The world was ending, there was no other way to look at it.
Chapter Twenty-One
Ian sighed as he handed his hat and gloves to his butler. “Tell Stephan I need him.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
Taking a deep breath, Ian fought to keep his calm. Meg had looked so hurt, so frightened. A memory that had burned itself into his soul. And Evens? That scourge on humanity itself. He’d treated her like last week's supper.
A duel. How had he allowed himself to get into such a situation? His friends would chastise him for three solid months. Pistols at dawn. So cliché, so … necessary, he realized.
As he waited for Stephan. he ran through the different scenarios. Killing Meg’s betrothed would not work. She would never be accepted. Lord Evens was in the right. He, the Duke of Suffolk had acted inappropriately and wronged the man. If he killed him, society would shun Meg. Blaming her for Lord Evens' death.
Of course, Lord Evens could kill him. Prinny would be upset. His mother might be distraught. His friends rather bothered. But society would look at it as just and right.
A sick feeling filled him. A betrothal contract could not be broken. Not without the church and both parties agreeing and even then, the woman would be considered damaged goods and not acceptable for marriage. She might still be allowed to travel in society. But no man would have her hand in marriage.
And he had seen it in Lord Evens’ eyes. The man would never grant Meg her freedom.
He was stuck. He couldn’t kill him. And couldn’t have the woman he loved. Oh, to have Meg in his arms again. Even for a moment. It had been as if the world made sense. The look in her eyes when he told her he loved her would haunt him for the rest of his life. That sense of loss, of hope, dashed upon the rocks. A physical pain traveled through him when he thought of Meg being unhappy for the rest of her life.
“You asked for me, Your Grace?” Stephen said as he stepped into the study.
Ian nodded for him to take a seat and took a deep calming breath. “I need you to act as my second in the morning.”
Stephan’s eyes grew very big. “Second? Me, Sir?”
“Yes you,” Ian responded perhaps a little too briskly. “Normally, I would ask another nobleman. But the only men I trust can not be associated with this. Bedford and Oxford’s reputations can survive most scandals. But seconds in a duel. No, I don’t think so. Prinny has let it be known that he doesn’t want his nobles dueling.
“He is ignored of course. But no, there is no need to bring this on Brock or Jack and their families.”
Stephan frowned as he slowly nodded his understanding. “What is expected of a second, Your Grace? I must inform you that I have not paid much attention to the requirements. I never really anticipated you participating. I thought you had more sense.”
Ian laughed. “So, did I. But it seems, Lord Evens and I am to meet at dawn over pistols.”
“Lord Evens? Sir. I take it the meeting in the garden was discovered?”
Sighing, Ian nodded. “By both Lord Evens, and Lady Duval’s father.”
Stephan winced. “I suppose I will need to find a doctor willing to attend. Ready. Just in case.”
“Yes, I believe so. You will also be expected to make sure the weapon is loaded correctly and perhaps most important. Act as a witness if the other party cheats.”
Stephan’s brow furrowed as he stared off into the distance. Ian wanted to smile. The man was calculating and analyzing.
“Sir,” he began. “I know of a man. A man of certain … talents. If you wish. I could ensure that Lord Evens had an accident on his way to the dueling grounds. A carriage could lose a wheel in the wrong part of town. A crowd of thugs could fall upon the man. London can be a rather harsh city.”
Shaking his head at his secretary’s proposal Ian said, “No. I don’t think so. After all. I have to live with myself.”
“First you have to live, Sir, to live with yourself,” Stephan said as he gave him a look that let his employer know he was thinking of disobeying his order. “What do you know of Lord Evens abilities in these matters.”
Ian shrugged. “I don’t believe he has ever faced another man in such a thing. I don’t know if he is a good shot or not.”
Stephan frowned back at him. “And yourself, Your Grace?”
Ian scoffed, “I have practiced against targets almost weekly for the last several years. Brock insisted on it just in case such a need occurred.”
“And has practice made you proficient, Sir?”
Ian laughed. “Yes, I believe so. I can hit my target at fifty yards most times.”
“Of course, Sir,” Stephan said with a doubtful scowl. “The targets are not shooting back.”
Ian’s stomach dropped as the reality of the situation finally sank in. There was every chance he would be dead within a few hours.
The two men sat silently for a few minutes as they contemplated the future.
“Sir,” Stephan said, breaking the silence. “If you change your mind. I will need an hour’s notice if I am to put … the man I know … into position.
Ian smiled at his secretary’s obvious concern. “I wouldn’t worry. If I am killed, I am sure my brother will retain your services. My mother will insist on it.”
Stephan smiled as he shook his head. “I wasn’t concerned about that, Your Grace. No, I was thinking it was going to be such a bother having to train a new Duke in his duties. It has taken me years to get you to an acceptable level.”
Ian laughed, then pulled out his brace of pistols and taught Stephan how to load them. After that, he sent him off to bed for a few hours rest. He then gave instructions to his butler to have the coach ready at four. Then, returned to his study to write several different letters with instructions for the delivery in the event he did not survive.
Once that unpleasant task was completed, he leaned back in his chair and pondered life and all that he had lost.
Stephan’s knock on his study door several hours later brought him out of a malaise. It was time. Sighing, he joined Stephan, the pistol box under his arm.
“Are you ready?” he asked Stephan.
His secretary frowned at him as he obviously believed his employer had lost all sense. “Sir, I have been thinking there are other options, instead of Lord Evens. We could arrange for you to be in an accident. Nothing serious. Just enough to justify a delay. Perhaps giving time for heated emotions to abate.”
Ian threw his head back and laughed. “God man, If I am killed, I am going to miss you.”
.o0o.
The morning mist hugged the green grass as the sun began to turn the eastern sky pink. It was going to be a nice day, Ian thought to himself. It would be a shame to die on such a day.
What could he do though? His hands were tied by honor and society expectations. His world was dictated by reputations and could be vicious to anyone who didn’t measure up. A woman was expected to be pure and chaste, at least before marriage. If she failed, she would never be accepted. Not unless the matter could be put right by a quick wedding.
A man could get away with almost anything. Except for cowardice. No man would be accepted if he was thought to be a coward.
The group was waiting. It surprised him to see Lord Evens calm and unworried. Did the man have experience with such things? Was he a crack shot who never missed? An unsettling thought that ate at Ian’s stomach.
“Your Grace, may I introduce Dr. Seagrave.”
“Your Grace,” the Doctor said as he bowed slightly. “Is there any way this could be avoided.”
Ian shrugged and turned to Lord Evens. “Again, I offer my apologies.”
Lord Evens scowled up at him then started for the field. “Let us get this done. My breakfast awaits.”
Shaking his head, he glanced at the Doctor and Stephan as he shrugged his shoulders. Then addressed Lord Duval. “Sir, I wish to offer you my apologies as well. Regardless of what happens. Please know that it was entirely my fault. No blame sh
ould be placed on your daughter. She is a true lady. Of the finest quality.”
Lord Duval frowned as he glanced over at Lord Evens then turned and nodded his acceptance of Ian’s apology.
Ian took a deep breath, retrieved the pistol from Stephan then turned and marched to the center of the field to stand back to back with Lord Evens.
“Gentlemen,” Stephan called out with a strong voice. “It has been agreed. Twenty paces on my count. On the word Twenty, both men are to turn and fire.”
Ian swallowed as he mentally prepared himself. Don’t stumble, don’t falter. Mark your paces, then turn. Over and over again he repeated it to himself.
“ONE,” Stephan called out.
That first step was the hardest. Once taken though, there was no stopping. Ian took one step with each number. His mouth had gone dry and his heart raced as he continued to fight with himself.
“NINETEEN,” Stephan yelled. Ian’s stomach dropped.
“TWENTY.”
A calmness filled Ian as he turned, purposely pointed his pistol at the ground, and fired. It was the only way. He couldn’t kill Meg’s betrothed. Especially when he had been the one in the wrong.
Looking up, he saw Lord Evens smile. For some reason, Ian believed that the man had anticipated this very action.
Continuing to smile, the Viscount raised his pistol, pointing it at him. For a brief moment, Ian remembered Meg’s kiss, the feel of her hand in his. Standing still, he watched as the man before him stared steadily at him, his hand as firm as the rock of Gibraltar.
Was this to be the last thing he ever saw? Ian wondered.
The Viscount’s pistol exploded and Ian’s world went black.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Margaret’s stomach churned with worry as she continued to pace across her aunt's brand new Egyptian rug. A rug purchased with part of the bride price, she reminded herself. She had chosen the study because she knew this was where they would come upon their return. Her father and Lord Evens. Either here. Or directly to the doctors.
Susan sat quietly in the corner working her needlepoint. She had refused to go to bed as long as her mistress was up and about. Margaret had stopped trying to convince her and took comfort in knowing she had at least one friend in this world.
Ian. What of Ian? Her heart turned over. Was he all right? Surely, he could best Lord Evens. But, what if something went wrong? What if he were hurt? Or … No, she refused to think such horrifying thoughts. But she couldn’t keep them from her mind.
Dead, what if Ian were dead this very moment? Laying on a grass field. Her Ian, the love of her life. And she would have to spend the rest of her life with the man who had killed him. A sinking feeling of desperation filled her.
Where were they? It was an hour past dawn. Surely it should have been over long ago. Why hadn’t they sent word? How long did these things last? A duel, how ridiculous. Why couldn’t men be more serious? Didn’t they realize how stupid this was?
She had never wanted this. The thought of two men fighting over her was nothing she had ever desired. She once again thought of Ian, how it felt to be held in his arms. The way his eyes twinkled when he laughed. The smell of paint would always make her insides melt with want.
“Please,” she whispered. “Just let him live. I will marry Lord Evens. I will be a loyal, dutiful wife. I will raise his children. But please, keep Ian alive.”
Susan coughed in the corner, obviously overhearing her plea.
The worry continued to build until she could take no more. “Get my cloak,” she said to Susan as she pinned her hat to her hair. She had to know what had happened, even if that meant going to the park herself.
Susan frowned at her, obviously disagreeing with her choice of action.
The sound of the front door opening and her mother greeting her father sent a bolt of panic right through Margaret. Her chest hurt as she continued to hold her breath.
Her father stormed into the study, a deep frown on his face. When he saw her, his expression softened slightly. Her heart stopped when she saw Lord Evens follow her father into the study with a wide smile on his face.
The man looked as if he had cheated death.
“What happened?” Margaret demanded.
Lord Evens laughed as he poured himself a whiskey. “The man never stood a chance,” he said then took a long satisfying sip of his drink.
“The Duke deloped,” her father snapped at him as his scowl deepened.
“What does that mean?” Margaret asked as her heart continued to race. Was Ian alive?
“He fired into the ground on purpose,” her father said. “Didn’t even raise his pistol so there could be no doubt as to his intentions.”
Lord Evens took another drink, “The idiot thought I would find it admirable and abort the conflict. That I would accept his apology and let the matter drop.”
“And?” she demanded.
Lord Evens shrugged. “And, I killed him.”
Margaret’s world turned gray as she sank to her knees. “Nooooo.”
From the corner, Susan gasped, her eyes as big as the moon as she stared at Margaret.
“At least I think I did,” the Viscount added. “He fell, I know that much.”
Margaret jumped up as she pulled herself back from the brink of despair to look at her father. “Was there a chance Ian still lived?”
He shrugged as he continued to stare at Lord Evens. “The Duke did fall. We left immediately.”
“As is the custom,” Lord Evens said. “After all, dueling is frowned upon by the crown. No need to be found standing over a dead Duke with a smoking pistol in your hand.”
“But Ian?” Margaret said. “You left him there?”
Lord Evens frowned, “He had his second, and a Doctor was there. Really, my dear, you don’t appear to be joyous that I survived.”
Her stomach turned to stone. This man had hurt Ian because of her. She could see it in his eyes. He had purposely hurt him to hurt her. A sick feeling filled her.
“You could have fired in the air,” her father said as he shook his head. “Honor would have been maintained and after all, the man did offer an apology. A kiss in the dark does not justify a death sentence.”
Lord Evens scoffed as he waved his drink filled hand, slopping some of the whiskey. “But that would not have been near as satisfying as watching the man die.”
Margaret’s world became red as she spun to confront Lord Evens. “You are an evil man.”
His eyes turned over to a hard look as he reached out and grabbed her arm and pulled her to him so that he could whisper into her ear, “You have not begun to see my true self, my dear. After we are married, then you will learn the truth. Killing Suffolk is just the start of your nightmares.”
The reek of his whiskey laden breath made her gag. Her heart stopped. The man was the devil incarnate. Without thinking, she reacted. Pulling her hatpin, she held it to his throat and stared into his eyes.
“Unhand me, Sir, or I will shove this through your neck and gladly watch you bleed out all over my aunt’s new rug.”
His eyes grew big as the color drained from his face. The glass dropped from his hand. But sill he held her. Staring at her, desperately trying to judge whether she would carry through with her threat. Margaret pressed the hatpin deeper into the skin of his neck until a small bead of red blood appeared.
The sudden fear in his eyes sent a warm sensation flashing through her entire body. God, how she hated this man.
Swallowing hard, he stepped back, releasing her arm.
Margaret turned. Gave Susan a look, then stormed out the door before either her father or Lord Evens could stop her. She was out the front door and onto the street before she could begin to realize what she had done.
“M’lady,” Susan said as she followed her out having retrieved both of their cloaks.
“How do I find him?” she asked as she slipped on her cloak and started for the corner. A thousand emotions were tumbling around inside o
f her. But finding Ian. Seeing him alive was all that was important. She would deal with Lord Evens and her father later. After all, they didn’t need her to go to the alter with joyful anticipation. They just needed her to show up and say the words.
“I have the address, M’lady. Stephan gave it to me. In case I needed to get in contact with him. You know, in case you needed assistance”
Margaret nodded as she waved down a passing cab. “Your man sounds rather … intelligent. If you ask me.”
“He’s not my man, M’lady,” Susan answered quickly as her cheeks grew very pink. Margaret sighed. She couldn’t worry about Susan and her infatuation. Not now while Ian might very well be dying without her there to be with him.
When they arrived at the Duke’s residence, Margaret jumped down and raced up the steps to pound on the door. Susan paid the cabbie, then joined her.
Again, Margaret used her fist to pound on the door until it was opened by a rather frazzled butler. His cravat was askew and his hair appeared to be mussed. He frowned down at them, obviously confused to see two young unescorted women at the door.
Margaret moved to try and slip by him, she needed to see Ian. Needed to know if he was alive or dead.
“Miss,” the butler said as he slid to the side, blocking her entry.
“I am Lady Duval. His Grace,” she said. “I need to see the Duke.”
“We must,” Susan added.
The butler’s frown grew even deeper as he moved to shut the door in her face. Margaret felt her world sliding off into oblivion when a voice called out. “Susan? Lady Duval.”
“Stephan?” Susan answered.
Instead of the door closing, a hand-pulled it open wider to expose a young man with brown hair and soft eyes. At least they appeared soft when looking at Susan. Then he turned to Margaret and frowned.
“Is he …” she began but couldn’t finish the words.
He sighed as a sadness passed over his face. “I don’t know, the doctors are still with him. There was so much blood.”
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