“No chance you’re going to back down, Devonport, is there?” Eggerley asked. “Showing up with this sort of a throng assembled as witnesses ought to be enough to appease your honor. We’re all here, and you can just call yourself satisfied and be done with it.”
Noah shouldn’t go through with it. He’d get himself killed. He’d hardly ever touched a dueling pistol before, and he had never in his life fired one. For that matter, he hadn’t held any sort of firearm at all since he was a lad on his father’s farm, out hunting quail for supper.
But this wasn’t about Noah’s honor. It was about Tabitha.
“I’m not satisfied. Not yet.”
Leith cleared his throat. “But if Oglethorpe would admit his lie before the gentlemen present—if he would retract his claim about Lady Tabitha and apologize to Lord Devonport, Lord Newcastle, Lord Raynesford, and Mr. Shelton—then, perhaps, Devonport might consider himself satisfied.”
Noah nodded. That would be enough. And then he could walk away without a bleeding hole in his person.
“Not a chance,” Oglethorpe sneered. “But Devonport, have no fear. Once I’ve put you six feet under, I’ll make amends with Lady Tabitha and be sure her honor is restored. I’m sure Newcastle will agree to anything at that point, in order to marry her off.”
Red. Everywhere he looked, Noah saw red, and his blood felt like it was boiling in his chest. That couldn’t happen. No matter what happened to him, he couldn’t allow anything bad to happen to Tabitha.
Leith acted as a calming influence by his side. “Well, I suppose there is no option but to proceed, then. Eggerley, present your barking irons.”
The craven, simpering man opened his wooden case and revealed two matching pistols. Noah focused on the design of them so as not to think about what he was about to do. The rich walnut wood gleamed beneath more of the intricate burnished silver patterns over the handles, in the same manner as adorned the box itself. They lay upon a rich, red velvet lining.
It was all so luxurious, so ornate, so delicate almost. So wholly opposite of what they were designed to do.
Reaching a hand inside, Leith extracted one pistol and began to load it. Watching the process was enough to convince Noah he never wanted to repeat it again. Flint and powder, ball and patch, pressing it all into place with the rod—if he ever had to do it himself, he’d forget half the steps, or do them in the wrong order. But Leith’s hands flew through the process with ease. He finished loading the barrel, poured an amount of gun powder into the pan, and then waited for Eggerley to complete the process with the other pistol.
Wordlessly, Leith and Eggerley exchanged their pistols and examined them before trading them back.
“All set?” Oglethorpe asked. He took his pistol from Eggerley’s hands without waiting for a response. “Let’s get started then.”
Leith put the pistol into Noah’s hand, positioning his fingers just so. “Aim and shoot. It’s all set for you.” He walked out into the clearing, leading Noah to stand with his back to Oglethorpe’s. Ever so quietly, so soft that Noah almost couldn’t hear, he said, “Be sure you shoot first.”
Noah’s pulse roared through his ears. He tried to catch a breath, but all the air kept escaping him, like it was floating away above his head along with the mist and fog that was rising from the ground.
“Ten paces?” Oglethorpe asked.
Would ten paces be enough to prevent Oglethorpe from connecting with his shot? Noah had to hope so. “Yes. Ten paces.”
“On my count, then,” Leith said. His voice sounded like it was far away, and maybe underwater. Each second that ticked by felt bloated. Distended. Just as Noah’s body might be in mere moments.
“One.”
Noah took a step. His foot made contact with the ground beneath him, slipping slightly on the dewy grass. Somehow, he kept himself upright. The scene before him blurred though, so he closed his eyes. Better to step blindly than to get dizzy and fall.
“Two.”
Another step. Was it too late to call it off? No, he couldn’t do that. Shelton, Raynesford, and Newcastle would fight over who got to kill him, then. Leith and Claremont might even join in. Noah took a shaky breath. It would all be much easier if his legs would stop shaking.
“Three.”
Did he take a step? He wasn’t sure. But at least he was still standing. The wind blew and rustled the tail of his coat. That only served to make it shake like the rest of him.
“Four.”
This time, Noah knew he took a step. He knew it because he nearly twisted his ankle in the little hole his foot landed in. Biting back a curse, he straightened himself.
“Five.”
Was that a horse galloping? Couldn’t be. Must be his pulse. Noah shook his head to clear it and took a step. Imagining things would not help right now.
“Six.”
Good God, it was getting louder and louder by the moment. Probably because his death was growing closer and closer by the moment. He took a step.
“Seven.”
Forcing his foot to leave the ground and move forward before rejoining the earth was becoming ever more difficult. A horse nickered. That was definitely a horse, and not some sign of terror coming from his own person. Noah whipped his eyes open and turned in the direction the sound had come from.
Definitely a horse.
Racing straight toward him, no less. A white charger with a rider would overtake him in seconds, if he didn’t move. Long brown hair whipped around the rider’s head, and rich blue skirts did the same about the rider’s legs as they were draped over the saddle, riding like a man. She rode neck-or-nothing out of the rising dawn, streaks of pink and gold and orange painting the sky around her so she looked like Athena, the warrior-goddess, racing to his rescue. Noah could do nothing but stand and stare, dumbfounded.
“Tabitha! What in bloody hell are you doing here?” Shelton’s words cut through the fog in Noah’s head. “On a horse, no less. I thought she was afraid of riding.”
“She is,” Raynesford said. Trust him to keep it short and to the point.
Oglethorpe threw up his arms. “What the blazes is going on here? I thought we were having a duel.”
Tabitha drew up on the reins and the horse came to a stop just before they trampled Noah. “Help me off this damned thing.”
With one arm around her waist and the other holding the pistol like his life depended on it, Noah lifted her down to stand by his side.
“Is it loaded?” she asked. He stood there mutely, still unable to speak. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, with her silver eyes flashing in the intensifying light of the morning.
He should order her to go home. He should demand an explanation for her behavior, for why she was there, for how she had learned where they would even be that morning. He should find his sister and Miss Faulkner, and berate them heartily for allowing Tabitha out of their sight.
All he wanted to do was kiss her.
But before he could kiss her or chastise her, or do anything else for that matter, she ripped the pistol from his hand and turned it on him, turning one side of her lips down into a frown. “I told you I wouldn’t stand for it.”
~ * ~
Tabitha wasn’t sure how it had worked out this way, but her arm was steady. Everything inside her was quaking, though. Particularly her nerves. Damnation, now what was she going to do? She ought to have thought this all through a bit further than just getting to the location where the duel was to take place.
Why had she yanked the pistol from his hand? Even worse than that, why had she turned it on him? Ever so slowly, Noah raised his hands out between the two of them. His eyes were as wide as she’d ever seen them, and somehow they kept getting wider. With a tiny motion, he shook his head.
“What is that supposed to mean? No what?” Tabitha brought the barrel of the pistol up to Noah’s face, pointing straight between his eyes.
“It’s loaded and ready to fire,” Toby said from behind her. S
he whirled around and aimed it at him. He, too, raised his hands as though to capitulate. “Don’t do anything rash.”
Too blasted late for that, now, wasn’t it? Her gaze swung over the gathering behind her father and brothers, all the while taking great care to keep her arm steady. Most of the gentlemen wore aghast expressions, but a few seemed enthralled as they watched the proceedings in a hush.
Owen took two long, slow strides toward her. “Hand it to me.” He stretched out his hand, as though she would do as she said, like a good girl.
Tabitha was done being a good girl. She was finished with being told what to do and when to do it, with having her entire life dictated by the men in her family where she had no voice, no part in making the decisions that would affect her as much as anyone. “Stop where you are or I’ll use it on you.” For the moment, she kept it trained on Toby. He deserved a ball to the chest more than any of them. But if Owen didn’t stop advancing on her soon, she’d change her mind. For a moment, she wished she could shoot and reload. But none of them would be so stupid as to give her another ball and more powder.
Lucky for him, he stopped, drawing up into a position only a few feet away from her. Owen kept his hands where she could see them. Another intelligent decision on his part.
“Are we having a duel here or not?” Oglethorpe shouted from across the way. “I would prefer not to spend all day on this.” When Tabitha looked in his direction, he was coming closer to her, as well. He still carried his pistol, but it was down at his side.
This would be much easier if he wasn’t armed. Not that she had a clue what she would do, but undoubtedly her chances of escaping this mess with no one getting hurt would be exponentially increased if no one else had a weapon. She could control herself. Others, however? Not so easy to control.
Before she could think better of it, Tabitha turned her pistol on Oglethorpe. “Stop where you are and put the pistol on the ground.”
He laughed. The bloody blackguard dared to laugh at her. “Devonport couldn’t handle his duel on his own, could he? He needed to bring in his fat cow of a fiancée to take care of things for him?”
A collective chorus of indrawn breaths came from the onlookers at his insult, but Tabitha couldn’t be bothered by it. She expected that and worse from the lecherous wretch. What she found more bothersome was the fact that so many apparent “gentlemen” had come to witness such a barbarous activity.
“No less than I’d expect from such a milksop.” Oglethorpe continued toward her, closing the distance between them with every word and waving his weapon about as he spoke. If he wasn’t careful, he would fire the thing at random. He could hit anyone.
Father. Owen. Toby. Noah. She couldn’t let that happen. If anyone was going to shoot one of them, it was damned well going to be Tabitha.
“I’ve already warned you once, Lord Oglethorpe. I’ll not warn you again.” She aimed her pistol at his heart.
“Finally grown a backbone, have we, Lady Tabitha?” Coming to a standstill, Oglethorpe smirked. “You’re quite the feisty wench—I realized that from our tryst here at Hyde Park a few weeks ago. I expected you to run home to your dear Papa then, and this would have all been settled long ago. But you bowled me over. Didn’t say a word to him, did you? Or your brothers, either? I should have gone to them and told them what a common doxy you are then. We could have been married right away and avoided this whole scenario.” Throughout his speech, he continued to wave the pistol about like it was nothing more dangerous than a lady’s fan.
“What are you saying?” Father took a few steps closer to Oglethorpe before turning and catching Tabitha’s eye. “What is he saying, Tabitha?”
She shook her head. In the intervening weeks, Tabitha had done everything in her power to avoid thinking about Oglethorpe. To avoid thinking about what he’d almost done to her, the way he’d tried to ravish her. Tears stung at her eyes and blurred her vision, but she fought them down.
Behind her, Noah moved closer. She felt him more than heard him. His heat told her he was close enough to touch her, close enough to rip the pistol from her hands, close enough to move between her and Oglethorpe, but he didn’t. He was just there. Calming. Soothing. Letting her know he was there if she needed him.
If she needed him. If.
What a freeing thought. Noah was going to let her handle the situation. He wasn’t going to make a decision and force her to live with it. She was in control, this time.
“He’s revealing himself for the libertine he is, Father.” With deliberate care, Tabitha pulled back the hammer until it clicked into place. In the silence that had descended over the clearing, the sound carried well. It almost seemed to echo, like it was caught in the slowly lifting fog, destined to repeat until all of the mist had disintegrated into the atmosphere. “I’ll ask you one final time to put the pistol on the ground. If you don’t, I’ll shoot.”
He sneered, like he didn’t believe she would do it. Or perhaps as though he suspected her aim would fail. “Be a good wench and give the gun to your namby-pamby fiancé over there, so he and I can finish what we started.” Once more, he waved the pistol.
Tabitha couldn’t be held to blame for Oglethorpe’s churlishness, nor for his idiocy. Why did the man insist on endangering everyone present? And the way he continued to cast aspersions on Noah’s character was beyond the pale. In an instant, she adjusted her aim and fired.
It hit him in the upper arm. The horse whinnied beside her and pulled away, dashing off into the park. Oglethorpe screamed and dropped the pistol he’d been holding, grasping at the bleeding wound with his other hand. “Good thing your aim is poor, you fat bitch.”
Briskly, Tabitha moved over to where he’d dropped the firearm and grabbed it before any of the men scrambling to pick it up could do so, dropping her discharged pistol in the process. A good half of the observers had made an attempt at Oglethorpe’s weapon, and she waved the barrel in their direction, silently warning them to back off before returning her focus to Oglethorpe.
“On the contrary, you’re quite fortunate my aim is precise. You can thank my brothers for that. They took great pains to instruct me in all variety of pursuits you might find improper for a lady. But then again, you don’t seem to think of me as a lady, so perhaps I’m mistaken on that point.”
She cocked the hammer of his loaded weapon and pointed it at his face, point-blank. “Now, I’d appreciate it if you would stop calling me a wench, my lord. And cease insulting my fiancé. It makes my fingers itch, and I might accidentally fire again.”
A few of the men in their audience chuckled.
Oglethorpe cast his eyes about madly, scanning the crowd. “What are you all waiting for? The bitch shot me, and she’s threatening to do it again. She ought to be imprisoned. Someone call the watch.”
“I don’t think you want to do that, Oglethorpe,” Lord Leith said from by her side. When had he moved? She hadn’t heard him, and she certainly hadn’t seen him. “Lady Tabitha has done nothing wrong, from what I can tell. And you might want to rethink what you just called her.”
Oglethorpe lunged forward. “Nothing wrong? I could bleed to death.”
“From my perspective, that would be a vast improvement.” Toby stepped closer, putting a hand out to stop Oglethorpe’s progress. “Besides, nothing would happen to Tabitha if the watch came. I’m the one who shot you.”
Tabitha shook her head at him. “No you’re not. I did it.”
“No, I did it. I shot him.” Noah came to stand by her other side. He took her free hand and pressed it firmly, enveloping her in his warmth. “It was my duel.”
“You can’t have shot the bastard, Devonport,” Owen said. He took up a position near Toby and Oglethorpe. “I did it.”
Father and Christopher moved in, each claiming to have fired the shot at the same time as nearly half the gentlemen in their audience did the same.
“You’re all mad,” Oglethorpe shouted. “Eggerley, fetch the watch. And a doctor while you’re
at it.” He was shaking, whether from loss of blood or anger, she couldn’t tell.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Eggerley,” Father said coolly. “It would be the word of the two of you against all of us.”
Owen looked at the wound on Oglethorpe’s arm. “The shot went straight through. You’re fine.” He pulled Oglethorpe’s coat off of him and wrapped it around his arm. “Hold that tight. It’ll stop the bleeding. And I’d suggest, if Devonport agrees and is satisfied, that we call this duel settled.” Owen ignored the look of abject outrage on Oglethorpe’s face and turned to Noah.
“I’m satisfied,” Noah said.
Tabitha jerked her hand in his and he squeezed. It was a let-me-handle-this sort of motion. Damn and blast, she had thought they were past that. She was not going to just stand by and let him decide this. “I’m not satisfied. Since I’m the only person to have fired a shot in this duel, and since I’m the party over whom the duel is being fought, I think it should be my satisfaction we should be looking to secure.”
“Agreed,” called out an unfamiliar voice from the crush of onlookers. “Let the lady do as she will with the sorry rat.” Noah and the rest of her family looked between each other and eventually nodded.
Keeping her weapon trained on Oglethorpe, she took a breath to steady her thoughts. Tabitha wanted to be sure she covered everything. “We’ll let you leave with no more than the two holes in your arm if you cooperate.” When he finally nodded his assent, she continued. “You’ll admit before every gentleman present that you lied and that nothing took place between us at Vauxhall—that we did not so much as speak a word to each other, in fact. And I’m sure that I can count on their assistance in making certain that word will spread to the rest of the ton of your lie.”
A murmur of assent traveled over the crowd. Oglethorpe cast his eyes about, likely looking for someone to side with him. “Fine.”
“You’ll also refrain from making any disparaging comments about either myself or Lord Devonport in the future, or you’ll find yourself right back here.”
Wallflower (Old Maids' Club, Book 1) Page 27
