"I realize that."
"This duel of yours," Julia continued. "It breaks my heart to think of you in danger from such a churl as Edward. He's a disgrace to his family. Even his brother George is shamed by his behavior."
"But you understand why I have to fulfill my obligation?"
"Am I stricken by the thought of losing you? You know that I am. But I understand the code a gentleman lives by, as Angel never could. She isn't our sort."
"Our sort," he repeated. "What is our sort?"
"Don't pretend to be dense. We share the same tastes in music, in literature, in morals, and religion. For all Lady Graymoor's good intentions, you realize that Angel could never be accepted by the people who matter. She's too intelligent not to see the rejection. She'd be desperately unhappy, and she would ruin your career."
"What there is left of it?"
Julia scoffed. "You've been an excellent ship's master—the best, according to Papa. And you'll make a wonderful president of Hamilton Shipping someday."
"If I marry you."
She squeezed his hand. "If, Will. If you ask me... if I'll have you. I won't wait forever, you know. You've kept me dangling far too long. I have no intentions of becoming a spinster, content to manage my father's house until I'm gray-haired and shriveled. I want a husband, children... my own home. And I want it with you."
"I'd have to be a fool to turn down the offer," he answered roughly.
"There is no offer," she replied. "I'm my father's daughter, Will. I won't go into a marriage with my eyes closed, and I refuse to be a sea widow. If we wed, I want you with me. I want to share quiet suppers with you, go to parties, entertain. I refuse to wait in Charleston, never knowing when or if you'll return safely."
"What would the gossips of Church Street say if they heard such utterances coming from that pretty mouth?"
"Don't patronize me," she replied, trying hard to control her anger. "I care more for what I think of myself than anyone else's opinion. I've seen the life my cousin Eileen lives. For all her financial security, she's lonely with her husband constantly on long voyages."
"And what if I don't relish the idea of spending my days hemmed in by four walls? I'm never more alive than when I am at sea. It's what I do best. It's what I love."
She struggled to keep from losing her composure. "Then I suppose the choice is yours. Either you learn to love another occupation, or you learn to love another."
"Let me deal with Mason. I promise I'll give you an answer soon." He lifted her hand and brushed it with a kiss.
"Godspeed."
"Amen to that."
Julia waited until the door closed behind Will's broad shoulders, then turned back to where she'd seen a shadowy figure on the staircase. "Angel?"
"Aye, 'tis me."
"You heard."
"I did." The girl came down the steps, one hand on the banister to steady herself.
"I didn't intend insult."
"Truth is truth," Angel replied.
"You could never find happiness together."
"I didn't think to," she lied. "Will and I have no ties on each other."
"He claims you saved his life."
"And he mine." Angel sighed heavily, raised one foot, and tugged off the cream-colored kid slipper. "They be too tight." She stood up, the shoe dangling from her fingers, and glanced around the hall passageway, staring at the crystal chandelier, the thick oriental rugs, and the heavy mahogany furniture. "This house is too grand for me, as well."
"Marriage is more than a physical attraction between man and woman," Julia said. "It is a social and family tie. We all have our places in life."
"And Will's is with you?"
Julia shook her head. "It isn't that simple. We have our differences, differences that we may not be able to overcome. I'm not a particularly strong woman... or an independent one. I want a husband who will be there for me. Not one who appears and disappears according to tide and weather."
"I know that Will Falcon isn't for the likes of me," Angel said. "But I couldn't bear it if he dies tomorrow."
"You could," Julia replied. "It is the lot of women to bear what we cannot change, especially Charleston women." She returned to the door and put her hand on the knob. "Tell Lady Graymoor I must be off," she said. "Papa has invited guests for supper, and I—"
"You can think of dinner? When Will's in such danger?"
"What would you have me do? Send my servants to knock him over the head and lock him in the cellar?"
"Mayhap. I would, if I were you. I'd do something, if he loved me, something to keep him safe."
Tears welled up in Julia's eyes. "If only life were as simple as you believe it to be," she answered. "You really don't understand, do you? If I kept him from going, he'd be shamed, ruined, considered a coward by one and all. He'd never forgive me, and we'd have no chance for a life together."
"So we do nothing?" Angel demanded. "Nothing?"
"We can pray for him."
"Aye, prayer helps, but by my way of thinking, 'tis better to bail a leaking boat while you pray, lest the good Lord lose patience."
Chapter 17
Lady Graymoor stirred and felt around in the bed beside her. "Griff?" The sheets were still warm. Sleepily, she opened her eyes to find the room dark. "Griff?" Memories of a sleepless night returned.
"Here, love. I didn't want to wake you." Light spilled through into the bedroom as he pushed open the door that led to the dressing area.
"What time is it?" she asked.
"Time enough for me to dress and go next door for young Mr. Falcon. I'm taking that set of pistols you brought from Graymoor Hall. I hope you don't mind. I didn't know what shape his father's would be in. I don't hold with hair triggers and such. More likely to blow his own foot off than to hit his opponent."
"Yes, yes, take anything you wish," she said crossly. "You will do as you please. You always do." Climbing down from the high bed, she drew a dressing gown around her shoulders to cover her nakedness. "Do be careful, Griff. It's bad enough that our William is a fool. Must you be one, as well?"
"Better me go along than some young buck who will allow another to load Mr. Falcon's pistol." He came back into the bedroom carrying a small whale-oil lamp.
Griffin was dressed soberly but elegantly in a black, double-breasted tailcoat, short-waisted waistcoat, black trousers, and good leather boots. The bow on his stock was perfectly tied, but Lady Graymoor tisked at its appearance and retied it twice until she was satisfied.
"Do remember to duck," she advised. "I'll not go to the trouble of training another butler. And don't allow William to be injured in any way." She pursed her rouged lips. "I've never liked Edward Mason. His eyes are too close together."
"I'll do my best, love," Griffin promised. "Go back to bed now. You had little enough sleep last night, and you know how you are without your sleep." He backed out of the room quietly and closed the door behind him.
"Take care," she repeated. "For God's sake, take care."
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Angel crept down the stairs and found her way through the darkened rooms to the kitchen. Servants had banked the fire the night before, but a dim glow from the remaining coals cast a faint light on the porch door. She tiptoed across the wide floorboards with her slippers in her hand and reached for the latch.
"Where do you think you're going?"
Angel gasped and spun toward the source of the question. "Lady Graymoor?"
"And who else do you think would be awake at this hour? My lazy staff?" The countess made a sound of derision. "I think not."
"I'm leavin'."
"Don't be impertinent. I can see that with my own eyes. Where, exactly, do you think you're going?" Lady Graymoor demanded.
"To the duel. I don't know where it's going to be, but I thought I could follow... Griffin? Is that his name?"
"It is." The countess rose, and Angel saw that she was fully dressed and wore a hooded cape. "I would have been disappointed
in you if you'd not gone after him," she said. "You do realize how furious William will be with us, don't you?"
"I don't care. I can't wait here, not knowin' if he be dead or alive. He's not for the likes of me, but it don't matter. There might be some way I could help, if I were there."
"Exactly my thoughts." Lady Graymoor patted Angel's good shoulder. "Fortunately, I know the location of this farce. Can you harness a horse?"
"Aye. I think so. I've not done it, but if ye know, you can tell me how."
"Good. We'll take the dogcart. Just room for two, but with Squire between the shafts, we can travel almost as fast as Griffin and William." She pointed to a row of pegs with servants' garments hanging from them. "Take a cloak and a pair of boots. Leave those foolish slippers. It may rain. No sense in catching ague when you're recovering from that knife wound."
"I know why I'm goin'," Angel said as she tugged on the borrowed footwear. "But why are you—"
"Don't ask foolish questions, girl. William Falcon is the closest thing I have to a relative on this side of the Atlantic. There's a worthless nephew and his son in London, but the two together aren't fit to cut bait for William." She fixed Angel with a knowing glance. "It's hopeless, you know. A man like William may dally with a fisherman's daughter, but they rarely wed them."
"You've no need to tell me, ma'am. But it's as I said before: If I don't go, I'll not draw an easy breath until I know he's whole and safe."
"Good. Now that that's settled, let's fetch the horse and carriage. If we don't hurry, we'll miss all the excitement."
* * *
Fine precipitation pelted Will's face as he and Griffin rode side by side out of the darkened town and onto a country lane. Griffin had come with both horses and a walnut box containing a pair of French dueling pistols. Neither man spoke. The only sounds were the dull reverberation of the horses' hooves on the wet ground and the creak of saddle leather.
As the track narrowed, Griffin dropped back to let Will take the lead. Without moonlight or stars, it was difficult to see more than a few yards ahead. After perhaps a quarter of an hour, with the rainfall increasing, Will reined in so that Griffin could light the lantern he'd carried from the stable.
"No use breaking our necks on an overhanging limb," Will said.
"No profit in it at all to my way of thinking." Griffin lifted the lantern high and pulled his overcoat closer. Water droplets dripped from the brim of his hat onto his face and neck. "No profit to any of this," he muttered.
The flame cast a faint circle of pale yellow, which seemed to make the trace darker on either side. "I suppose that's better than no light at all," Will said.
"True, sir, but you should have asked one of your friends to act as second. You young bucks don't mind going without sleep to kill one another."
"With luck, we'll finish this and be home in time for breakfast." Will had gotten little sleep, but he'd had nothing to drink, either. He might be stupid enough to allow himself to challenge a noted marksman, but he wasn't dumb enough to come drunk to a duel where real bullets would be flying.
His stomach churned. He hoped he wouldn't lose his nerve when he and Mason began to pace off the distance. He'd seen good men turn and run in less precarious situations. He didn't want to die, but worse, he didn't want to show himself a coward.
Will wished he'd been able to speak to Angel alone. If he died, God knew what would happen to her. For the first time, he wondered if she would have been better off on her island. He could picture her face in his mind and remember each word she'd said to him. The expression in her green eyes haunted him, and he wished he could see into her heart to know if she—
In the woods ahead, a horse neighed.
Will stiffened. "Did you hear that?" He shielded his eyes and tried to see, but the forest was too thick. The huge oaks that lined the dirt road stretched overhead, branches and leaves intertwining, further distorting sounds.
"Mr. Mason must be there ahead of us," Griffin said.
Will urged his mount forward at a walk. The rain was falling harder, and the track had become slippery despite the verdant ceiling that provided a little shelter. "That whinny sounded as if it was off to the left," he said. "The meadow is on the right. There's no trail in that direction—"
A shot rang out.
Will saw a powder flash. Something slammed into his head with the force of a hammer. He waited, expecting pain, feeling only hollow emptiness. "Oh, shit," he said.
Angel's image materialized. For a heartbeat, he saw her running toward him on the beach. Then she was gone, and he felt himself falling. The wet earth swallowed him.
"Will!" Griffin shouted. "Will!"
A second explosion split the silence of the darkened lane. Will's horse snorted and reared. Hooves churned air and mud. From his black retreat, Will felt spiraling pain.
Griffin leaped from his saddle and dropped the lantern on the ground. Will's horse reared again, then charged up the left bank and crashed through the woods. Griffin threw himself over Will's body. The lantern rolled into one rut and continued giving forth a feeble glow.
Tearing open the wooden case, Griffin snatched one of the pistols and tried to find a target as he groped Will's body with his free hand, seeking the injury. Griffin found a rush of hot blood from Will's head, and his heart sank. So much blood. And he feared the horse had trampled the boy as well. "Will!" he whispered. "Hang on, lad."
Griffin heard the clamor of oncoming horses ahead. "Mason! Mason!" he yelled.
He heard shouts too far away to make out the words. A lantern bobbed. Griffin could just make out the figures of several riders. "Help!" he cried. "Help us!"
A twig snapped on his right. Griffin peered through the rain, trying desperately to see the assassin. When the sound of shattering glass startled him, he glanced down the road. Flames shot up, and then there was only darkness and falling rain. Receding hoofbeats told him that the horsemen weren't coming to assist him. They were fleeing.
"Mason! You yellow-bellied Colonial bastard!" Griffin shouted. "It's you, isn't it? Murderer!"
Another crunch of underbrush alerted Griffin to the continued danger. He pressed hard with his left hand against Will's head, trying to staunch the bleeding. Will groaned, the first sound Griffin had heard him make since he'd fallen out of the saddle. That's it, lad, he thought. Stay with us.
Griffin's heart raced. Sweat broke out on his forehead. He heard a sharp snap and twisted, pistol in hand.
Abruptly, a dark form lunged onto the road. Griffin fired off a shot. The panicked doe touched down lightly in the center of the road and bounded on, unharmed.
Cursing his folly, Griffin cast aside the empty pistol and fumbled for the second. Rain pounded his face. His hand closed on the pistol grip. Before he could raise the weapon to shoot, a man leaped onto his back, pinning his right arm in the mud. Griffin squirmed, rolling off Will, trying to throw off his assailant. But the man was big and strong. His sour breath was hot on Griffin's face.
Grunting with effort, they strained and shoved. With a mighty effort, Griffin broke the grip on his wrist, raised the pistol, and squeezed the trigger.
The bullet missed. His opponent drove a knee into Griffin's groin, and pain roared through him. Griffin gasped for breath and moaned as he heard the slick squish of a knife sliding from a sodden leather sheath.
* * *
Angel heard a shot. "Faster! Faster!" she urged Lady Graymoor. The countess snapped her driving whip across the gelding's withers, and the horse broke into a canter. The dogcart careened down the rutted road, wheels slinging mud, splattering the women. Angel clung to the side rail. "Hurry!"
As they rounded a turn, another pistol cracked. A light glowed at the edge of the lane, and in it Angel saw two figures struggling on the ground. "There!" she screamed. "Stop the horse!"
"Whoa!" Lady Graymoor yanked hard on the reins, slowing Squire to a trot and then a walk. Seizing the whip from the floor of the vehicle, Angel jumped over the side and ran tow
ard the confrontation.
A fist tightened around her heart as she recognized Will sprawled on his back, motionless, with features as pale as death. "Will!" she cried.
As she rushed toward him, from the corner of her eye, she caught the gleam of a steel blade. Halting, she turned toward the two wrestling in the mud. On top of Griffin was a bearded stranger with a tarred pigtail and seaman's striped shirt, clutching a twelve-inch knife in a dirty hand. Griffin was putting up a good fight, but the burly sailor was younger and heavier. His back and arms bulged with muscles as he forced the weapon down, closer and closer to the butler's throat.
"Here! Here!" Angel shouted, trying to make the killer think there were other men coming to her aid! "All hands!" Reversing the leather buggy whip, she struck the weighted handle repeatedly against the brute's head and neck. "Cap'n!" she screamed. "Nate! To me! There's only one of them!"
Her fourth blow got his attention. With an oath, he turned and backhanded her. Angel tumbled and rolled. The seaman heaved the knife. It hissed past her head and buried into the trunk of an oak tree.
Angel scrambled to her feet, snatched up the whip, and cracked the braided tip across her attacker's face. He let out a howl, spun, and ran into the woods. Angel stood, trembling, heart thudding against her ribs, too stunned to cry.
"Griff!" Lady Graymoor hurried toward them. "Are you hurt?"
Angel dropped the whip and fell on her knees beside Will. "He's been shot in the head!" she said. "Sweet Mother of God. I can't tell if the bullet went into his brain or grazed his skull." She pressed her cheek close to his mouth, trying to feel his breath. His skin felt cold. She laid a hand to his throat, but could feel no pulse. "No... no."
"See to Will," Griffin said. "I'm all right."
"Don't be dead," Angel crooned, laying her head on his chest. "Don't be dead, my puir, prow man." Ripping away Will's sodden stock, she pressed it to the wound. "He's bleeding," she said. "If he's bleeding, he can't be dead."
Falcon's Angel Page 16
