kitty #3
Edward swore under his breath as he returned. “No foils. Say a prayer, Kit.” He nodded toward the gathering men. “Chudley’s out for blood. At Angelo’s, we use tipped foils—blunted, just for practice. These aren’t.”
Freddy sent me a nervous glance.
Lord Chudley’s sabre caught the sun, its edge far too sharp. He smirked and dropped into position, right leg outstretched, left arm raised for balance.
I pressed a gloved hand to my stomach. I felt ill.
Sebastian inspected his blade as the men cheered. Several wives clustered near Lady Anne, who clapped with forced delight. I caught a flicker of unease beneath her smile—like a child trying to appear brave before a fire-eater.
The next few moments happened so fast—
Lord Chudley lunged just as Sebastian gained his footing. The blades clashed. Nay, rang!
Sebastian slid and sidestepped, reminding me of the waltz we had shared. I must have edged closer, for a firm arm wrapped around my middle and dragged me back.
“Nay, Kit. Do not get too close. One misplaced slice, and you’ll be gutted like a fish,” Edward breathed in my ear.
The men circled each other while we watched, the guests no longer cheering. Lord Chudley lunged again, and Sebastian deflected the thrust, moving in a blur as light slid down his sword.
A golden lock tumbled over the young earl’s forehead, and beads of sweat dripped down his cheek.
“Slippery like an eel,” Lord Chudley taunted as he darted left. “You prance about, always spinning away. Just like those blasted French.”
The men cheered at the insult while I flinched, but Sebastian didn’t appear ruffled in the slightest. Instead, he kept deflecting, parrying each strike, the blades clashing.
“Is it not a foolish game?” I demanded of my brother, hardly able to take my eyes off the men in the center of the garden. “Surely someone will get hurt.”
“They are testing each other, looking for an opening. Cease speaking so loud or you’ll distract them at the wrong moment,” Edward hissed.
I could hardly follow the speed of their blades—each clash rang like a struck bell. Sebastian dodged a sharp swipe and slid back with practiced ease, always a step ahead.
With a sudden feint, Lord Chudley leapt forward. His blade sliced across Sebastian’s cheek.
Gasps rippled through the onlookers as blood bloomed against his skin. I cried out, but Edward’s hand at my waist held me still.
Sebastian didn’t falter. With chilling precision, he sidestepped Lord Chudley’s next strike and, in a single swift movement, hooked his leg around the other man’s. The earl crashed to the ground, his sabre skidding across the grass.
The crowd fell deathly silent, as if the very garden held its breath.
Edward let out a low curse. “Ungentlemanly, that move on Chudley’s part.”
“The rules do not allow strikes to the face, yes?” I asked, confusion and anger mingling within me.
“Aye,” Edward replied, his voice grim. “Lord Chudley’s strike was a disgrace, and Sinclair’s response was pure skill.
It’s one thing to disarm a man—another to humiliate him.
” He glanced at me, his expression serious.
“And no gentleman ever sends another man to the ground unless thoroughly provoked. Mr. Sinclair made his point.”
My chest tightened as I watched Sebastian, still standing, his chest rising and falling. Lord Chudley staggered to his feet, red-faced and humiliated. Sebastian, without a word, offered his opponent a cold nod before stepping away, ignoring the few jeers from Chudley’s supporters.
Edward finally loosened his hold on me, but I couldn’t take my eyes off Sebastian.
One woman cried out, pointing to the red rivulets seeping from his cheek.
“This is not how a gentleman fights!” someone called out from the back, and I felt a swell of solidarity among the onlookers.
Sebastian did not bow or salute. He stood rigid, shoulders heaving, while the earl brushed grass from his trousers and shirt.
“I wish I’d wagered on Mr. Sinclair,” Viscount Strickland declared. “Well done, gentlemen. A most entertaining exhibition.”
Lord Chudley’s grimace said he didn’t share the sentiment. It seemed as if a mask had slipped to reveal something ominous.
Edward finally released my arm, and I crossed the lawn, fumbling for my reticule. I brushed past Lord Chudley and reached Sebastian.
“You’re bleeding,” I said, well aware of how foolish it sounded with blood trailing down his cheek.
He wiped it with his fingers, then took the handkerchief I offered. “It’s only a scratch.”
“A scratch that needs stitches. We ought to leave, Sebastian. I’ve had quite enough exhibitions for one day.” His Christian name slipped free of my lips. His gray eyes widened at my mistake, but I could not take it back.
Lord Chudley stepped forward, a scowl twisting his features. “I owe you an apology. I sometimes let my temper get the better of me when I fence.”
Sebastian held his stare, pressing the handkerchief more firmly to his cheek.
The crowd began to disperse, the thrill of the match dissolving into a strained silence.
Lady Anne glanced between the two men, fingers fidgeting with her pearl strand. “A splendid match, all in good fun, of course. No harm done, I hope, Mr. Sinclair? I’ve never had so much excitement in one day. La!”
“The cut can be remedied,” Sebastian said, though the crease in his brow suggested he was not so easily appeased.
Had he been a fraction slower, he might have lost an eye or found his throat cut.
Shameful behavior.
The ton would cast a young woman from a ball for a misstep—how would they react to this? But the men said nothing further, much to my dismay.
I collected my shawl, keeping my eyes averted from Lord Chudley, my pulse still racing.
“Miss Grenville,” he said gruffly as I left without saying goodbye to our hosts. Terribly rude, yes, but I couldn’t bear to spend another minute within the garden.
“Miss Grenville, please. Allow me to explain—” A curse followed, but I kept walking toward the grand townhome.
When I entered the hall, I was relieved to see that Freddy, Sebastian, and Edward had kept rapid pace with me as I searched for Aunt inside.
I did not wish to remain at the garden party a moment longer.