Dominic was genuinely amused. "Your wits have gone begging, Charles, if you expect me to turn over a valuable estate to you just for a name."
"What if I were to tell you that my client profited from your father's death?"
Dominic gave him a piercing look but made no comment. Charles shrugged. "Very well, then. We will make it an affair of honor, with the winner's claim either the deed or the information. I doubt you would refuse a duel."
Dominic kept his expression inscrutable as he considered the proposal. Dueling was illegal but he and Charles would come to blows sooner or later. It was inevitable. Charles had revived their past contretemps the moment he set foot on English soil, and it would only be resolved when one of them achieved a clear victory. Besides, a duel would be better than finding himself in a dark alley some evening with Germain waiting to plunge a knife in his back. Even so, Charles Germain was not the kind of man to act without a trump up his sleeve, particularly when the stakes were high. If he were proposing a duel, that meant he planned to win—by fair means or foul.
Dominic was convinced of his suspicions when he accepted the challenge, for the gleam of triumph in Germain's eyes was unmistakable. The smirk disappeared, however, when Dominic added casually, "I believe the choice of weapons is mine? Then let us use foils. I haven't tested my blade in some time. You have kept in practice, haven't you Charles?" He could see Germain hesitate and weigh the disadvantages. "Come now, don't you consider your bonus worth the risk?"
Charles flushed an angry, darker red, but he nodded and suggested a time and place.
"I believe it is common practice to have our seconds agree to the particulars," Dominic observed mildly—with the satisfying result that Germain lost his temper.
"Damn it, man! Where in the bloody blazes am I to get a second? I don't know anyone in London any longer, thanks to you!
Dominic regarded him coolly. "You may do as you please, Charles, but I prefer to have witnesses. I value my skin, you know."
His remark only fueled Germain's rancor. Balling his fists, Charles strode across the room and turned back at the door to point a commanding finger at Dominic. "Tomorrow morning, Stanton! Bacon's field at dawn. Be there, or your skin won't be worth a farthing when I've finished with you."
An answering spark of fury showed in Dominic's gray eyes, but he made no move to stop his guest's departure.
An hour later, he drove his curricle to the Effing mansion in Grosvenor Square. He found Jason alone, for Lauren was still upstairs resting. When he was invited to partake of breakfast, Dominic declined anything except coffee.
"So what brings you here at this hour?" Jason asked when the footmen had been dismissed.
"I want you to act as my second."
Jason blandly continued to butter a muffin. "Another duel? Do I know the fellow?"
"No, but I've mentioned him. He's Charles Germain."
Looking up, Jason grinned. "However did you manage that? Germain must be mad to have agreed—or a complete fool."
"Actually he challenged me." Dominic proceeded to tell Jason about Cassandra's attempted theft and about the property in France. "Germain showed up on my doorstep this morning trying to get his hands on the deed," Dominic added. "He even admitted that he had been hired by someone to kill me. The estate was to be part of the bargain."
Jason eyed him with suspicion. "You aren't in your cups this morning, by any chance?"
"I thank you for your faith in me," Dominic said acerbically. "But even were I drunk, do you think I would make up a story like that? I'm completely serious. The deed is being held by my solicitor, but I have no idea how Charles found out about it, or why someone would want it. Actually, I was planning to visit France this summer—I wanted to take a look at the land to see what it would take to make it profitable again. But now it seems I will have to move up the trip. I suppose I should be thankful for Germain's greed. He was so anxious to collect his fee that he proposed a duel. The details have already been arranged. Tomorrow at dawn, Bacon's field. We're to use foils. I wouldn't trust him with a pistol."
"But isn't Germain a fair swordsman?"
"Yes, but I don't intend to lose. Regretfully, I can't kill Charles if I want to find out who hired him."
"And then you go to France?"
Dominic grinned. "Not yet. I still plan to take Julian up on his invitation. Unfinished business. I leave tomorrow."
Chuckling, Jason shook his head. "Ah yes, the wench who struck you. One of these days, Dominic—"
"Then I may count on you?"
"Of course. I shall have to tell Lauren, though, or she will wonder where I've gone."
"Thanks, Jase. I had better go for I left my horses standing," he said, rising. "I'll see you in the morning."
Jason waved a hand in dismissal. "I'll bring a surgeon, although I trust it will be Germain who needs his services."
Dominic laughed. "Let us hope so, my friend. My future godchild will be sorely disappointed if you have to find a substitute for me."
Dominic spent the rest of the day putting his other affairs in order, and, after visiting his banker and attorney, he called on Manning to explain the recent development with Germain. He spent the evening gambling with friends, winning and losing large sums. He also drank heavily—so much, in fact, that the aid of his coachman as well as that of a disgruntled Farley was required to put him to bed.
He woke the next morning with a hangover, but except for his slightly bloodshot eyes, Dominic looked the picture of a fashionable gentleman when he left the house. He was elegantly attired in tight-fitting fawn breeches, gleaming top boots, a striped silk waistcoat, and a blue coat set off by a ruffled shirt front.
It was still dark and a thick fog blanketed the city, but the coach was waiting for him. Jacques was sitting in the box, keeping a grip on the reins, while two footmen held the bridles of the lead horses. Two large trunks had been strapped to the roof of the coach, and Dominic's black stallion Diablo had been tied loosely to the rear. The stallion stood proudly motionless, even though the four matched bays stamped and snorted, protesting the coldness of the foggy morning.
Dominic was still not in the best of moods, but he was able to return his coachman's mocking grin with one of his own. "Move over," he ordered, climbing into the box beside the Frenchman. "I need to work off some of the ache in my bones." When Jacques chuckled, Dominic slanted him a fulminating glare. "Stubble it, will you? You try my patience with your infernal giggling."
At his command, the footmen released the leaders and the four powerful bays sprang forward. Jacques leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes, and pulled his hat low over his forehead. He was still grinning, but he wisely kept his thoughts to himself.
It was barely dawn when they neared the appointed meeting place and Dominic turned the carriage off the main road. The swirling mist that shrouded the countryside churned beneath the galloping hooves of the horses as they swept onto a wide field. Beyond stood a clearing encircled by enormous elms, looking like a ghostly gladiator's arena in the gloom.
Jason's carriage was already waiting, but there was no sign of Germain. Dominic brought the coach to a halt and handed the reins to Jacques as he leapt down from the box. Shedding his greatcoat and tossing it into the coach, he took a deep breath, feeling the cold dawn air sting his lungs. The chill silence that surrounded the place matched his grim mood.
Jason introduced the short, bespectacled man as a surgeon, but none of them were inclined toward conversation. For a time the quiet was broken only by the occasional creak of a carriage harness or the muffled jingle of a bit as a horse tossed its head.
Finally, however, they heard the faint drumming of hooves in the distance. "At last," Dominic remarked as Germain and another man approached on horseback. "I was beginning to wonder if I had asked you here for naught."
When Germain rode up, Dominic responded to his curt greeting with a thin smile. While Jason retrieved a long slim case containing a set of matched foils from the co
ach, Dominic stripped off his coat and cravat. Immediately the cold dampness penetrated the fine linen of his shirt, but he set his teeth against the chill, trying to ignore it.
Charles Germain dismounted and made the same preparations, not bothering to introduce his friend, a heavyset man whose face sported a crooked nose. Charles appeared calm as he inspected the gleaming rapiers Jason presented, but the tight lines around his mouth betrayed his tension. He selected
one of the foils and tested its weight in his hand.
Dominic accepted the other, making a quick pass in the air, cutting it with a hiss. The quality of the blade was unmistakable—light and flexible, yet made of the strongest steel.
He moved to the center of the clearing and stood waiting with the razor tip pointed at the ground. When Germain had taken a place opposite, Jason quietly outlined the rules, then retreated a few yards to stand with the others and observe the contest.
"It seems you are a fool after all," Charles sneered, attempting to ruffle his opponent's cool composure.
Dominic's eyes glittered dangerously. With his shirt front unbuttoned, exposing the dark hair on his chest, he bore more resemblance to a Spanish pirate than a fashionable English lord. He grinned wickedly, his white teeth flashing against dark skin. "We are evenly matched, I would say. A fool and a coward. En garde!"
Dominic's challenge rang out, and the gleaming rapiers came together with a clash. In the first engagement, Germain lunged deftly, but Dominic parried his thrust with a finely executed volt. Next Dominic advanced with a series of neat slashes, testing the quickness of his opponent's reaction. When his foil suddenly flashed wide, Germain caught his blade handily. Dominic had to admire the adroit manner in which Charles fended off the attack. The man had improved, it seemed; he fought less conservatively and with a great deal more finesse.
The two of them moved as if in a graceful dance, circling each other, weapons carefully poised. Then their blades met again, crackling and hissing.
When Germain feinted and returned an unexpected thrust, Dominic drew back, deflecting the rapier point with a supple wrist. Whirling about, he launched another flurry. His attack nearly threw Charles off balance, but the man escaped with a nimble leap. There was another silence as the two contestants danced in opposite circles, warily regarding each other. Then they engaged again, steel clashing against steel.
They fought for some time, neither seeming to be able to gain the advantage. Finally, though, Germain began to lose patience. Darting forward, he thrust viciously, and his slashing blade almost succeeded in slipping through Dominic's guard. Dominic bore his hand upward at the last instant, however, and his foil slid nearly halfway up the other blade. With a snarl, Germain leapt back, then attacked with a forced flurry, his blade ringing against tempered steel as it cut swiftly through the air.
Dominic could sense Germain's growing frustration. Both of them were breathing hard from the exertion, but it was obvious that Charles was tiring more quickly; a thin sheen of sweat covered his face and his movements were slower, less refined than at the start. Dominic parried his next strike easily with a powerful flick of his wrist. Then judging the time as ripe, he bore down with fierce determination, keeping his eyes trained on his opponent's face.
In response, Charles became more reckless. He lunged, wildly brandishing the slender rapier. Dominic sidestepped lightly, narrowly avoiding the point of Germain's blade, and continued to give ground as he waited for the right moment. At the next desperate thrust, he caught Germain's blade in a parry. The foils locked at their base, and Dominic flashed a mocking smile as he disengaged. Then he went on a driving offensive, forcing his opponent backwards, his powerful thigh muscles bulging as he advanced with agile steps.
Suddenly Dominic changed tactics. After slowing his onslaught to control the encounter, he retreated, lowering his guard in a deliberate invitation. As he had expected, Germain made a rapid lunge. Too rapid. Charles lost his balance momentarily, and Dominic slashed downward to the right, making a short arc and then an upward extension. The tip sank deeply into Germain's side.
There was a hushed silence as Charles stared down at the bright crimson stain spreading on his shirt front. His face wore a look of dumbfounded dismay before his eyes lifted to clash with Dominic's. For an instant, his features contorted with hatred. Then his expression became altogether blank as his knees slowly buckled.
He pitched forward, clutching his ribs, but Dominic caught him before he fell. Gently lowering Charles to the frozen ground, Dominic rolled him over so that he was lying on his back. Then kneeling, he withdrew the sword from Charles' side and loosened his shirt to expose the wound.
When he saw the damage he had done, Dominic swore a silent oath. His blade had penetrated deeply into Charles' ribcage and blood was welling freely from the small hole located a few inches below and to one side of the right breast. Dominic didn't need to be told that such a wound could prove fatal. Grim-faced, he drew back to allow the surgeon his examination.
"Not good," the doctor muttered. "Not good at all. But he may live." From his bag the doctor pulled a wad of cloth and formed a thick pad, pressing it against the wound to staunch the flow of blood. "Blade missed the lung, but barely," he announced. "Unconscious. Always happens. He'll have a fever—at least a week, maybe two. If he survives that, he should recover."
"Your expenses plus a hundred guineas if he lives," Dominic said in a fierce undertone. "And keep this quiet."
"I will do my best, m'lord, but I beg you not to expect miracles."
Dominic stood up slowly, his eyes on Germain's face. He suddenly felt extremely weary. "I'll have to depend on you, Jason," he said, pulling his friend aside. "Manning knows of a place where Charles can be held."
Jason nodded, his mood far lighter with Dominic the victor. "Never fear. I'll see Germain receives the best of care."
Dominic glanced down at the unconscious man and swore again, clenching his fists. "Bloody hell! Even if he lives, he won't be able to talk for some time."
"Cheer up, Dom. At least you aren't the one they are carting away. That was quite a demonstration, by the way."
They both watched as Charles was carried to Jason's coach. Then they slowly followed. "I take it you don't care to stop Germain's friend?" Jason remarked as the heavyset man mounted his horse and galloped off. "He doesn't seem interested in staying around to see what happens."
"I doubt if he knows anything," Dominic replied grimly. "Germain probably picked him up for insurance. No, I just want to know who is behind all this. Someone hired Charles to put a period to my existence."
Jason chuckled. "Unfortunately, until Germain recovers and you can question him, all you have to do is be wary of everyone you meet."
Dominic's answering smile was devoid of humor. "I'll leave it to you, Jason, to see that Charles doesn't escape the good doctor's care. You will send me word of his progress? I can return to London before going to France."
"I'll let you know the moment Germain can talk."
When they reached the waiting carriages, the two men took leave of one another. "Take care of yourself, Dom," Jason said as he gripped Dominic's hand. "I want you to survive to suffer the slings of matrimony yourself."
"So I can sit at home and play nursemaid?" Dominic retorted. "No thank you, Jase. Your milk-pudding existence is too tame for me."
"All the same, I don't much care for this situation."
"I should be safe enough with Charles laid up. Save your worries for your wife, and let me know when my godchild arrives." Dominic climbed into his coach and leaned his head out the window. "By the way, Jase, thanks for covering for me on this one."
Jason grinned. "Any time, my friend. Good hunting."
Dominic returned his mock salute, then rapped on the ceiling. When Jacques flicked the reins, the spirited horses moved briskly forward. A moment later the coach swung around, heading for the open road.
Chapter Five
"Whatever is taking you so long?" Kath
erine asked at the door to Brie's dressing room. "Luncheon has been ready an age and Caroline is waiting for you."
Brie had spent nearly ten minutes searching through the walnut armoire for something to wear, but she still hadn't changed out of her riding habit. She broke off her search to sigh in frustration. "I'm not hungry, Katherine. Why don't you tell Caroline to begin without me?"
Katherine's mouth tightened in disapproval. "Well, then, Miss Gabrielle, perhaps your highness would deign to come to the sewing room for a fitting."
"I didn't deserve that, Katherine!" Yanking a long-sleeved merino dress from the armoire, Brie flung it across a chair.
Katherine hesitated, noting her flushed cheeks. "Brie, is something wrong? You haven't seemed yourself for the past two weeks or more. Perhaps you are coming down with a bit of a fever?"
"Nothing is wrong!" When Brie saw the genuine concern in her companion's eyes, though, she felt ashamed. "I'm sorry, Katie. But I just don't think I can stand another minute of Caroline's moods. Her depression is becoming contagious."
"You might try for some understanding. I know she has done nothing but mope, but your cousin is just a green girl getting over her first infatuation. She needs someone to listen to her."
"I hardly think I'm fitted for the role of confidant."
"Well, you were the one who approved her visit, remember? I thought at the time that you were taking the situation far too lightly. Lady Langley sent her daughter to you, hoping you would provide a positive influence on the girl, yet so far you've all but ignored her."
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