Beaumont did as she asked, placing his chair not quite close enough to touch her. "Will you at least leave off calling me Your Grace? We are friends, I hope, if nothing more, and my friends call me Beaumont."
"Very well." She did not invite him to call her Anna. She had no doubt that it was a liberty he would take, nonetheless. "Beaumont, I – I am glad to hear that I have had some positive influence upon you." She felt suddenly that she was being cruel. It was not kind to keep him waiting. "You know that I never set out to trap you."
"Far from it," said Beaumont. "And..." He hesitated. "Yes, I must tell you. Perhaps this will prove to you that I am far from trapped. Mr Jackson called on me this morning."
He watched carefully for her reaction. Anna wished her cheeks did not colour so easily. "Oh. Was it very unpleasant?"
"It was, but not in the way you imagine. Anna, he told me that he still intends to marry you. But regardless of what you say to me, you must not accept him." He leaned forwards, a passionate fire lighting his eyes. "The way he spoke of you disgusted me. He cares nothing at all for your heart, or your mind. His only object was your virtue, and his own reputation." Beaumont's face darkened. "I saw in his shallow desire the reflection of my former self, and it disgusted me."
"You and Gilbert could not be more different!" said Anna. Unable to stop herself, she reached out and touched his arm. Beaumont took her hand immediately, lacing his fingers through hers, but the pain in his voice did not diminish.
"I hope so. I hope that, at least now, I am a different sort of man. Well, there you have it. Mr Jackson is there, if you want him. I have been neither trapped nor tricked – only entranced. You must surely now believe that when I tell you..." His voice thickened, growing gruff and low. "When I tell you that I love you, I do so freely, and with all my heart."
"Beaumont..." she sighed. At the sound of his name, he closed the distance between them in a moment and kissed her.
This time, the third kiss they shared, was different from the others. He took his time. Touched a finger to her lips, kissed a slow line from her cheek to the corner of her mouth. Held her in his arms as though he could not bear to release her.
Their lips met, and Anna was sure.
"I will marry you," she whispered. Beaumont let out a groan of relief and let his head sink onto her shoulder.
"You are frightened, my love," he murmured back. "But I will guide you through all that is to come."
"Shall we tell my father?"
"Not yet. Not yet." He brushed his lips against her neck. A hot shiver ran through her. "I am a selfish man, and I want you to myself a moment longer."
The sun pierced the rain clouds and cast a pattern of rainbow light through the droplets on the window, but Anna did not notice. She would not have noticed if the house had fallen down around her. She was lost, at last, in the sweetness of Beaumont's embrace.
25
The idea of fighting a duel had already lost its glamour when Beaumont and Robert set out from Scarcliffe Hall the following morning. Already, the insults the foul man had paid to Anna seemed like an insubstantial dream.
Beaumont was a betrothed man, and he could already feel his priorities changing. He knew the duel would not make Anna happy. On the contrary, she would certainly be angry when he told her – which he would do the moment the duel was settled. Even so, he could not let Gilbert Jackson’s insults to her go unpunished.
Let it be the last act of his wild single days. One final adventure before he committed himself to a life of virtue and contentment with Anna at his side.
Mr Floyd met them on the road. He was dressed soberly, in a hulking black overcoat that was a little heavy for the late summer weather.
"I told Dr Hawkins I was riding to check on some patients in the next village," he said. "He won't expect me back until late in the morning."
"You did not have to lie for me," said Beaumont. Mr Floyd's eyes flashed.
"Better that he knows nothing. In truth, I do not like this business at all. Dr Hawkins has always forbidden me to attend on a duel. But with Miss Hawkins's honour at stake, I will do what I can."
"I am glad to see that Mr Jackson was not a favourite in the house," said Beaumont, as they took a winding side road that led into the trees.
"In the house, no. In Loxton, however…" Mr Floyd stopped himself, presumably before he said something unwise. "No matter. I am pleased for Miss Hawkins. She and her father are the only family I have. It is quite something to think that she will be a duchess."
Beaumont smiled ruefully. It certainly was something – something that filled Anna with anxiety. All his assurances the day before had not quite assuaged her fears, though she strove to hide them.
It helped that he knew exactly what she was going through. He could still remember the day his father died, and the terror which descended upon him the first time he was called 'Your Grace'. The responsibility had taken years to settle on his shoulders. In some ways, he had never fully accepted it.
That would all end now. First, he would dispatch Gilbert Jackson. Next, he would devote himself to being the perfect husband, the most diligent duke, the ideal man. His life of idle pleasure was over.
"You're very quiet, Beaumont," said Robert, who was taking the lead through the forest. Only a few weeks earlier, these woods had been the hiding place for Robert’s secret meetings with Lady Cecily. Now, Beaumont was about to defile them with blood.
"I am thinking of what is to come," he said. He glanced at Mr Floyd, who looked more and more uncomfortable as they rode deeper into the forest. "I do not intend to kill him. Only shame him."
"I suppose it is too much to ask that you can do so without bloodshed, Your Grace?" asked Floyd.
"That is too much," Robert answered for him. "It's a duel, not a game of cards. Caution, gentlemen. We are approaching the clearing now."
They were the first to arrive. The forest was almost painfully quiet. Beaumont would have given anything for the sound of birdsong to lighten the air.
"Hart was unhappy this morning," said Beaumont, after searching for some time for a suitable topic of conversation. Robert shrugged.
"My brother is usually unhappy about something. In this instance, it is because he calls Jackson a friend. Though I have always thought of him as a very poor sort of man, myself."
"He said once that Jackson had done him a service," Beaumont remembered. "Had saved him from an unhappy marriage."
Robert shot him a sharp glance. "That business was many years ago. It is best left alone."
"I only mention it because Jackson mentioned something odd himself. Yesterday morning, before I challenged him, he said he would not allow another resident of Scarcliffe Hall to cheat him out of a bride. The only people he can have meant are you and Hart – and you, I know, have never had anything to do with him. I wonder if we can get to the truth this morning?”
Robert sucked in a deep breath. "Why do I have the feeling that this will only end badly?"
Beaumont lifted his sword case down from the saddle bag and winked. "Have you so little faith in me, old friend?"
The sound of approaching horse hooves forestalled any response. A moment later, Gilbert Jackson appeared at the edge of the clearing, a surly-faced man riding beside him.
"Good morning," Beaumont called.
"Is it?" asked Jackson, with the hint of a sneer. Robert laid a hand on Beaumont's shoulder.
"Don't rise to his bait," he murmured.
Beaumont shrugged him off. His mind was cool. "I don't intend to."
Jackson drew out his sword and swished it through the air a few times. Beaumont took the opportunity to look for hints of his fighting style. Florid, showy, but well-controlled.
He would not be the easy opponent Beaumont might have hoped for.
Jackson exchanged a few murmured words with his second, who was regarding Beaumont's party with an evil leer, and then shrugged off his topcoat and pushed up his shirtsleeves. "I don't see the need for pleasantries,
Your Grace. Shall we set to it?"
"Wait a moment!" said Robert, pushing his way between the two men. "First, we must give you the opportunity to retract your statements about Miss Hawkins."
Gilbert Jackson's sneer was now unmistakable. "I meant what I said. And once I have maimed His Grace's handsome face, perhaps she will not put up such a fight when I return to her."
"That's enough," growled Beaumont. He flung his own topcoat to the ground and pushed Robert out of his way. "En garde!"
Their swords met with a bright clash of steel.
Gilbert Jackson was by no means a small man, but Beaumont had him for height and strength. In agility they were evenly matched. Each man circled the other, beginning cautiously, testing their opponent for weaknesses while their boots traced a slow pattern across the forest floor.
Jackson broke first, as Beaumont intended. He lunged forward, fooled by a show of weakness on Beaumont's left side. The blow was easily parried.
"Ha!" said Jackson, realising he had been tricked. He gave a short laugh, his annoyance mixed with appreciation. Beaumont saved his breath for the fight.
He was the next to strike, aiming a high feint at Jackson's shoulder that quickly switched to cut in at him from underneath. Jackson leapt back before the sword could touch him.
"You are a slippery one, Beaumont," he said. "But I think I have the measure of you."
Beaumont doubted that very much. Jackson had certainly been educated in the art of fencing, but he was no master. As long as Beaumont was not goaded into making a mistake, the fight was his.
Jackson came on the attack, thrusting a little more wildly than Beaumont's old fencing master would have liked, and was easily deflected. He took a few steps back, breathing heavily. Beaumont did not press him.
"I hear you called upon Miss Hawkins yesterday?" said Jackson, drawing a teasing circle through the air with the point of his blade. Beaumont merely shrugged.
"May a man not call upon his own fiancée?"
Jackson snarled and leapt forward. Beaumont brought up his sword to stop the blade coming down on his face. Their swords ground against each other as Jackson pushed forwards with all his might. Beaumont caught sight of the fear in Jackson’s eyes as he realised that he was not strong enough.
A twist of the sword, and Jackson was sent staggering.
"So that's how you want to play it," he growled, and kicked a log on the floor towards Beaumont's legs.
Beaumont jumped aside, but not quickly enough. The log struck him in the ankle, making him stagger. Jackson did not hesitate to take the advantage. He ran forwards, lunging wildly, and managed to catch Beaumont in the knee before Beaumont smashed his sword aside.
A sharp lance of pain shot up Beaumont's leg.
"You coward!" cried Robert. "That's cheating!"
"I saw nothing," smirked Jackson's second.
"Have you no honour?" Robert demanded. Beaumont waved him off.
"Settle down, Scarcliffe. We're not done yet." He nodded to Jackson. "First blood."
"Do you yield?" Jackson asked, licking his lips.
"Never."
It was time to put an end to it. Beaumont saw no use in giving the foul creature another opportunity to wound him. Testing his hurt leg gingerly, he shifted his weight from one side to the other, holding Jackson at arm's length with a few swipes of his blade.
He could stand on it. At least for long enough to win.
Beaumont gave no warning. He charged forward in an angry rush, caught their cross-guards together and sent Jackson's sword twisting out of his hands with one heavy wrench. The force of the blow knocked Jackson to the ground.
He froze. Beaumont's sword point was at his throat.
"Yield!" Beaumont shouted. "Yield, curse you!"
His leg was starting to shake beneath him. He could feel the hot blood filling his boot.
"Will you kill me, Your Grace?" Jackson whispered, looking up at him.
"I have beaten you," said Beaumont. "And I fought fairly – which is more than I can say for you. Yield."
Jackson raised his right hand, palm upturned. "It seems I have no choice."
Beaumont lowered his sword. Jackson tried to push himself up with his other hand, but cried out in agony.
"My wrist! Blast you!"
His second rushed to his side. "Broken," he growled, glaring at Beaumont as though Jackson were not at fault at all. "You must have broken it in the fall. Doctor! Help him."
"Let me see that wound, Your Grace," said Mr Floyd, glancing dismissively at the groaning Jackson. "A broken bone will keep. This bleeding needs urgent attention."
"It's a scratch," said Beaumont, though he was grateful when Robert leant him a shoulder and walked him to a nearby tree trunk. Mr Floyd rolled up Beaumont's black trouser leg and examined the wound.
"Not as deep as I thought," he said. "Lord Scarcliffe, give him a drink of whisky. I'll stitch it now."
"Let me have a little of that whisky, my lord," begged Jackson, a wheedling tone coming into his voice. Robert held the flask to Beaumont's lips, took a swig himself, and thrust it back into his pocket while glaring at Jackson with the most insolent expression.
"You are a cheat and a rogue, and do not deserve it," he said. "Besides, you have been saying things about my brother which I think you would have better kept quiet."
"What? What have I said about Lord Jonathan?" The pain must now have been hitting Jackson at full force, for his lips were pale and trembling.
"Do you deny that you told Beaumont he stole a bride from you? There has only ever been one woman for Hart, as you know. You must have been talking about Isabella.” Robert crouched before him, taking out the flask and holding it just out of his reach. "I think I'll have the truth from you now, Jackson. I never liked you, but my brother did – and I am starting to believe that it was his downfall. You once told him that Isabella made certain promises to you. Was indiscreet in certain ways with you. Betrayed my brother's trust and her own honour."
"Oh, that," said Jackson. Even now, he could not resist a sneer. "Well, I don't mind telling you that it was a ruse. Isabella was an heiress; I had nothing. Why shouldn't I try to pry her from your brother?"
"Then it was a lie?" asked Robert. "Isabella never gave herself to you?"
"I'm sorry to say she did not. Her blasted parents wouldn't even let me take her once Lord Jonathan had disposed of her. She was still in love, the stupid creature." Jackson spat on the floor at his side. "There. I've told it all. The whisky now, Lord Scarcliffe, if you will? This blasted wrist is agony!"
Robert opened the flask of whisky and slowly poured it out onto the forest floor. Jackson made a strangled sound in the back of his throat.
"I'm not sorry," he spat. "I'm not sorry for any of it. If I caused your brother pain, I'm glad!"
"That's all I'd expect from a weasel like you." Robert rose to his feet again. "How are you getting on, Beaumont?"
"Tolerably well," Beaumont answered, through gritted teeth. Floyd had finished his work. "If you put me on the horse, I'm able to ride."
"You must take him back to Scarcliffe Hall," said Mr Floyd. "Keep him warm, and do not vex him. The shock will leave him weak for a time." He finished wrapping the bandage around Beaumont's knee. The stitching had been painful, but now that it was done there was no more than a dull ache.
Robert lent him an arm and half-lifted him onto the horse. "I don't like to leave you with these dogs, Floyd," he said. "You have done us a great service today." He reached for his purse.
"No money," said Floyd. "This was for Miss Hawkins. Be on your way, my lord. I can manage these men."
Robert mounted his own horse and kicked it into a walk. Beaumont's steed seemed to sense that he was wounded, and followed Robert at a steady pace.
"Stay close by," he said to Beaumont, as they left the clearing. "I don't want you fainting on me."
"Little chance of that," said Beaumont. Now that the duel was over with, he felt a deep sense of satisfacti
on building in his chest. It had been a fitting goodbye to his reckless bachelor life. "What a fight it was, Scarcliffe! I could have run him through like a boar on the roasting spit."
"I suppose it's better that you did not." Robert’s face was troubled. "Hart will not like hearing what we have learned today. You must not mention it to him: I'll find the right moment to tell him."
"Did he love Lady Streatham very much?"
"His depth of passion was only equalled by his hatred of her when it all ended. A bad business from start to finish, I fear." Robert sighed. "And my happiness with Cecily has only reminded him of all he lost. It's a shame Isabella has befriended her. Her presence can only cause him pain."
"There's no chance of a reconciliation?"
"With such old wounds, who can say? But Hart has sworn ever since that he will not think of marriage again."
They had reached the edge of the woods, where the main road ran between Scarcliffe Hall and Loxwell Park.
"Hold there, Scarcliffe," said Beaumont. "I suppose you will not object if we pay Loxwell Park a visit?"
"Not usually," said Robert, pulling up his horse with a frown. "But Floyd gave clear instructions. You are to rest. At the very least we must go home and change. You will cause a sensation if you call at Loxwell Park in bloodstained duelling clothes."
"Very well, we will stop at Scarcliffe Hall long enough to make ourselves presentable. But I’m not so badly hurt as all that, and I’ve too much to do to rest." Beaumont turned his horse onto the road. "I am a new man now, and I must begin as I mean to go on. I have something rather delicate to discuss with the Duke of Loxwell."
26
Anna's morning had passed in stark contrast to Beaumont's. Unaware of his duel, she was as far removed from blood and pain as it was possible to be. From the moment she awoke, the air had seemed sweeter, the colours brighter, her chores more interesting.
She had been unhappy for so long that she had forgotten what contentment truly felt like.
The Duke's Hidden Desire (Scandals of Scarcliffe Hall Book 2) Page 15
