The Earl of Malkent rode up on horseback, dismounted next to the duke's carriage, and joined Lord Bellefield. "Well?" Tracy asked, watching Robin from a short distance as he tossed a rock out of the combat area and started toward the gentlemen.
"Robin's as cool as if he were taking tea in milady's salon. He's always been that way. I remember riding with him into battle. I was quaking with fear, ready to cast up my accounts, but he laughed and joked as if living and dying were all the same to him. I laughed with him and his devil-may-care attitude steadied me. I don't think I'd have gotten through that hell without him."
"You mentioned you and he fought together in America, I believe." Tracy tried not to betray his keen curiosity.
"Yes, against the French. Damned good man to have at your back was Gustav, Robin, I mean. My Friday-faced Cousin Jasper would hold my title today were it not for him. He saved my life."
Tracy's eyes narrowed as he watched Robin approach. The Rogue had certainly pursued a full and varied career since his disgrace.
"Tracy. Well met." Robin smiled. "You did not travel with Mountheathe?"
"I chose to come alone. I wish to remain impartial."
"Ah." Robin glanced sharply at the earl, curious as to his lack of total commitment to Giles, then looked up at the darkening sky. "If Giles does not arrive soon, we shall be dueling in the rain. I, for one, would rather forgo that adventure."
"It is getting windier," Malkent agreed.
"And colder." Tony shivered. "I'm going to sit in the carriage until he comes." Tony climbed back into the coach while the other men stood in the wind, clutching their cloaks about them for warmth.
"So you are determined to go through with this duel?" Tracy said, still hoping to quash the encounter.
"I am." Robin leaned against Garch's tree and crossed his arms.
Silence reigned. At last, to fill the uncomfortable gap, Malkent said, "Tony says you served with him in the American colonies."
"That was long ago, Tracy." Robin said. The earl waited, his brow raised.
"What is this extreme fascination you have with my past, my lord?" Robin fumed. "Oh, très bien! I'd been fur trapping in Virginia for several months and knew the woodlands well. When Captain Bellefield asked me to scout for the British, I leaped at the chance. 'Twas a way of coming home a little. English manners, English voices." A bitter twisted smile contorted his lips. "Much more pleasing to hear than the thick, rasping German I was speaking. I spied for the regiment and even rode into battle with them, but I daren't tell my comrades my true name or nationality. I couldn't bear, you see, to have those fine British officers turn their backs on me in disgust and contempt."
Tracy stared out across the park, moved more than he cared to admit by the stark pain shadowing Robin's eyes. In the distance, he could see a carriage lumbering slowly toward them. "Here comes Giles."
"I see." Robin stood away from the tree, his misery hidden beneath a sardonic mask.
The coach halted before the waiting gentlemen and Sir Winston Rochedale lurched out the door. Giles tumbled after him, barely able to stand. He stumbled against Sir Winston, giggling inanely, then recalled the gravity of the situation and forced his face into a ludicrous parody of solemnity, exploding into more giggles a moment later.
Tracy tried unsuccessfully to hide a smile and Bellefield, emerging from the other carriage, scowled. "It's about time! Good God! The man's foxed!"
Giles vigorously shook his head. "Only had some brandy to warm me. Don't have a pretty doxy to heat my bed like the Rogue does."
Robin's lips tightened, but he said nothing. Giles's eyes focused vaguely on Tracy. "Or a goddess like your Val. Should a' been my Val. You stole her, you damned -- " Giles lunged at Malkent, his fists flailing, but Robin and Tony grabbed his arms.
"Easy, Giles! Your quarrel is with me, not Tracy!" Robin said.
Silent from the moment he'd laid eyes on the duke, Sir Winston reeled over to Lynkellyn's side and peered into his face. Robin stepped back, buffeted by the reek of brandy emanating from the other man.
Sir Winston grinned, staggering a little. "Golden Gus! You're dead! Left you to hang in Jamaica, that I did." Rochedale's brow furrowed and he frowned as he digested the evidence of his eyes. "A mite lively for a corpse, though, ain't you, Gus? Why ain't you dead, Gus?"
The Rogue's eyes were granite. "Now you know I would never go to hell without taking you along, Tarney." he said, steely mockery in his voice.
"Let go of me, you filthy -- " Giles jerked himself out of Tony's grasp. "I've come here to kill the man who gave my Valeria back to that Tracy!" Staggering and stumbling, he finally managed to draw his sword. He waved it first at Tracy, who stepped quickly back, then turned to face Robin, taking a crouching stance. "En garde!" he warned thickly as Lynkellyn stared at him with amused contempt. Suddenly he pitched forward into the grass in a brandy- induced stupor. Malkent rushed to relieve him of his weapon before he fell on it.
"What a fine guardian of truth, justice, and honor is mon cher cousin." Robin sneered. "Obviously, he is in no fit case to cross swords with me today, gentlemen. Let's pour him into his coach and send him home."
From his perch in the tree, Garch had watched the entire exchange with growing impatience. He wished Mountheathe would fight the damned duel so he could identify the duke, shoot him, and go home to a most welcome bed. When Garch saw Giles keel over, he rolled his eyes, causing his own less than sober head to spin. 'Drunk as a lord' he thought, grinning at his own wit.
As he watched the gentlemen bundle Giles into his coach, Garch remembered a tidbit of gossip he had heard at the tavern the night before. The duke's hair was said to be extremely red; 'coppery' had been the word used. Other than Mountheathe himself, only one of the men gathered in the clearing fit that description.
As Giles's carriage rumbled away, Garch brought up a pistol to sight on Lynkellyn. Still reeling from last night's debauch, his stomach suddenly turned into a raging sea and his vision swirled and blurred. His confidence failing, he drew a second pistol from his pocket lest his first shot should miss its mark. However, with a weapon in each hand, he was unable to hold onto his branch. Balanced precariously upon his haunches in the tree, he waited for his head to clear and his belly to settle.
Robin paused beside his coach for a last word with the driver. Bellefield had already entered the carriage and, some distance away, Malkent was mounting his horse.
With the pistol in his right hand, Garch took wavering aim at his grace, but his arm and fingers felt weak, his grip shaky. The muzzle of the trembling weapon circled about Robin's head, refusing to center on its target as it should. Garch resolved to fire as his point of aim wobbled across a vital spot, but just as he squeezed the trigger, his stomach twisted again, trying to empty itself. His shot went awry.
Weak and dizzy with nausea and unbalanced by the recoil of his gun, Garch tumbled from his gripless perch in the tree. Half way to the ground, his finger involuntarily squeezed the other pistol's trigger.
Sudden, searing agony ripped along the side of Robin's head and a second blow sent him staggering into Fletcher as the servant slumped forward. Blood coursed in thick rivulets down Robin's face and stained the tawny broadcloth of his knee breeches where the second ball had torn into his thigh. Beside the duke, Fletcher collapsed, an angry crimson blotch spreading across his chest as blood oozed through a ragged hole in his livery.
Garch hit the ground, scrambled to his feet, and ran with the mounted earl in furious pursuit. He had not stumbled far when Malkent grabbed his collar with one hand and yanked him off his feet to dangle above the ground.
Tracy glanced back at his companions. Tony was helping the Rogue get Fletcher into the carriage. Robin's face was bathed in blood and he dragged his injured leg as he moved.
Glaring at Garch, who was fighting and squirming to escape, he said, "It's the magistrate for you, Sir Footpad! Confess now and perhaps it will go easy with you at your trial."
Garch's ey
es bulged. "I ain't no footpad! I was 'ired! Lord Mountheathe, it was, paid me for the offin' o' the dook." he rasped out in a desperate effort to save himself.
This bit of intelligence so stunned Malkent that he momentarily loosened his grip on his prisoner. Garch twisted out of Tracy's grasp and fled into the woods. "Come back here, you!" Malkent shouted, but his quarry had disappeared into thick brush.
"Never mind him, Tracy!" Bellefield called to the earl, panic ringing in his voice. "Come help me get Robin into the coach. He's fainted!"
Chapter 16:
In Which Her Grace Worries and His Grace Dreams
Staring at her breakfast plate, Lucia found the steamy muffins and gleaming pink ham totally unappealing. She pushed the food away, too worried about Robin and his senseless duel to eat. Listening to the birds singing, she gazed through an open window into the garden, a sweet, quiet oasis amidst all the bustle and dirt of London. The gentle breeze kissed her face and she closed her eyes to savor the peace of this restful haven, endeavoring to banish from her mind all its ghastly visions of Robin lying in his own gore.
"Lucia!" Amaryllis's voice crashed through her fragile serenity as Laddock bowed out of the room. "Pardon me for calling so early, but when I received your message, I could not wait. Oh, my love! A babe! 'Tis, of all things, wonderful!"
Lucia rose, smiling. "Good morning, Ryl. I did not intend to tear you away from your breakfast. I had only hoped that perhaps you might advise me in the choice of a physician."
"I have done better than that!" Amaryllis said. "My doctor, Dr. Lindley, is waiting in the hall. I summoned him from Blayneham. I know he isn't a fashionable Town physician, but he has delivered all my babies and he is the equal of any London doctor."
"Amaryllis! You must have dragged the poor man from his bed at dawn to get him here."
Lady Blayne shrugged. "He's waiting to examine you, my dear."
An hour later, after Lucia had seen the doctor, she served tea and cakes to her guests in the Gold Salon.
"I can hardly wait until you tell Robin he's to be a Papa!" Ryl grinned. "Where is he, anyway? He should be here at a time like this."
Upon hearing Robin's name, all of Lucia's fears rushed into her mind again, but she could not bring herself to mention the duel. "He's driving with Lord Bellefield," she said faintly. That wasn't a total lie, she told herself. The two men had left together in a carriage before dawn.
"Well, he should be here!" Amaryllis insisted after a moment's silence. Finishing her tea, she rose. "I pray you will excuse me, Lucia, but I must be leaving now. You should take Dr. Lindley's advice and rest today."
"I will try, Amaryllis, but I have a few things I must do."
"Oh, Cousin!" Amaryllis beamed at Lucia. "I do feel I can call you cousin now! I am so happy and thrilled for you and Robin. My congratulations!" She flung her arms around Lucia and hugged her.
"Thank you, Cousin." Lucia hesitantly returned the embrace.
As Ryl departed, Dr. Lindley stood. He was a tall man in his mid-thirties with soft, laughing brown eyes and dark hair pulled into a modest queue. He had an air of knowledge, competence, and compassion that invited confidence. "I, too, must go, Your Grace. I've yet to find lodging for the night," he said.
Lucia leaped to her feet. "I pray you, stay here tonight, Doctor. Indeed, I would be most grateful if you would."
"I daresay you are anxious about your situation, Your Grace, but you will be fine as long as you get a little rest. Your morning sickness should pass in a month or so and I shall remain in Town to see you through it all. My father is also a physician and can take care of my patients in Kent."
"I'm not asking for my sake, although I'm pleased that you will be here. 'Tis just that -- " She entwined her fingers nervously, considering how to explain her apprehensions.
Lindley was staring at her. "If I can assist Your Grace in some other way -- " His words trailed to silence.
"A duel!" Lucia blurted in a choked voice. A tear trickled down her cheek and she dashed it away with the back of her hand. "My husband has gone off to fight a duel and I was hoping that you might be here when he returns. I -- I fear for him."
Lindley's mouth tightened with disapproval. The duke must be a wild and ramshackle fellow, indeed, to be fighting duels at a time like this, he thought. Looking into Lucia's anxious face, he smiled. "I shall be honored to bear you company, Your Grace."
Lucia paced before the windows in the Gold Salon, braiding her fingers as she scanned the quiet square, waiting for Robin to come home. Dr. Lindley sat on a brocaded divan, watching her. He was beginning to doubt at least part of the shocking tale he had heard. She did not act like a woman forced into marriage with a man she feared.
Suddenly a carriage clattered outside the window and Lucia ran out of the room. The doctor jumped up and looked outside to see a parked coach and a horseman just dismounting.
He bolted downstairs. By the time he reached the foyer Lucia had already pushed past Laddock and rushed, pell-mell, out the door. Collecting his medical bag from a hall table, Lindley followed the butler to the carriage.
When Lucia reached the coach, Malkent was calming the sweating horses while Bellefield helped Robin alight. "Fletcher!" Robin gasped faintly as he sagged against the carriage door, his face, hair, and clothes a sticky scarlet. "Tend to Fletcher first. He's hurt far worse than I am."
As Tony and Laddock carried the coachman up the stairs, Lindley followed them, trying to staunch the bubbling blood.
"Take Fletcher to the daybed in the Blue Salon," Lucia said.
Turning to see Robin stagger and sway in the drive, she caught him, tumbling down with him as his knees buckled. Steadfastly ignoring his ghastly appearance, she draped his arm over her slim shoulder and straightened to use her body as crutch to hold him up. Crushing her panic as his warm blood trickled down her hand and over her gown, she hugged his waist, bearing most of his weight as they struggled and staggered into the house. In the Blue Salon, she led him to an overstuffed chair where he sank into the cushions, closing his eyes as the pain he had battled during the interminable journey home finally engulfed him.
Lucia made hurried introductions among the gentlemen. Dr. Lindley called for water and clean cloths, then knelt to examine Fletcher. After Laddock brought the supplies, Lindley washed away the blood from around the wound and searched it with deft fingers, shaking his head. He looked up at the three people who anxiously awaited his opinion. "It doesn't look good, Your Grace. I think the ball missed his lungs, but only time will tell. I'll have to cut out the lead, of course, or it will poison him and that procedure has its own risks. After I perform the surgery, he'll need constant care if he is to have any chance at all." Lucia nodded numbly, remembering her own experiences under the knife.
"The butler and I will carry him to the servants' quarters, doctor," Tony volunteered.
As they carried him out, Tracy moved over to Robin. "What about the Rogue, doctor? I do believe he's fainted again."
Lindley knelt beside Robin, feeling his pulse as he wiped blood from his head. "It looks as if the ball just grazed him here. A flesh wound."
Tracy and Lindley gently rolled Robin onto his stomach on the floor and bent to examine the back of his right thigh where a stiffening crimson stain around a hole in his knee breeches betrayed a second wound. "Took a ball here," Lindley announced after he had cut away the garment and cleaned the injury. "It will have to come out, of course. He may finish with a limp."
"But he'll live, doctor?" Lucia's hands were clenched, knuckles white, at her sides.
Lindley got to his feet. "Aye, he'll live, more's the pity! Out fighting duels with a delicate wife at home! Has the man run mad? Dueling is tantamount to murder!"
"You're not going to report this to the authorities, are you? Please say you will not!" she said, laying a beseeching hand on his arm.
Looking into her pleading eyes, Lindley began to understand how a man might be tempted into moonlight abduction. "No," he
promised. "Not if you do not wish it."
"Thank you, doctor." Robin's agonized moan brought her back to the matter at hand. "We'd better get him to bed."
Lucia was firmly exiled from the patients' rooms while Bellefield, the earl, and the doctor, with Laddock's assistance, endeavored to rid the patients' bodies of lead. Having changed out of her blood-soaked gown, Lucia paced the Gold Salon, trying to ignore the muffled screams and oaths coming from down the hall. Tears burned in her eyes and she dashed them away, hugging herself against the cold fear and helpless fury that overwhelmed her. How she detested duels.
Finally, Lindley came in. "The duke returned to consciousness just before surgery, Your Grace. He refused laudanum; insisted on brandy instead. He is asking for you, but I fear he is very drunk."
"How is he, otherwise, doctor?" Lucia asked.
"If his bandages are changed regularly and you can keep him in bed for a few weeks, he should be fine, save, perhaps, for a slight limp in his right leg."
"You are asking a great deal, sir! My husband has an iron will and seldom listens to sensible advice, but I shall do my best. What of Fletcher?"
"He is doing as well as can be expected, Your Grace, but it'll be touch and go with him for the next several weeks, I'm afraid. Between the injury and the surgery, it will be a long while before he wakes." Lindley handed her some papers. "I have written out special diets and prescriptions for each man and one for you as well. I will call upon all my patients tomorrow, but now I must be going. As I said, I have yet to find lodging."
"I was sincere in my earlier invitation, doctor. You may stay here, if you wish."
"Your household is going to be at sixes and sevens, as it is, without an additional guest to consider, Your Grace. I will be satisfied if I may include my shot at Grillon's in my fee."
"Yes, of course." She glanced distractedly toward the stairway.
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