The Hero Least Likely

by Darcy Burke

  "Hullo, Giddy," Quince said softly, swirling wine in the bottom of the glass he was holding. "Feel free to make yourself a drink. Not too many, though. We must be sharp in the morning."

  "What on God's green earth have you gotten yourself into, Quince? Your letter said to expect Charlie Bittlesworth as a second?"

  Quince nodded. "That seems most likely."

  "So you and Robert are at crossed swords? What on earth do you have to duel about?"

  "He perceives that I insulted his sister."

  At that Gideon looked thoughtful, then did turn to the sidebar to fix himself a drink. "Little Sabre?" he mused. "Doubtful. She would have run you through herself if you had."

  Quince gave his friend a questioning look. "Little Sabre?"

  Gideon sat in the chair opposite his friend. "Certainly I've told you that Miss Sabrina Bittlesworth is my wife's best friend."

  "No, I don't remember it coming up."

  "What did you say about her?"

  "Say about her?" Quince asked.

  "That she or Robert took as an insult."

  "I haven't said anything about her."

  "Then what was the nature of this supposed insult?"

  "I may have, inadvertently… asked her to be my mistress."

  Gideon choked a bit on his swallow of wine. "I'm sorry, you may have what?"

  "Asked her to be my mistress."

  "I don't know who it was you asked to be your mistress, but as you are devoid of wounds I have to guess that it wasn't actually Sabrina Bittlesworth."

  "I'm quite certain it was."

  "How do you know?"

  "Robert referred to her as his sister mere moments later."

  "You made this proposition in front of him?"

  "No, shortly before he entered the room. I assume she told him about it later."

  Gideon set his glass down and sat back, crossing his arms. "Well. Aren't you a piece of work?"

  "Whatever do you mean?"

  "You still look as saintly as ever, yet there you were. Propositioning a young lady of Quality. Even I never did that."

  "In my oh-so-slender defense, I did think she was Robert's mistress at the time."

  "What? Why on earth would you think that?"

  "If you'd seen the dress she was wearing you'd think it, too."

  Gideon merely raised a brow in that way he had that made you know he was questioning your sanity.

  Quince frowned into his glass. "The particulars of the matter don't really signify now, do they? Tonight you meet his second and in the morning there will be a duel."

  "Tonight Charlie and I commiserate over what half-wits you both are, and in the morning we get to watch you be idiots. Shall I advocate for swords?"

  "The choice is Robert's, of course."

  "Yes, but if he chooses pistols and if he's angry... Well, you might not make it through the morning."

  "There are any number of reasons we might not make it through the morning, Robert Bittlesworth's pistols notwithstanding. If he wants pistols, then pistols it shall be."

  "There's likely another way to solve this, you know."

  "Don't say it, Giddy."

  "Offer for her."

  "No."

  "Why does everyone say no when I propose marriage? You know the idea is valid. Expected even."

  "No. I shall not marry a Bittlesworth."

  "The current viscount can't live forever, and Robert is a good enough sort."

  "This isn't a topic open for discussion, Giddy."

  "You would rather die than marry her?"

  "If need be."

  Gideon sighed. "Well, old boy, I propose that in the future you be more careful about whom you invite to be your mistress."

  THREE

  At precisely half past eight Gideon was informed that his horse was ready. The earl considered going up to check on his wife before leaving. She had been quiet and distracted at supper, not quite her usual self, and had retired early. But if trouble was brewing in her mind it might be best to get this foolish duel out of the way first. He paused at the door and looked up the steps. He had promised himself that he wouldn't avoid confrontations with her but certainly this was a special case. And, he thought to himself with the beginnings of a smile, if he told her what he was off to do then she would undoubtedly want to come along.

  Jack kept her head down with the brim of her cap low, sipping at a bitter beer. It was ridiculously easy to pass for a young man in her loose-fitting trousers and vest. The barman had been busy and rushed when she came in and hadn't looked twice at her. He had taken coin at her mumbled request to hold a private room for her master, leaving her here with the door open for the supposed master's imminent arrival. Now she just had to wait for what she still assumed would be Gideon. If not, he would soon find her missing at home and she could just imagine what sort of trouble that could cause. Lara, her maid, was sworn to secrecy… unless the earl started forming a search party or some other silly, overwrought thing. There was no reason to upset the entire household for what was essentially a short ride and meeting a friend at an alehouse. Not that women in her station were allowed to do such things. She ran her finger over the grain in the heavy wooden table and grinned.

  The tiny room she had secured held only a table and four chairs, but it did have the advantage of a small fireplace and a lantern. There was enough light to read, if she had only thought to bring a book.

  She heard the heavy stomp of boots approaching and schooled her features into the discontented scowl that was as much a part of her disguise as the ratty old cap that she wore. Keeping her chin low she looked over as the boots stopped in the doorway. Black Hessians. She recognized those boots.

  "Boy, who else is here?" The earl's voice was brusque, impatient. "I'm expecting Charlie Bittlesworth."

  "You can expect him," Jack replied, "but I haven't seen him since we've been back to Town."

  After a deathly still pause the earl said, "Jacqueline?"

  She looked up at him and smiled. "Hullo, Giddy. Fancy meeting you here."

  Shock gave way to irritation as he saw that it truly was his wife. He closed the door to the room with a thump and strode over to the table. "Bloody hell, what are you doing here?"

  "The same thing you're doing here, unless I miss my guess."

  He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Then it is Sabre who took exception to Quince's misstatement."

  "Misstatement? Is that how he put it? And of course Sabre took exception to it. I believe we have some terms to discuss."

  "Why didn't you tell me about this? Why the subterfuge? We could have discussed this at home."

  "I couldn't be entirely sure that Quince would choose you as his second. Why didn't you tell me that you were to be involved in a duel in the morning?"

  Gideon crossed his arms and stared down at her. She could tell that he desperately wanted to demand that she leave off this pursuit. He changed tacks instead.

  "There's no point in this since Quince would never fight her."

  "We choose swords. Sabres, in fact."

  "Again, he won't fight her. And the last thing you want to do with Quince is choose swords."

  Jack arched a brow. "The last thing you want to do with Sabre is choose swords. But she wants swords."

  "I'm sure she's quite accomplished for a woman."

  "She's quite accomplished for anyone. Our terms are to the blood."

  "There's no point in arguing about this because there will be no duel!"

  "Sabre and I assumed you would have that perspective," Jack said primly.

  "Well, that was bloody brilliant of you."

  "I have one point for you to consider."

  "And that is?"

  "Your friend Quincy Telford, Duke of Beloin, has been plaguing you for years about rights for women. Isn't it time that you make him pay up by proving he's capable of treating a woman as though she has equal rights to a man?"

  Gideon slowly uncrossed his arms and put them on the
table to lean toward her. Once he was scant inches away he finally spoke. "You, my love, are diabolical."

  She grinned. "I thought you might find that line of thinking appealing."

  "Irresistible. Quince will have to admit that he does see differences between men and women. That actually is quite brilliant. Can we go home now?"

  "Silly man, you haven't even had a drink yet and you want to go home to your wife and cozy bed at the unfashionably early hour of ten o'clock? What will your friends think?"

  "Lucky man? Although perhaps not if they saw how you were currently dressed."

  She lifted her nose in the air haughtily. "I'll have you know that this is the stare of fashion among street rats."

  "Undoubtedly. Can it be hoped that you rode a horse here this evening?"

  "Of course. And," she added in a conspiratorial whisper, "I had a groom ride with me."

  "Really?"

  "Yes. If I don't bring a groom on my rides my husband gets very upset with me."

  "He sounds like an ogre."

  "You have no idea. Overbearing doesn't begin to describe him."

  "I don't know how you stand it."

  She fluttered her lashes at him. "He only worries about me because he loves me."

  He pinched her chin. "We'd best go before someone comes in and finds me kissing what appears to be a stable boy."

  "Indeed. That might be the only way to darken the reputation of Lord Lucifer."

  FOUR

  As the carriage rolled through the streets before dawn Sabre had to admit to herself that she was nervous. Jack sat to her right, quiet in the gloom. They had hardly spoken this morning, just confirming the timing and weapons as Sabre had boarded. Jack had been waiting with the carriage a few blocks from Robert's house so that he would be none the wiser about their plans, provided Sabre had slipped away as silently as she thought she had. It wasn't uncommon for her to sleep until noon, so she should be able to sneak back into the household before anyone noted her absence.

  She gave herself the satisfaction of a small smile. It reminded her of the shenanigans from their childhood. Sneaking out to hold mock duels at dawn. But this wasn't a game and Jack had shared the warning that the duke was quite proficient with a sword. Instead of the exhilaration that she had always felt when meeting her friends on the dueling fields, Sabre was overcome with a sense of dread. A sense of foreboding. Just nerves, she reassured herself. It wasn't often she faced an unknown opponent. She hadn't had an opportunity to study him, to see what his strengths and weaknesses were. She would be coming into a high-stakes combat essentially blind.

  "What are you thinking?" Jack had spoken quietly into the velvety silence and the words hung there, almost tangible.

  "About how I will humiliate the duke, of course," Sabre answered with a grin.

  Jack laughed. "That's our Sabre. Sometimes I think Napoleon has only half your confidence."

  "He should be so lucky."

  Quince realized he was staring at Gideon's profile as the earl gazed out the carriage window into the darkness from the seat opposite. Gideon was far too pleased with himself this morning, making Quince wonder what he and Charlie had discussed the night before. Not that Gideon had said much as yet. But Quince knew the earl. Something was afoot.

  "You say they asked for swords?" Quince said, breaking the silence.

  Gideon returned his attention to the duke. "Indeed. I could not have been more surprised."

  "And how did you influence that?"

  "I guarantee you that it was not my suggestion."

  "That isn't the question that I asked."

  Gideon grinned. "You're splitting hairs, Quince. Does this duel have you nervous?"

  Quince shifted his gaze to the dim light outside the carriage. Nervous? Not precisely. But he could think of no name for what he was feeling.

  Now that he had begun talking the earl didn't seem inclined to stop. "You know no one can equal you at swords and it's only to the blood. It should be short work and an early breakfast." As the duke maintained his silence Gideon continued. "Come now, Quince. If you were any more dour I would put you up for abbot. Is something else amiss? Not just this duel?"

  His gaze flicked back to the earl. Gideon usually wasn't one to notice things. At least not about people. Thank God the man had married a forthright woman, any other creature would have been doomed to a lifetime of misery. "Nothing to speak of, Giddy," he finally replied.

  The earl's brow furrowed, indicating that he didn't quite believe the duke, but the carriage was pulling to a halt. They had arrived at the dueling field.

  As Quince stepped out of the carriage he saw that they were the first ones at the clearing. Perhaps Robert and Charlie wouldn't arrive and this could all become an unpleasant memory. Certainly it couldn't be too hard to avoid one family among all those in the ton? He would just spend more time at his country estates and wait for tempers to settle. Then he heard the rattle of carriage wheels approaching and had to admit that this duel was going forward. His eyes narrowed at the conveyance. "Gideon, isn't that one of your carriages?"

  "Gracious, old boy, even I don't recognize all of my equipage, but I suppose it is."

  The carriage rolled to a stop and a small figure jumped out almost immediately. Too small to be Robert or Charlie. Why would they bring a boy with them? Then the boy turned to accept a package handed down from inside the carriage and Quince realized it was no boy. Even in the dim light of dawn he could tell it was a woman. Sabrina Bittlesworth. He turned his glare on Gideon.

  "You knew about this."

  Gideon shrugged. "Of course I did. I met with the second last night, remember?"

  "You knew about this and didn't tell me? What happened to you being my second?"

  "You don't think she should have a chance to defend her honor? That was quite an insult, after all."

  "You let me stew all morning about whether Robert would try to kill me."

  Gideon's brows drew down. "You said you weren't worried about that."

  "And Napoleon said he would stay at Elba. Gods, man, even you can't be so thick."

  Now Gideon was truly scowling. "Why would you even think that Robert would try to kill you?"

  Quince snorted. "It's obvious that you don't have sisters."

  "Neither do you."

  Quince let the comment pass and went back to watching the women ready themselves. It was apparent that Miss Bittlesworth's second was Gideon's own wife, Jacqueline. Even if Gideon was perverse enough to play this game it shocked the duke that Jack hadn't told him what was afoot. He turned back to the earl. "As my second, it is your duty to go tell them that this sham of a duel is off."

  "I'm sorry, come again?"

  Quince looked over to where the young Miss Bittlesworth was warming up her arm with a light sabre. "It's off. And please note that I don't appreciate being played the fool."

  "Well, my reaction was of course that it was ridiculous that the lady fight you. But my wife was insistent that you would want to grant her the same rights than any man would have."

  Quince looked at his friend. The earl was downright gloating. "Gideon, this is petty and vindictive. Honestly, I expected better of you."

  The earl cocked his head to the side. "So you're admitting that a woman shouldn't have the same rights as a man?"

  "That's not what I'm saying at all! It just doesn't make sense to partake of a contest against a smaller, less trained opponent. It would be cruel."

  "Odd. If Robert had arrived with his pistols that description would have fit you. Yet you were more than willing to do it. Considered it a point of honor, I think, with all that broody talk of dying rather than marrying the girl. Well, she's here to claim the same right."

  "And if I refuse?"

  "Then as your second it falls to me to fight for you." The thought seemed to sober the earl. "If Sabre steps aside as well and makes me fight my pregnant wife I can assure you I will take that debt out of your hide."

  Quince frowned agai
n. Then he heard the dratted woman's voice come across the field. "If we could get started, your grace, I have appointments to keep."

  Gideon held out the duke's sword, obviously fighting the desire to smile over what he no doubt considered to be a fabulous joke.

  FIVE

  Quince withdrew his sword from its scabbard and turned to stomp across the field toward the small woman who had duped him with a forged note. This morning she was garbed in a loose white shirt overlaid with a tailored vest that showed off her curves. The buff colored trousers did nothing to disguise her gender either, highlighting the flare of her hips. This at least made it clear that it wasn't just the dress that had attracted him. She saluted with her sword as he approached but he kept his own sword low. Stopping a few feet away from her he gave a small bow. "My deepest apologies for the insult to you, my lady. It was not my intention to upset you or to besmirch your honor." With that he brought his sword up high enough to slash across his left palm. Holding the hand up to her he said, "First blood. The terms of our agreement are met."

  He turned to walk away, but her voice flowed over him again. "That is not acceptable to me, your grace."

  He turned back. "Deception was not acceptable to me."

  "In which way did I deceive you?"

  "Impersonating your brother in order to draw me out to this duel?"

  "I in no way impersonated my brother. I did not use his seal, I did not disguise my handwriting, and my name is, in fact, Bittlesworth. It is unfortunate that you mistook the information you had to assume the letter was from my brother."

  "That you can enumerate those items so quickly indicates that you knew exactly what you were up to, and exactly what my assumptions would be. It is intention that underlies deception, my lady. Arguing the facts of the case will in no way alleviate you from the responsibility of intending to deceive."

  "Is that how you justify your insult to me as well? By dressing a certain way it was my intention to seduce you, and therefore you bear no responsibility for asking me to be your mistress?"