Title Sinful Tales of Desirable Ladies

by Lucinda Nelson

  Of course. I am Solomon, Sol to my friends.”

  Teresa smiled brightly. “Sol. I like that.”

  Solomon stood up. “I must go. Might I have a brief word with Teresa in private, Thomas?”

  Thomas also stood. “Of course.”

  He gave Solomon a quick bow, then departed the drawing room, but left the door open. His hand in hers, Solomon raised her to her feet, gazing down into her blue eyes. “In case evil triumphs,” he said, his voice hushed. “I wish to part from you with the memory of your beautiful face and sweet kiss on my lips.”

  “You sound like one of my romance novels, Sol,” Teresa said with a grin. “But I would not send you off to face a duel without a kiss.”

  Lowering his face to hers, Solomon moved his lips over hers with tenderness and rising passion, and yes, even to himself, he knew he kissed her with love. Her arms sneaked around his neck, her breasts pressed against his chest even as his hands rested lightly on her hips. Wanting more from her than she was ready to give, Solomon broke their kiss and gazed into her eyes.

  “Think well of me,” he murmured.

  “Always.”

  Knowing that Thomas might check on them at any moment, Solomon stepped back and tipped her a wink. “I will return successful.”

  “I know you will.” Her smile widened. “I never dreamed a handsome Duke would fight a duel of honor over me. It is so romantic. Perhaps I might be permitted to watch?”

  Solomon shook his head vehemently. “Absolutely not. This is not just illegal, but also dangerous. I cannot have you there.”

  He could not be certain, but her eyes flicked for an instant, as though she were making up her mind whether to obey him or not. Then she smiled brightly.

  “Very well then.”

  Chapter 15

  Miss Teresa Wolcott

  Rising well before dawn, Teresa washed and dressed, brushing out her waist length locks. Deciding breakfast would wait, she slipped out the door with Mr. Simms behind her, knowing that Thomas had left the house hours before. The streets outside were empty save a few wagons lumbering past, drawn by huge draft horses, and the lamps had burned low. She did not see any of the mercenaries who watched the house, and surmised they had concealed themselves well.

  Not needing the lights to find her way, Teresa strode quickly to Regent’s Park, making her way amid the piles of dirt and stone, the work shovels left behind from the previous day’s labor. Wide brick paths were already set down, and she, with her bodyguard, had little difficulty making her way to the northeast corner of the park.

  She heard voices murmuring softly as she rounded a bend, observing two shadows standing nearby. Recognizing Sol’s voice, she decided not to go to him as she did not want to offer him a distraction. Or give him a chance to send her away. Finding a pile of bricks, Teresa sat down with Mr. Simms standing at attention behind her. Looking for the Baron and his second, she could not see him in the dark. He is there somewhere.

  Despite her caution, Solomon saw her and his face held such an expression of pain and mortification that she suddenly wished she had obeyed him after all. She could not force herself to leave, however, and continued to sit. It is not like I am going to witness his death.

  Birds started to sing and chirp from the trees and shrubbery as the sky slowly lightened from black to grey. Baron Beaulieu and his second strolled across the green grass toward Sol and his companion. Teresa caught his quick look toward her as well as his sneer, and she clenched her fists, hoping Sol would kill him. The two parties met in the middle, and their voices carried across to her clearly.

  “Do you intend to apologize?” Sol asked, his tone haughty.

  “Do not be ridiculous,” Beaulieu snapped. “I would not miss this opportunity to kill you, Thornehill.”

  Baron Beaulieu glared across as Teresa. “I see you brought your little trollop. Now she can witness your death.”

  Even from where she sat, Teresa observed Sol’s jaw tighten. “You will learn to curb your tongue, Beaulieu,” he growled. “For even should I decide not to kill you this day, I promise, you will suffer for your insults.”

  Beaulieu’s upper lip curled in disdain. “I hope you said your goodbyes, Thornehill. Let us get on with it.”

  “What is your choice of weapon?”

  “The pistol of course. You are hardly proficient with it even if your reputation says you are quite the swordsman.”

  Sol smiled tightly. “We shall see.”

  Sol and Beaulieu handed their pistols to their seconds for the weapons to be inspected, then they were returned. Both seconds stepped out of the line of fire, and Teresa held her breath as the pair of duelists turned their backs to one another.

  “At the count of ten,” called one of the watching men. “Then turn and fire.”

  Beaulieu will cheat. He will turn at the count of nine and shoot Sol in the back. That is what cowards do. Suddenly fearing for his life, Teresa stood, wondering if she should stop it. Mr. Simm’s hand on her arm halted her, and he shook his head once.

  As the second counted the steps, Sol and the Baron walked away from one another, their pistols at the ready. Silent, afraid, Teresa counted with the man – seven, eight, nine – Her worst fears realized, Beaulieu spun around at the count of nine, and fired at Sol. Her eyes flashed to the Duke, who completed the ten steps and calmly turned to face his opponent.

  “You missed,” he said, his voice flat.

  Lifting his pistol, he aimed at the now panicked Baron. Teresa suspected he might try to run, and was not at all surprised when he tried it. He managed two steps before Sol’s shot cut through the early morning air. The Baron shrieked and fell, clutching his shattered knee. Teresa gasped at the sight of the blood squirting between his fingers.

  Calmly watching him, Sol reloaded his pistol and advanced on the stricken man. The Baron’s second did not interfere, but Sol’s man stepped toward him, his own pistol drawn and his tight expression informed Teresa what he planned to do if the Baron’s second made a move to defend his master. Her eyes whipped to Sol at the sound of his growling voice.

  “Coward,” the Duke snarled, his pistol aimed into the helpless man’s face. “Thought to shoot me in the back? You will wish you had killed me, for you will be branded as the coward who fired on the count of nine at his opponent’s back.”

  The Baron sneered, still defiant. “Dueling is illegal, Thornehill. You dare not tell anyone about this.”

  “Oh, everyone in London will know,” Sol informed him. “As you will not be dead, the law will have little issue with me. And who will dare touch a Duke?”

  Even a short distance away, Teresa saw the Baron’s face drain of blood. “What are you going to do, Thornehill?” Beaulieu demanded, his voice now shaking.

  “I told you, you will suffer and I meant it. You will live the rest of your miserable life as a worthless cripple, forever named a coward.”

  Solomon pointed the pistol at the Baron’s other knee, and squinted down it. The Baron’s scream of protest, No, no, please don’t, in fear and panic ripped through the silence. For a long moment, Teresa feared Sol actually would shoot the man and thus truly make him even more crippled. Then Solomon lifted his weapon, still eyeing the writhing Baron on the ground.

  “As much as I wish to shoot out your other knee,” he ground out, his face dark and hard, “I will not. Your life will be miserable enough as it is.”

  Sweat streaming down his face, the Baron curled his lip in a snarl. “I will not thank you for your mercy, Thornehill.”

  Solomon shrugged. “I do not care.” He then glanced at Beaulieu’s second.

  “Bring your master’s carriage up. We will help you tend to his wounds, and then you will take him home.”

  The man bowed. “I will, Your Grace.”

  Departing at a run, he vanished as Sol met Teresa’s eyes. “I expect this is not something you should have witnessed and I certainly wish you had done as I bade you.”

  Her chin rose. “I kne
w he would try to shoot you in the back and I needed to be here.”

  Sol smiled thinly. “I knew he would as well. The question was – can he hit what he aimed at?”

  Against her will, Teresa laughed. “It would appear not. I can tear strips from my petticoat as bandages.”

  “I would be grateful.”

  Hiding behind a shrub for decency’s sake, Teresa lifted her skirts and tore several long strips from her muslin under garment, then returned to Sol. The Baron had passed out by then, and lay limp as Teresa, Solomon, Solomon’s man, who was introduced to her as Percy Upton, the Duke’s steward, stopped his bleeding and wrapped his shattered knee.

  Beaulieu’s second drove up in a single horse carriage with two footmen on the rear steps. The Barons’ servants and Mr. Upton wrangled the unconscious Baron into his coach as Teresa looked on, trying not to feel sorry for the now crippled Baron. “He will suffer indeed,” she murmured as the footmen returned to their posts and the second drove the carriage out of the park.

  Sol nodded. “If he is the one trying to kill you and me, he will now try harder than ever to exact his revenge.”

  “I know. Nor can I find it within me to wish you had killed him. But if he is guilty of killing his Baroness, then he must hang for it.”

  “My thoughts exactly. Come, Teresa, we must leave here before any constables appear if someone reported the pistol shots.”

  Teresa grinned up at him as the four of them headed toward another exit. “I thought a Duke could not be touched?” she asked, amused.

  “It is true, especially since Beaulieu is not dead. However, I do not need the inconvenience of explanations right now and I have no desire to see your name in the papers if this comes to light.”

  Striding quickly out of the park, Sol urged her to hurry home. “I see constables on their way down there,” he said. “Just walk past them and do not engage with them. Percy and I have our horses hidden in this direction.”

  “I will see you soon?”

  “Yes. Now go.”

  Heading down the walk toward home, Mr. Simms at her side as though he were her escort Teresa forced herself to remain calm and breathe easily as the two constables approached. They stopped in front of Teresa and Mr. Simms, forcing them to also halt.

  “Excuse me, Sir, Madam,” said one. “Did you happen to hear pistol shots?”

  Teresa glanced at Mr. Simms, feigning confusion. “Why, yes, we did. Was it not from over there, Jonas?”

  She pointed across the avenue, now filling with traffic, toward an alley between rows of shops. Mr. Simms, his brows lowered, nodded. “Why, yes, dear, they did come from that alley. Did you not see that ruffian run away?”

  “What ruffian?”

  Mr. Simms smiled at the constables. “I fear my wife is not very observant. Yes, I saw a man run from that alley after hearing the noise. I was hurrying her home for safety when you stopped us.”

  The constables tipped their caps. “Very good, sir. We will look into it.”

  Trotting across the wide street, the constables disappeared into the space between the shops. Teresa and Mr. Simms hurried on without looking back, although Teresa could not hold in her laughter. “You should not be laughing,” Mr. Simms warned her, despite his own grin. “We are supposed to be concerned for our safety.”

  “Only to the constables and they are back that way. I cannot believe I not just witnessed a crime take place, but then helped cover for it.”

  “Dueling is an honorable method of settling disputes,” Mr. Simms told her. “It should never have been outlawed, though it had always been forbidden in the military.”

  “You were in the military?”

  “Royal Navy, Miss Wolcott.”

  Thomas had not returned by the time Teresa and Mr. Simms walked through the townhouse door. Amelia smiled wanly as Teresa came in to the dining room to await breakfast. Teresa’s stomach rumbled at the delicious smells despite the gruesome scene she had witnessed barely an hour past.

  “Is His Grace all right?” Amelia asked.

  Teresa nodded, but did not elaborate. “You do not look well,” she commented, taking in Amelia’s paler than normal hue.

  “I do not feel it,” Amelia explained. “I am just going to have some tea, then go back to bed.”

  Teresa frowned, guiding her to the table and urging her to sit. “Perhaps I should bring the physician to see you.”

  “No. I will feel better in a while.”

  Not wanting to either inform the cook of what transpired or distress Amelia with the events that took place, Teresa made light conversation on other topics as they sipped their tea. Mr. Simms sat on a chair in a corner and gazed out the window, pretending he was not listening. The front door opened and closed, and Thomas’s voice called her name.

  “In the kitchen.”

  His dark hair tousled, the skin of his face smeared with dirt, and wearing dark clothing, Thomas entered the kitchen. “Is he all right?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  Thomas’s glanced shifted briefly to the cook, who was known to enjoy her gossip, merely nodded. “I am glad I’m not late for breakfast. I will wash quickly, and change.”

  Teresa started to eat her breakfast as Thomas reappeared in clean clothes and freshly washed, his hair brushed. He sat down at the table, observing Amelia’s unhealthy pallor. “I am going to send for the physician,” he said. “This does not seem right.”

  “I am fine, Thomas,” Amelia replied, averting her eyes from the food. “This will pass shortly.”

  Devouring his breakfast, Thomas shook his head.

  “Were you successful?” Teresa asked him.

  For answer, he smiled broadly. “I will wait for His Grace before explaining,” he said.

  After breakfast, Amelia went upstairs to lie down while Teresa, Thomas and Mr. Simms went into the drawing room. Out of the cook’s hearing, Teresa told her brother what happened at the duel in the park. “I knew he would be a coward,” Teresa said. “And he proved it by trying to shoot the Duke in the back.”

  “He got what he deserved, however,” Thomas replied, “though I wish you had not witnessed that. Such things are not for a young woman’s eyes.”

  “I almost wish I had not seen it either,” Teresa admitted. “His screams …. They were terrible.”

  “The Duke was within his rights,” Mr. Simms said. “The Baron tried to shoot him in the back before the final count. He would have been justified in killing him.”

  “This punishment is far worse, I am thinking,” Thomas replied with a slow shake of his head.

  Solomon arrived a few minutes later, escorted into the room by the maid, Elsa. He glanced around as the men rose to bow and Teresa stood to curtsey. “I expect Teresa informed you of what happened this morning, Thomas?”

  “She did. Beaulieu is certainly a coward and perhaps you should have killed him.”

  Solomon sat down in an armchair. “He made me angry with his despicable behavior,” he growled, his green eyes burning. “I wish I could have shot his other knee, but I could not find it within me to actually do it.”

  “As you said,” Teresa replied, “he will now live as a despised cripple for his knee will never hold him up. He will not show his face again.”

  “Word is already spreading,” Solomon said with a faint smile. “His second is not keeping his cowardice a secret and his servants are already talking about it.”

  “You will not face charges?” Thomas asked, his eyes narrowed.

  “I doubt it. I did not kill him, and once word hits the ton, his name will be black. None of my peers will count me as guilty.”

  “Good.”

  Thomas pulled from his pocket a small book. “Elize Beaulieu did indeed keep a diary,” he said, waggling it in his fingers. “Your name is mentioned prominently, Sol, as is her husband’s.”

  Solomon leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowed. “How so?”

  “She spoke of her adoration for you, how she wished you returne
d her feelings, her despondency when you did not. She dreamed of marrying you if her husband were no longer with her.”

  “And what did she write of Beaulieu?”

  Thomas lowered his eyes to the small book in his hand. “She lived in terror of him. His beatings, her fear that he would indeed kill her one day. Her last entry before she died was dated the day before her death.”

  “And?”

  “She knew he planned to kill her and wrote out her plans to escape the house before he could.”

  “Oh, no,” Teresa murmured, feeling sick. “The poor woman.”