by Lauren Smith
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If you’d like to read the first three chapters from The Duelist’s Seduction, the first book in this series, please turn the page.
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The Duelist’s Seduction
Chapter 1
The predawn sky shone brightly with flickering stars as Helen Banks readied herself for the duel. Her hair was coiled and pinned tightly against her head, concealing its thick mass and giving her a boyish look—a disguise she prayed would last. Checking the black mask covering her face, she resumed walking. She took a deep, steadying breath as she adjusted her breeches and the black coat she’d pinched from her brother’s wardrobe.
The open field near the spa city of Bath was quiet. Two coaches waited in the distance along the roadside, and ahead of her, two men waited, watching her approach. Not even a breeze dared rustle the knee-high grass as Helen walked up to her enemy and his second. Both men also wore masks to conceal their identities should someone witness the illegal duel. The paling skies played with the retreating shadows of night, lending a melancholy air to the moment she stopped inches from the men.
“You are late, Mr. Banks,” the taller of the two men announced coldly.
With his broad shoulders and muscular body, Gareth Fairfax cut an imposing figure. He seemed perpetually tense, as though ready to strike out at anyone who might offend him. Dark hair framed his chiseled features, and the eyes that glowered from between the spaces of his mask were a fathomless blue. They were the sort of eyes a woman lost herself in, like gazing into a dark pool of water that seemed to sink endlessly, drawing her in until she can’t find her way back to the surface. She recognized the sensual, full lips, now thinned by anger, and the gleam of his eyes on her. She was never more thankful that the early morning’s pale light did not expose her as being a woman.
Helen hated knowing that even now, faced with possible death at his hands, she still desired him. Having seen him from afar over the past few months, she’d been enchanted. Gareth—for that was the way she’d dreamt about him, not as Mr. Fairfax—had a way about him, an animal magnetism that drew her in, with his smoky gaze and relaxed movements. Sin personified—she’d once heard a woman describe him thus at a dance and it was true. Even angels would be tempted to stray to hell for one glance, one lingering, seductive look. He smiled so rarely, she’d glimpsed it but twice in the months she’d seen him. Both times it had fairly knocked her off her feet with the sheer force of its power.
He’d never noticed her at the social engagements. She had stood close to the wall, quiet and lost in dreams as she watched him through her heavy lashes. Foolish, too, she knew, to look at him and feel such hunger for the things his brooding demeanor promised. He had passed her by on numerous occasions, but his head never turned and his eyes never alighted on her. Even now, as she stood before him, ready to die at his hands, she knew he thought her to be her twin brother, Martin.
If he ever discovered she was a woman, he would be appalled and furious. Especially given that she was only dueling him to save her brother’s life.
She briefly studied her opponent’s second. He was just as tall, his features nearly as striking as Gareth’s.
Helen choked down a shaky breath. “I was waylaid.” She prayed her voice sounded gruff and masculine.
Gareth’s eyes were dark orbs, burning with thinly controlled anger. He shifted restlessly on his feet, his imposing form momentarily revealed by the dark blue coat that contoured to his shape.
“Is this your second?” His growl sent shivers down her spine as his glaze flicked to the squat man in his mid-thirties standing behind her. She glanced over her shoulder, widening her eyes in silent encouragement for her second to come closer.
“I am,” Mr. Rodney Bennett replied and bowed.
“Mr. Banks, I am Mr. Ambrose Worthing,” Gareth’s second announced politely.
Well, finally someone was acting like a gentleman. “Mr. Worthing,” Helen said, making sure to keep her voice low. “Allow me to introduce my second, Mr. Rodney Bennett.”
Bennett passed by Helen, and he and Worthing shook hands. Bennett offered the pistols to Worthing for inspection. Since Gareth and Worthing had not brought the weapons, that duty fell to her as the challenged party. As the two men drew apart from her and Gareth, she tried not to stare at him. He was impossibly handsome, in that dark, mysterious sort of way that a woman simply couldn’t ignore. Like gazing upon a visage of an angry god, all fire and might, ready to burn her to ash with passion.
Her opponent glowered at her. “I suppose I should trust that you’ve not tampered with my pistol?”
His icy tone made her bristle with indignation. “You have my word it shoots fair,” Helen snapped. The nerve of the man to accuse her of cheating!
“Your word? We would not be here if I could trust your word. A man who does not honor his debts may not find it necessary to honor the rules of a duel,” Gareth retorted.
She wanted to scream. Her fists clenched at her sides. Her nails dug painfully into her palms as she struggled to calm down. She wanted to throttle her brother, whose rash and inconsiderate behavior had gotten her into this mess.
“Easy, Fairfax. Both pistols appear to be in working order,” Worthing announced as he and Bennett rejoined them.
Helen breathed a sigh of relief as Bennett resumed his position behind her. She’d paid him the last bit of money she’d had for him to appear as her second. She didn’t really know the man, having only met him briefly when she’d had to drag her brother away from the card tables a few nights ago. When she first approached Bennett with her plan, he had tried to talk her out of it, but when she offered money, he couldn’t refuse and had agreed to help her take her brother’s place in the duel. Even though he was a gentleman, the gambler inside him craved any bit of money he could get his hands on to return to the tables. She was lucky he hadn’t gambled away his pair of pistols, or else she would have been completely humiliated to turn up at a duel without weapons.
“Now,” Mr. Worthing said, “before we settle this, is it possible that you and Mr. Banks can reconcile the dispute?”
Helen started to nod, wanting desperately to find a way to settle the problem without bloodshed, but Gareth spoke up, stilling the bobbing of her head.
“Mr. Banks has run up a debt to me of over a thousand pounds. He has not been able to pay it back to me over the last three months. Furthermore, he created an additional liability of five hundred pounds last evening when he played with money he did not have.”
Helen swallowed hard, a painful lump in her throat choking her. Martin, you damned fool…
“Why did you accept his vouchers then?” Rodney spoke up. “I saw you agree to play with him. You didn’t have to.”
“Banks had money on him. I assumed he’d replenished his funds and would settle his debts to me.” Gareth shot a withering look in Helen’s direction. “Shooting him will be a bonus.”
Helen held his stare for a moment, feeling the regret deep in her belly that she hadn’t known better than to trust her twin brother—too childish for a gentleman of one-and-twenty—to be more responsible. Instead of helping to secure her a position as a governess—their finances dim after the death of their parents and no good marriages likely—he had been losing what meager fortune they had to men like Gareth
Fairfax, who had plenty to spare.
A man who would now take her life as payment for a debt she didn’t owe. But what else could she do? She couldn’t let Martin die. A man had options to survive, a woman did not, at least not one that wouldn’t make her despise herself for the rest of her life.
Her memory of the previous night was tinged with fury and disappointment in Martin. Her heart had plummeted into the pit of her stomach when she’d retired for the evening and found his room empty. All of her hopes were dashed the moment she’d learned he’d gone back to the gambling tables.
She’d hidden in the shadows outside the gambling hell, trying not to be seen by anyone passing by. The smell of alcohol stung her nose, and the raucous laughter echoing from the entrance sent chills of trepidation down her spine. It would ruin her completely if she were witnessed outside such an establishment. Bennett had promised to bring Martin out to her, but when Martin emerged, he was being roughly hauled out by a dark-haired gentleman, a man she recognized, a man she’d admired for the last few months from afar.
“I’ll honor my debt to you, Mr. Fairfax,” Martin had drunkenly promised, over and over again.
Gareth Fairfax, following behind her brother, grabbed Martin by his coat collar and rammed him up against the stone wall of the nearest building.
“Honor your debt? With what, pray tell? You played that last hand without a shilling to your name,” Gareth growled. “You haven’t even redeemed your vowels for the last few times of play. I demand satisfaction.” Gareth released Martin, who sagged against the wall in defeat.
Martin’s head had bowed wearily in submission. “Name the location and time.”
“There is a field two miles east of the Crow tavern. Be there tomorrow morning one hour before the sun rises. There is a full moon. That will do. I have no intention of being chased out of the country because of you. Bring a second and your choice of weapon.” Gareth had stalked off, leaving Martin alone. He shook his head as though to clear it, and with steps none too steady, started walking in Helen’s direction.
When he passed by the alcove where she was hiding, she stepped out and struck her brother as hard as she could on the shoulder. Her anger flared. “You fool! That man is going to kill you!”
“Helen?” Martin said in shock. “What the bloody hell are you doing here? You should be at home.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I had hoped to get you out of that place before you lost everything we have. It seems I am too late.” She hoped her accusation stung. It was nothing less than he deserved.
Martin glanced at her. Under the glow of the streetlight, she saw guilt deepening the color of his lightly tanned skin.
“I’m sorry, Helen… I thought I could win back our money and more.” His tone was apologetic, but it lost some of its effect when he hiccupped.
Helen waited for Martin to say something, but he did not. Her voice shook with a mixture of fear and fury. “I forbid you to go tomorrow morning. What will I do if you die, Martin?”
“I won’t die,” he replied sullenly. “I’m a crack shot. I stand an even chance.”
“An even chance of what?” Helen nearly shrieked. “Killing a man and being made to leave the country? Do you even care what would happen to me without you?”
“Is that all I am? Someone to take care of you?” he shot back.
Helen’s eyes burned with tears and she threw her arms around her brother. “No, you fool. I love you. I don’t want to lose you. How can you not understand that? After mama and papa…” her voice broke, but she forced herself to continue. “I cannot lose you, too.”
“Well it doesn’t matter, does it? I have to meet Fairfax tomorrow.” Her brother’s mouth assumed a mulish cast, and she knew it would do no good to argue with him.
He was as stubborn as their father had been. They did not speak the rest of the way back to their lodgings, but Helen’s mind worked frantically. She loved Martin, he was her other half, as any true twins were. She had to save him, had to find a way to fix what he’d done, or if not fix it, then sacrifice herself for him. It was the only way. One of them had to survive, and he stood a better chance on his own than she did.
She’d formed a plan. She and her brother were almost the same height, and their build was similar enough that as children they’d often been mistaken for one another. If she dressed as a male, could she pass for him? When her brother woke up early the next morning to prepare for the duel, Helen took her father’s cane, one of the last pieces of his belongings they hadn’t sold, and knocked Martin out. She dressed in an extra set of his clothes and locked Martin in his room.
It was a simple solution to a complex problem. Martin was a man and could live on without her. It was easier for men to make their way in the world. A penniless young lady with no family and no connections had no such luck. The best she could hope for was a position as a governess or companion, and without references, those positions were almost impossible to find. The only other possibility was one she would not consider. Even being a maid would be better than selling her body.
And that was how she’d ended up on this field, facing the one man she’d dreamt about dancing with and knowing she never would. A man above her in station, money, and power. A man with secretive smiles, and a soft, low seductive voice, surrounded by rumors whispered behind fans in the assembly halls of how he must make a good lover. She would never know if any of it was true now, not that she’d ever had a chance to earn his interest at the balls before.
Mr. Worthing cleared his throat. “Fairfax, would you be willing to work with Mr. Banks?”
Even in the pre-dawn light, Helen could see Gareth’s face darken in anger. “I would find a way to repay you, sir,” Helen said quickly. Like a man about to be hanged, she clung to the last few minutes she’d have of life, even if it meant lying. There would be no way to repay him, of course, but she had to try. She had to hope her opponent still had some kindness and would delay her demise a few precious seconds.
“You’ve had weeks to repay me, and I’ve not seen one shilling. There will be no settlement.” Gareth’s tone was quieter, almost resigned, as he checked his pistol, flicked his glance at her, and then nodded to Worthing.
So much for compassion. The last hope of her survival had died with his curt nod. Helen’s heart kicked into a faster pace. Her fear created a bitter, metallic taste in her mouth as she realized she’d been hoping the duel wouldn’t actually happen. But of course it would. Men like Gareth valued honor, and her brother had none. This duel was unavoidable.
Worthing sighed heavily, apparently convinced there was no turning back. He and Bennett walked several yards away to watch the proceedings.
She and Gareth were alone, closer than they’d ever been before tonight. How many times had she peered through the crowds of dancers in the assembly rooms and watched him dance with other women, wishing she was the one that close to him? Now here she was, close enough to dance, but it was to be a dance of death. A hollow ache filled her chest at the thought, and a whisper of fear made her heart shudder behind her ribs.
I don’t want to die, but what choice is there?
The faint breeze brought his scent of sandalwood and the faintest hint of horses and leather to her nose. The aroma made her homesick for the stables in her parents’ home in the country, a home she and Martin had to sell in order to survive. The pistol grew heavier in her hands, the wood and metal sinking into her palm with force as she curled her fingers around it more securely. The silence and her fear made it all suddenly unbearable.
“Very well,” Helen growled, losing her ability to remain calm and still any longer. The only way to quell her fear was to embrace her anger. “Name your distance, sir.” If she was to die, let it be done already. This waiting and delay was eating away at her courage.
“Thirty paces.” Gareth replied after a moment’s hesitation. He seemed to be peering at her more sharply, as though something had attracted his attention. His usually sensual full lips were thi
nned into a frown. Surely he couldn’t have realized she wasn’t Martin… She had to distract him.
“Thirty.” She nodded, relieved to know it helped mask the way her entire body shook with a new wave of fear. She’d never imagined facing death like this, especially not at the hands of a man she desired. Fate was cruel. “Let us finish this.” She turned her back to Gareth and waited.
He closed the distance between them and put his back up against hers. She shivered at the sudden warmth of his body against hers, his backside pressed ever so lightly against her lower back. His clothing whispered against hers, like a strange sort of dance, and then Gareth moved away as Mr. Worthing began to count. She began to mark the paces as well, trying to ignore the roaring of blood in her ears and the realization that each step brought her that much closer to her death.
When Mr. Worthing called out to halt Helen and Gareth at thirty paces, they turned to face each other. The velvet skies were paler now, as though the stars had blinked, closing their celestial eyes to miss the grisly scene about to unfold below. Helen saw Gareth turn sideways and raise his arm. She copied the movement, aiming her pistol at Gareth’s chest. The pale moonlight glinted off the gun in his hand as he trained it on her chest. Her entire body started to shake as instinctive fear took over. There was a pistol pointed at her heart. Her hand trembled, the barrel of her own gun wavering. She wouldn’t shoot him, there was no doubt of that.
“One,” Worthing called out. “Two…”
Helen’s eyes shot up from Gareth’s pistol to his face. He was far enough away to appear more a shadow dressed in black with glowing eyes than the man she’d longed to share the secrets of her heart with.
“Three—”
Her finger clenched around the trigger and she fired without meaning to. Her shot went wide, grazing Gareth’s shoulder. He flinched but did not fire. Blood sprayed along his shirt, nearly black in the distance. She gasped and sucked in a violent breath, her vision spinning momentarily.
