by Tarah Scott
She narrowed her eyes. “What are you saying, Mr. MacLaren?”
So, it was Mr. MacLaren now, was it? “Lord Barnton lost the last race to you.”
She arched a brow but said nothing.
“Did he cheat this time as he did last time?”
Her expression remained neutral. “How can I know that?”
“I find it interesting that he has an excuse for losing a second race with you,” Evan said.
“That is interesting, isn’t it?” she murmured.
“There was not the slightest clue as to how he ended up being dragged by his horse?”
Something flickered in her eyes.
“What happened?” he asked.
“A lady doesn’t make accusations against an earl.”
There it was.
“What sort of accusations?” Evan asked.
“That he tried to dismount me.”
His gut tightened in anger. “How might one do that?”
“By snapping his reins against my horse’s rump.”
“What the bloody hell?” he blurted.
“I cannot be certain,” she said.
“Why not?” he demanded. “It seems a straightforward matter.”
She shrugged. “It is possible he was snapping his reins against Apollo and simply got too close to Ares.”
Evan snorted. “You do not believe that any more than I do.”
“Perhaps,” she said. “However, as I said, a lady does not accuse an earl of cheating.”
“I would say that this accident has taught him a lesson, but I doubt Barnton is capable of learning.”
“In that we can agree,” she said.
Voices in the hallway floated their way.
“I believe we have company,” Evan murmured.
“Alice, I imagine,” Leslie said.
A moment later, Lady Langley entered with Lady Flora and half a dozen other guests.
“There you are, darling.” Lady Langley crossed the room and the others followed. She reached the divan and Evan stood, as did Leslie. Lady Langley kissed her cheek, then nodded to Evan. “Sir.”
“My lady.” He bowed.
She pulled Leslie down onto the divan. “Are you well?”
“Me? I am fine. It is Lord Barnton who is hurt.”
Lady Flora sat to Leslie’s left, and Evan stepped away from the divan. “Miss Ross,” he said to the young woman standing opposite him.
“Thank you, sir,” she replied, and took the last space on the divan.
The other men took nearby seats while Evan remained standing.
“Is there any further word on his lordship?” Leslie asked.
“The baroness has ordered broth to be prepared in readiness for when he awakens,” Lord Henry said.
“What happened?” Miss Ross asked.
Leslie shook her head. “I am not entirely sure. The earl cried out and his horse sped past me, dragging him.”
Lady Flora shuddered. “How very harrowing for you.”
“Now nearly as harrowing as things were for Lord Barnton,” Leslie said, but Evan suspected that wasn’t true.
She had been terribly frightened at the prospect of the earl dying. The sentiment was more than the bastard deserved. She was made of tougher stuff than most women, particularly women like Lady Flora. Still, she was a woman, and women shied away from violence and death. He recalled her treatment of Isabel. Isabel had intended violence. Not only had Leslie avoided that violence, she had diffused the viscount’s temper.
“You didn’t see what happened?” Lady Langley asked.
Leslie shook her head. “Nae.”
A knowing glint shone in Lady Langley’s eyes. “You were winning, weren’t you?”
“We hadn’t gotten close enough to the finish line for me to be able to make that claim,” Leslie replied. “But I had passed him.”
“How interesting that he has another mishap when he was about to lose a second race to you.”
“We do not know that I would have won. You know how quickly a race like that can change.”
“So true,” Lady Flora said with gravity.
“A skilled horseman will not spend his animal early in the race,” Lord Mason said. “I have had the pleasure of seeing the earl race at Clarefield. He won that race by a full length.”
“Perhaps,” Lady Langley said. “But Leslie is a skilled rider.” Her eyes twinkled. “She has yet to lose a race to Lord Barnton.”
“What matters is that his lordship recovers,” Leslie said, and Evan was certain she meant the words.
“Perhaps he will want to reschedule the race for another day,” Lady Langley said.
Leslie’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “Luck has not been with he and I when we have raced. It is probably better we do not tempt fate.”
“Tempt fate?” Mr. Drucker entered with Lord Robert close behind.
All eyes turned on them as they approached. They stopped near the men.
“A man who races Lady Carr does, indeed, tempt fate,” Drucker said. His eyes settled on Leslie. “Lord Barnton—how did you put it?— ‘fell from his horse?’”
Something in the man’s tone gave Evan pause. What was he up to?
“That is correct, sir,” Leslie said. “That is the assumption, considering when he passed me, his horse was dragging him.”
Drucker’s gaze bore into her. “Lord Barnton has awoken and informed us that you rammed him with your horse when he was passing you.”
A murmur swept through the room in unison with Leslie’s, “Indeed?”
“Leslie, cheat?” Lady Langley laughed. “So, I was correct when I pointed out how interesting it was that Lord Barnton had a mishap when he was about to lose a second race to you. Now he is going so far as to accuse you of cheating. His lordship isn’t a gentleman, is he?”
Drucker shot her a thin-lipped look, then returned his attention to Leslie. “Do you deny the allegation, Lady Carr?”
“Mr. Drucker—” Lord Robert began.
Evan shoved to his feet. “Everyone knows Barnton feigned an injury to his horse the last time they raced. Lady Carr had the lead. He didn’t want to be made a fool a second time.”
“Mr. MacLaren—” Leslie began.
Drucker scoffed. “Is that what she told you?”
“Told me?” Evan said, his voice cold. “Are you calling Lady Carr a liar?”
“You are calling Lord Barnton a liar,” Drucker said.
“Mr. MacLaren.” Leslie rose. “There is no need to get excited.”
Evan caught the glance Lady Flora sent Leslie’s way. He recognized that look. It was the same one he’d seen when he’d escorted Leslie from the ballroom last night: jealousy—mean spirited jealousy. Word would reach town by tonight that Leslie had cheated in the race.
“You may recall that I saved Lord Barnton’s life,” Leslie said. “You and Lord Robert were there.” Her gaze sharpened. “You two gentlemen tried to stop Lord Barton’s horse when he was dragging the earl. You must have seen what happened.”
“I wish we had seen what happened,” Drucker said.
Lord Robert’s eyes riveted onto Leslie. She glanced at Evan, and he read in her eyes the same thing the was thinking: Lord Robert did see something.
“Just what did you see—what happened?” Alice asked. “Lord Robert,” she quickly added when Mr. Drucker opened his mouth to reply.
“We saw you racing after his lordship.”
“Nothing more?” Lady Langley said. “What a shame.”
Leslie’s gaze shifted to Drucker, “I might like to win, but as a woman, there would be no shame if I lost to a skilled horseman like Lord Barnton. On the other hand, if his lordship lost to me…” She shrugged. “Well, he did not fare well when we last raced and he claimed his horse injured his leg.”
“You would further besmirch his name?” Drucker demanded.
She looked at him as if he were a child. “Sir, he has accused me of cheating. It is the earl who has insulted
me.”
“She does have a point,” Lady Langley said.
“May I ask what your interest is in this matter, Mr. Drucker?” Leslie asked.
“I would see justice done.”
“Justice,” Lady Langley cut in. “Lord, Leslie, this man would put you on trial.”
“So I see,” Leslie said. “I believe I will have a word with Lord Barnton.”
“That is unacceptable,” Drucker snapped.
She arched a brow. “Forgive me, sir, but contrary to your sense of self-importance, you hold no sway in this matter.” She angled her head and swept her gaze across the room, said, “If you will excuse me,” then quit the room.
Drucker, for all his blustering, watched her go without a word. When she disappeared from view, he said, “I believe I will go to Lord Barnton’s room, as well.” He started forward.
Evan seized his arm. “I think not.”
Drucker looked at him as if Evan were a snake that had bitten him. “Unhand me, sir.”
“What is your interest in this matter, Drucker? Pray, do not repeat that drivel that you want to see justice done.”
“What other reason could I possibly have?”
“I cannot imagine,” Evan said.
Drucker yanked free of his hold. “It does not surprise me that a man like you cannot grasp the concept of justice.”
“I understand that an insult to a lady cannot go unanswered.”
Miss Ross gasped, and Lady Flora whispered, “Good Lord.”
Drucker frowned. “What the devil are you talking about?”
“I believe he is challenging you to a duel,” Lady Langley said.
Drucker’s eyes widened. “What? That is ridiculous. No one duels anymore.”
Alice laughed. “I have had two duels fought in my honor in the last year alone.”
“That is not a recommendation, madam,” Drucker replied.
For the first time since he’d met the woman, Lady Langley’s expression clouded. “My, but you are in want of a set down,” she said. “Mr. MacLaren, I hope you thrash him good.”
“I do not duel,” Drucker said.
“Then everyone here will know you are a coward,” Evan said. It was a childish tactic, but one he felt sure Drucker would fall prey to.
Drucker glanced at the onlookers, who stared with open interest.
“Do you intend to duel tomorrow morning at dawn?” Lady Langley asked, and Evan realized she had no intention of allowing Drucker to ignore the challenge.
Evan affected a thoughtful tone. “That is the customary time for duels.”
Her eyes gleamed. “I wonder what Leslie will think of a duel fought in her honor.”
Evan glanced at the group. “I suppose it is too much to ask that she not be told of the duel?”
“I do not engage in gossip,” said Mr. Harris.
A general murmur of agreement went up.
Lady Langley lifted a brow. “I will be surprised if she hasn’t learned of the duel within the hour.”
“Does that mean you will tell her?” Evan asked.
“Not I, darling. You know that news as juicy as this simply cannot be controlled.”
“Indeed.” He looked at Drucker.” Choose your seconds, sir. I assume pistols will do?”
Drucker looked helplessly around the room.
“Swords, then?” Evan asked.
“Swords?” Drucker repeated. Anger tightened his features. “Who uses swords anymore?”
“I do,” Evan replied in a soft voice.
Drucker’s eyes widened. “Pistols,” he said hurriedly.
Evan nodded. “I wager Baroness Trent has a pair of pistols we can use.”
“I know just who to choose as your second,” Lady Langley said.
“Who?”
She grinned. “Sir Stirling.”
Chapter Seven
Leslie turned the corner in the third floor hallway to find Sir Stirling and Baroness Trent waiting outside Lord Barnton’s room.
“Lord, never say that fool told you of Lord Barton’s accusations,” the baroness said when Leslie neared them.
“I think he could not help himself.” Leslie stopped in front of them.
“You look fatigued, my lady,” Sir Stirling said. “Perhaps you should sit.” He indicated a chair to the left of the door.”
She shook her head. “Thank you. I am well and prefer to stand.” Truthfully, she would prefer a bath, then a good book in bed, but that was not to be.
“I do not understand why Mr. Drucker cannot mind his own business,” Baroness Trent said.
“Mr. Drucker strikes me as a man harboring a grudge,” Sir Stirling said.
Leslie lifted a brow. “You are too perceptive, sir.”
He chuckled. “I have been told that. I assume you spurned him at some point in the past?”
“If one could call it that,” she replied. “He asked me to dance at a party. I was fatigued and declined.”
The baroness snorted. “The man’s ego is as fragile as an egg.”
“I cannot disagree with that,” Leslie said. “How is Lord Barnton?”
“Well enough to tell tales,” Sir Stirling muttered.
“I don’t believe for an instance that you cheated,” the baroness said.
Leslie angled her head. “Many thanks, Baroness.”
“Adam does not take losing well,” Stirling said. “He would have been wise to leave well enough alone.”
Leslie nodded. “He feared I had told everyone that he cheated.”
Stirling locked gazes with her. “Did he?”
“I was uncertain at first. Now, however, I feel sure he did. What other reason could he have for accusing me?”
Stirling nodded slowly. “Because he made the accusation first—and because he has Mr. Drucker as such a staunch ally—the accusation will be believed by many. What did happen?”
“He must have lashed his reins against my horse’s rump. I heard the snap of the reins. Ares—” she laughed “—did not like it one bit. Another snap of the reins then Lord Barnton cried out and sped past me, dragged by Apollo.”
“Foiled by his own arrogance,” Baroness Trent said. “Then to accuse you.” Her lips thinned.
“I’ve been accused of worse,” Leslie said.
Stirling’s eyes twinkled. “Worse than cheating?”
“I am a woman twice widowed, sir. Some say that, like the praying mantes, I eat my mate.”
He looked thoughtful, though Leslie had the impression he was mentally laughing. “You were married to Lord Fenton, at seventeen, if I recall, and he died on your wedding night.”
“Really?” the baroness said. “I wasn’t aware of that.”
“That is only a testament to your good character, Baroness,” Stirling said. His expression sobered. “The gossip was rather vicious. I knew Lord Fenton. He loved his whisky and French foods. He sat in the chair at his club far more than he should and he didn’t walk any farther than from his bed to the second floor parlor in his home. He weighed four stone more than most men his age. The last thing he should have been doing was trying to bed a healthy young woman.”
Leslie mentally grimaced at the memory of her first husband on top of her as he attempted to take her maidenhead. His cock hadn’t hardened enough to penetrate her, and he’d grown winded with the effort. She woke the next morning, thankful he hadn’t tried a second time to claim his husbandly rights, only to discover he’d died of a heart attack in the bed beside her.
“Oh my,” the baroness said. “That couldn’t have been easy for a young bride. Take heart, dear. Most gossip is repeated by those—mostly women—who envy your life, and men—like Mr. Drucker—who have an ulterior motive.” She leaned close and added, “It only means you are doing something right. I too have been the subject of much gossip, and long ago accepted that the most vicious rumors originate from the most jealous individuals.” She laughed. “There is a sense of satisfaction in that knowledge.”
The door opened
and the doctor emerged from the room. Leslie caught sight of Lord Barnton, and his eyes locked with hers. She read the menace in his expression in the instant before the doctor pulled the door closed.
“How is he, doctor?” Baroness Trent asked.
“He took quite a bump to his head, and the wound in his side bled a fair amount. But he will live. I suggest he not be moved for at least two days.”
The baroness nodded. “Of course. He may stay here as long as necessary. You know where the kitchen is. Have cook give you some of the wonderful apple tart she’s making. I believe she’s roasting a chicken as well. When you are ready, Joshua will take you home.”
He nodded and left.
When he left earshot, Leslie said, “I suppose it is useless to talk to Lord Barnton.” In truth, she was too tired to care. She should return home.
“If I may be so bold,” Sir Stirling said. “My lady, I hope that Lord Barnton’s actions do not cause you to leave the party.”
Baroness Trent’s brows shot up in surprise. “Of course, Lady Carr is not going to leave the party. I would not hear of it. Lord Barnton will be confined to his room for the next two days, then go home.”
Leslie would have liked nothing better than to return home that night, but to do so would only fuel the gossip that she was guilty of the earl’s accusations.
She smiled at the baroness. “I wouldn’t think of leaving.”
The baroness smiled in obvious relief. She entwined her arm with Leslie’s. “I believe I know just what you need. How does a hot bath sound?”
Leslie smiled in genuine gratitude. “Divine, ma’am.”
Baroness Trent looked at Stirling. “If you will excuse us, sir.”
He gave a slight bow, and they left him. Then Baroness Trent prepared for Leslie the finest bath she’d ever enjoyed.
Chapter Eight
Drucker took his leave with Lord Robert in search of Baroness Trent—or so Evan guessed. Evan half wondered if the man would try to sabotage the pistols. He wouldn’t rig Evan’s not to shoot while his own worked perfectly. Nae. He was a coward at heart. He would sabotage both pistols, if he could.
Lady Langley left on the arm of Lord Henry. The young ladies excused themselves and Evan wondered which one of them would find Leslie and tell her of the duel. There was only one way to ensure she didn’t learn of the duel: keep her busy all night. Evan started to turn toward the door.
