He rode away, desperate not to look back. Within seconds, he was flanked by Brighthollow on one side, Robert on the other, and Donburrow was behind him. He waited for them to speak, to lighten the mood, but no one said a word and the silence was gentle and supportive as they rode the short way through Brighthollow’s estate.
It was a beautiful place, one he had come to know and love in the time he’d been here. Morgan tried to take it all in as he rode. Their path at present went through a leafy, forested patch that meandered toward a hill in the distance. They crested it and down in the valley below, Morgan saw three riders waiting for them beneath a lone tree and a stream.
“Gareth and his second, along with the doctor, I suppose,” he murmured.
Robert pulled up beside him, his mouth a grim line as he stared down. “Shall we review the plan?”
“You’ll ride out to meet his second and tell him I would like to offer my apology. Just as I suggested in my letter.” Morgan shook his head. “I hope he’ll hear me out and that will put an end to it.”
“If he doesn’t?” Brighthollow asked.
Morgan swallowed hard past the sudden lump in his throat. “Then I suppose I owe him his satisfaction.”
Robert pivoted. “His lover betrayed him, but you didn’t know who she was. You didn’t wrong him on purpose. It was never your intent.”
Morgan patted his brother’s arm. “Intent is not the same as result, though. I was imprudent, as I often am. It resulted in harm to a friend. That is the end of the conversation. Now let’s ride down. It’s time to settle this.”
He could tell Robert had more to say, but Donburrow wedged his mount between them and his gentle hand on Robert’s silenced him. He twisted toward Morgan and signed, “We’re with you.”
Morgan carefully signed out, “Thank you.” Then he rode down the hill in front of the rest.
Gareth was watching him. Morgan had been drunk the last time they met face to face, as he didn’t count the attack in the garden. Now he was sober and he could see the lines of emotion on his old friend’s face. The pain, the loss, the betrayal. Gareth had been stewing on this, probably since the last duel was thwarted. And suddenly Morgan wasn’t so certain he wouldn’t fire if the opportunity arose.
Fear gripped him, but he pushed it aside and swung off his mount. One of the three men came forward, sweating and nervous as he extended a hand. “Are you Mr. Banfield?” he asked.
Morgan nodded. “I am.”
“Dr. Shirley,” the man said. “And now I shall go over to this lovely stream and see if I can spot some fish. You’ll fetch me if I’m needed.” He inclined his head to the dukes in attendance and hustled off, leather medical bag in shaking hand.
Brighthollow and Donburrow stepped away, as well, and Robert turned toward Morgan. “I wish I could talk you out of this. The brother in me wants to save you again. To stop you like I did before. But…I am proud of who you are, Morgan. Of the responsibility you’re trying to take.”
“Thank you,” Morgan whispered.
His brother’s breath was shaky as he left Morgan and headed for the middle of the field. Gareth’s second joined him there, and the two men talked. Morgan didn’t recognize the second. It might have been a new friend. He hoped it was. It seemed that Gareth needed that.
After a few moments, Robert returned and his mouth was grim. “The second, a man named Barton, says he isn’t certain Covington will hear your apology, but he is relaying the message regardless.”
Morgan pursed his lips. He’d been so sure he understood the situation. So perfectly certain of himself. And that was the problem, wasn’t it? He’d spent his life cocksure and proud, never doubting his ability to seduce or convince or even deceive if it served his purposes.
Now his chickens had come to roost. He couldn’t say he didn’t deserve them. And whatever would happen next.
Gareth looked across the expanse at him and then headed forward, shoulders back. Morgan’s heart leapt, and he glanced briefly at Robert before he moved to join his former friend in the center of the empty space.
As they met, he held out a hand, but Gareth folded his arms and simply glared instead of taking it. “What do you have to say?” he grunted.
Morgan drew a long breath. He’d prepared for this moment. His statement had been crafted to be eloquent, emotional, pleasing. But now that he stared at this man who he’d called friend, as he thought about all he had to lose if he failed today…he threw away the prepared speech.
“Gareth,” he said softly. “I know I wronged you.”
“Do you now?” Gareth grunted, clearly unmoved by the beginning.
“I do,” he said. “And not just by bedding Violet, but by refusing to take any responsibility for the pain it caused you. I acted rashly and without thought. You were harmed. Beyond that, you were then denied your chance to settle the harm when my brother bullied his way into our previously scheduled duel.”
Gareth nudged his head toward Robert in the distance. “That him?”
Morgan nodded. “It is.”
“Seems a decent enough sort, according to my second.”
“He’s the best of men,” Morgan agreed. “Though don’t tell him I said so.”
He hoped that would encourage his old friend to smile, but Gareth remained tight-jawed and focused.
Morgan cleared his throat. “I didn’t understand how you felt back when this terrible mistake was made. I couldn’t fathom how, if I didn’t know the identity of the woman I bedded, you could be angry at me for taking her. But…but you loved her. You loved her, no matter the circumstances. And I love someone now. If a friend interfered, it wouldn’t matter that he did it knowingly or not. I would be…broken. I’d be destroyed. But back then, I handled it badly, from beginning to end. And I am truly, deeply…sorry.”
Gareth held his gaze a long moment. Morgan held his breath as he waited and hoped that what he said, what he meant, would be accepted. But instead of shaking his hand, Gareth pivoted and returned to his second.
Morgan stared after him, blinking in disbelief. The cold, cruel veil of reality settled over him and suddenly his entire body felt numb. The duel was going to happen. It was real. Gareth was a good shot. If he fired first, he would strike Morgan down for sure.
He staggered back to Robert, who was as pale and shaking as he was. “He didn’t accept?” Robert whispered.
“He—he said nothing,” Morgan admitted. “You—you should go inspect the pistols.”
“Morgan—” Robert said, his voice sharp. “What do you intend to do?”
“Go inspect the pistols,” Morgan choked. “Please.”
Robert’s lips shook, but he didn’t refuse and went to Gareth’s second to examine the pistols that had been produced from the fine cherrywood box attached to the second’s mount.
Robert had asked Morgan what he would do. And he had no idea about the answer. No idea what step to take next. And no idea how to catalogue his life if it only had a few moments remaining in it.
Lizzie’s knees buckled as she watched Morgan and Gareth Covington speak in the middle of the field below. Up on the hill, she couldn’t hear them, but she was an expert in Morgan’s body language by now. She could tell he was pouring his heart out.
She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think as she waited, frozen in fear, for them to shake hands and end this. But they didn’t. After a few moments that lasted a lifetime, Covington turned away and went back to his second, who fetched the pistols.
“No!” she gasped, spinning to face Amelia, Katherine and Charlotte, who had all joined her in this spying expedition. All three were as pale and sick-looking as she was, herself.
“They’re getting the guns,” Lizzie choked. “They’re going to fire. I must…I must go down. I must stop them.”
She pivoted to run down the hill, but Amelia lunged for one arm and Katherine caught the other. As she struggled against them, Charlotte swept around and cupped Lizzie’s cheeks gently. “You mustn’t.”
<
br /> “Stop!” Lizzie sobbed. “Let me go!”
Charlotte’s eyes were full of tears. “I can’t imagine what you are feeling, but you mustn’t, love. I’m so sorry. You would never make it in time and even if you did, you could be the one who ended up shot and that would solve nothing.”
Lizzie collapsed to her knees, and Charlotte and the others joined her there. Their arms around her in a circle of love as they all stared at the drama playing out below.
“They could still fire their pistols in the air,” Amelia assured her. “They could still end in honorable acceptance rather than blood.”
“If he didn’t accept Morgan’s apology, why wouldn’t he shoot?” she whispered as reality sank in. Someone would die this morning. It could be Morgan. She wouldn’t see him again, wouldn’t touch him again, wouldn’t get to whisper in the dark to him or smell that spot on his neck that made her shiver.
He would be gone, and she would never be the same.
The men put their backs to each other and then began to pace forward. Morgan was coming toward the group on the hill, though she knew he couldn’t see them up here, where the steepness masked the top. Probably better, for he would be distracted if he knew she was here in this place he surely didn’t want her.
All she could hope was that he would feel her love for him. She stared at him and sent him those loving thoughts with all her might.
They reached ten paces and turned. She watched in what felt like slow motion as Morgan raised his pistol and pointed it to the sky. Of course he would. He wouldn’t kill this man. Not even to save himself.
Her gaze shifted to Covington. Unlike Morgan, he had pointed his pistol directly at the chest of the man she loved. She lifted both her hands to her mouth, her breath coming short and hard as tears flowed down her cheeks. And then, just as she thought it was over, just as the world itself seemed to be at the cusp of ending, Covington lifted the muzzle of his gun to the sky and fired his shot above him.
She collapsed against the ground, gripping the long grass with both hands as the duchesses all gasped and cried out with joy. She felt their arms come around her, felt their happy tears merge with her own.
It was over. Or at least this part was. Morgan wouldn’t be in danger anymore. He could go on and live his life in whatever way he pleased. She had no idea if he would let that include her, but she did know that she had to try. Because almost losing him today made her fully aware that she never wanted to live another day without him.
And she would just have to be bold enough to pursue that desire, without fear of rejection or consequence. That was what he’d taught her in the past few weeks. That life was worth living. And she was going to live it.
Morgan’s hands shook as he headed back to the middle of the field where Covington stood waiting for him. Robert, Brighthollow and Donburrow rushed to join them. The guns were taken, hands were shaken all around and then the rest backed away to leave the two once-friends to have their final talk.
“You…didn’t kill me,” Morgan said softly.
Covington glanced him up and down, his lips pursed. “I thought about it. The thought of killing you has tormented my mind for a year. But your words today rang in my head when the moment came. They made me see a bit clearer. I know it wasn’t just you. Violet was the one who did the most. She knew you were my friend and she pursued you to hurt me.”
“I’m sorry.” Morgan held out a hand and, after a brief hesitation, Gareth shook it. “Where is she now?”
“Married to some officer,” Gareth said with a shake of his head. “Who she cheats on regularly, if rumor is true. Perhaps she did me a favor, in the end. What about you? This woman you spoke of, do you have a future?”
Morgan glanced toward Brighthollow. He was talking to the doctor, a grim frown on his face. The duke wouldn’t sack him, not for this. But he still knew that Hugh expected more for Lizzie. Wanted more.
But did that matter? Would it keep him from her? Could he somehow earn the pleasure of her hand and her life and her love?
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I suppose I ought to find out.”
“If you don’t, you’re a coward,” Gareth said. “Goodbye, Banfield.”
Morgan drew his attention back to his former friend. Their feud was over, it seemed. But the friendship was gone too, proof that sometimes the past couldn’t be overcome.
“Goodbye, Gareth. Good luck.”
Gareth grunted and turned away, motioning to his second and the doctor. As they rode off, each of the dukes moved to Morgan, shaking his hand in turn. The last was Robert.
Morgan extended a hand to him, but Robert surprised him by yanking him into a hug. As his brother pounded his back, he whispered, “Never scare me like that again. I don’t want a world where you aren’t there to pester me.”
He pulled away and Morgan smiled. “I’ll do my best. Now let’s ride back, shall we?”
“Yes,” Donburrow signed. “The ladies will be worried.”
Morgan translated for the others and they all agreed. They swung up on their mounts and rode back toward the house. And Morgan knew he was riding into a different kind of confrontation than the one he’d just left.
He was riding not to his death, but to his future. And it was currently cloudy as could be.
Chapter 21
Morgan swung off his horse and handed the reins to the waiting footman.
“Glad to have you back, Mr. Banfield,” the young man said before he ducked away.
“Thank you,” Morgan said. He was surprised to find each servant he passed nodding in greeting, their relief palpable. It was an odd thing. He’d come here to appease his brother. To find some way to stay out of trouble for a while.
But he’d found…a place here. A position he was good at. A woman he loved. He’d found home. This place was home, and his heart swelled as he entered the foyer and found the women gathered in a semi-circle waiting for him.
Katherine rushed forward first, bussing his cheek. The rest followed, but all Morgan could do was look at Elizabeth. She was pale as paper, her eyes red with tears as she approached him. Her hands shook as she reached out and took both of his.
“I-I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered, and then cast a quick glance at her brother.
Brighthollow stepped forward and she pulled away, ducking her head as color filled her cheeks. “It’s been a trying morning for us all,” he announced. “Why don’t we let Morgan have a moment and all gather ourselves? We can meet in the breakfast room in half an hour.”
That seemed to please the group. They parted in couples, and Elizabeth was drawn along by her brother as he spoke quietly to her. Morgan shook his head as he followed them all up the stairs. They needed to talk. That much was clear. But it wasn’t going to happen right now in the midst of the uproar the duel had created. His heart ached as he turned toward the stairs to the third floor and left the others to go to the guest and family quarters. He wanted so much to speak to her now.
He entered his bedroom and moved to the basin across the room. He was about to splash water on his face when the door behind him opened. He turned to find Elizabeth there, and the world stopped turning immediately.
“Morgan,” she said. Then she was racing across the room to him.
His arms came around her and he held her as tightly as he could, feeling her tremble and quake as her tears fell and joined with his own, which were suddenly streaming down his face.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I caused you even a moment of fear.”
She lifted her face to his and drew him down. His mouth found hers and he kissed her, murmuring her name against her lips. She lifted against him, clinging to him as his hand came into her hair and he angled her head for better access.
He had words to say. Confessions to make if he was brave enough to make them. But right now all he could do was cradle her against his body and try to forget that there was a moment when he’d known he’d die without ever doing this ag
ain. And he’d mourned the loss of something he never should have taken in the first place.
Something that ought not be his, and yet here she was, sliding her hands beneath his jacket, unfastening this buttons to push the heavier fabric away. Her fingers bunched on his waistcoat and she deepened the kiss.
God, how he wanted her. He’d wanted her last night because it might be the last time. And today he wanted her because it wasn’t. There was hope now, dangerous, daring hope that he feared and embraced all at once. As precious to him as the woman who had sparked it.
He drew away and stared down at her. Drinking in her beauty, her sweetness, her charm. Drinking in all she was and all she meant to him. He traced the track of one tear with his thumb and then took her mouth again as his hands came around to the back of her dress.
He was ready to unfasten her. To just have this moment before he decided how to proceed. But he hadn’t loosened but one button when the door to his room opened a second time.
And the Duke of Brighthollow entered, head down as he said, “Sorry to disturb, Banfield, but I was wondering if you might want more time to—”
He cut himself off as he looked up and found Elizabeth not only in Morgan’s room with the door shut, but with Morgan’s jacket in a pile at their feet and the back of her dress gaping slightly. She pivoted with a gasp, but she didn’t step away. Of course she didn’t.
She threw her arms back as if to shield Morgan. And it was a good instinct, because Brighthollow charged forward a long step.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he shouted. Loud enough that it felt like he could bring the house down around them.
“Stop!” she called out, reaching a hand toward her brother either in entreaty or to ward him off. Perhaps both. “Hugh, look at me. Look at me.”
Brighthollow’s dark gaze flashed down at her and she flinched when she got what she required. “Lizzie,” he said, a warning, a disappointment, a shocked admonishment. And Morgan saw how it buckled her a little.
The Love of a Libertine: The Duke’s Bastards Book 1 Page 21
