by Tarah Scott
“Drucker is a tolerable shot, you know,” Mr. Harris said.
Evan stopped and faced him.
“That is true,” Mr. Irvine said. “Still, he is a fool to have insulted Lady Carr like that. I was tempted to challenge him myself.”
Evan doubted that very much, but said, “Mr. Drucker does have that effect on a man.”
“I say he was a fool to race Lady Carr in the first place,” Harris said.
Irvine nodded. “Indeed. She is a skilled rider. Still, she is likely to kill herself one day.”
Evan forced his expression to remain neutral. “Indeed?”
“No need to take offense,” the man hurriedly added. “I only meant that she takes a great many risks when she races.”
“This is not the first race that she’s participated in,” Harris said.
“Aye, but Ares?” Irvine shook his head. “He isn’t a mare or gelding. He’s a wild beast.”
“A wild beast ridden by a master horsewoman,” Evan murmured.
“That she is,” Irvine said. “But Liam is right. Ares is a beast. She cannot help it, I suppose.”
“Really?” Evan murmured.
“Nae. It’s in the blood.”
Evan frowned. “In the blood?”
“Neil,” Harris growled.
“No need to concern yourself, Gavin. MacLaren is a man of the world. He won’t take offense. In fact, he probably knows.”
“Knows what?” Evan asked.
“Her brother died racing twelve years ago.”
Shock reverberated through him.
“Ah, you did not know.” Irvine straightened with self-importance. “She took his death hard. Even Carr couldn’t stop her when she began racing after John’s death.”
It didn’t surprise Evan one wit that her husband hadn’t been able to control her. He doubted any man could, himself included. He smiled inwardly. It was fortunate he had no wish to control her.
“Lady Carr is clearly a woman born to the saddle,” Evan said. “She has not been riding only the last five years.”
“Of course not,” Irvine said. “Her brother probably taught her to ride.”
Evan hadn’t thought of that. He was right. Leslie hadn’t said a word. But then, that didn’t surprise him. She wouldn’t.
***
The creak of the bedchambers door snapped Leslie from the drowsy state into which she’d slipped. Water sloshed in the tub where she lay and the low fire in the hearth came into focus. Had Millie returned despite Leslie having released her for the evening? She twisted in the tub and froze at sight of Evan. Eyes locked with hers, he closed the door with a soft click.
He fully faced her and said, “Am I intruding?”
Her heart beat wildly. He stood, tall, handsome…powerful, and he was here, in her room where they could…
Her mouth went dry, but she managed in an even voice, “Not at all.”
His brow furrowed slightly. “How are you feeling?”
Her heart warmed. “Better,” she said.
He gave a single, slow nod. “I am relieved. Are you in the mood for company this evening?”
The juncture between her legs tightened. Oh, yes, she was in the mood for company.
“What did you have in mind?”
Without a word, he unbuttoned his coat, then laid it over the wing-back chair in front of the hearth. He tugged his cravat loose, then unknotted the fabric and pulled it from around his neck. Slowly, he rolled up each sleeve to his forearm. Despite the warmth of the fire, she shivered when he took two steps and knelt beside the tub. He reached across her, his mouth so close to hers, she could almost taste the whisky he’d drank, and picked up the soap in the dish on the small table beside the tub.
Leslie realized she was breathing hard. He hadn’t touched her, yet her sex throbbed with such intensely that she had to grip the tub edge to keep from lifting her hips while pushing his head between her legs. He leaned back and grasped her hand. Leslie remained motionless while he lathered first one arm, then the other. Next, he washed her left, then right leg. When he pressed the soap to her shoulder, she grasped his neck and pulled his mouth to hers.
Their lips touched and a ravenous hunger whipped through her. She wanted his flesh against hers, his hardness deep inside her as his heart beat in unison with hers. His tongue slipped between her lips and she sucked him in deep. He drew a sharp breath. Her already peaked nipples further hardened. He covered a breast with one palm. Heaven help her, might he slip a finger between her legs as he had earlier. Might he use his mouth on her as she had him. Her head whirled. She couldn’t—
A soft knock on the door caused her to jerk. Evan pulled back from the kiss.
“Lady Carr,” a female voice called.
Millie.
The doorknob jiggled.
Evan shoved to his feet as the door opened.
Millie peered around the edge of the door. “My lady—” She gasped, her eyes on Evan.
“I gave you leave to retire for the evening,” Leslie said.
The maid’s eyes jerked onto her. “A-aye, my lady. I, uh, I have a note for you.”
“A note?” Leslie asked.
Millie nodded.
Leslie waited.
Millie stared.
“The note,” Evan said.
The maid’s eyes widened, but she didn’t move.
“Have you the note?” he asked.
She nodded vigorously.
“You may give it to her ladyship,” he said.
She looked at Leslie as if uncertain, and Leslie nodded. The girl slipped into the room and hurried to Leslie. She handed her a small folded notecard.
“Thank you.”
Millie hurried toward the door.
“Millie,” Leslie called.
The maid halted and faced her.
“I know I can count on you to be silent.”
Millie flicked a glance at Evan, then nodded.
“You may go,” Leslie told her.
She left, and Evan said, “She will never remain silent.”
“I know.”
Evan knelt at the tub as she opened the envelope, pulled out the card, and read,
You might be interested to know that a certain young man has issued a challenge that will have him rising at dawn.
A Friend.
Leslie stared. Then she understood.
“Is something amiss?” Evan asked.
She lifted her eyes to his face. “You tell me.” She handed him the note.
***
Evan took the note and read it. Just as he’d suspected. Someone had decided to stir the pot.
He sighed, then met Leslie’s gaze. “I wondered how long it would take for someone to inform you of the duel. Have you any idea who sent the note?”
“It matters not who sent the note. Who have you challenged?”
“That matters not,” he replied.
Leslie flattened her hands on his chest and shoved. He fell onto his backside as she surged to her feet. Water cascaded down her gloriously naked body. God help him, the women truly was a goddess. Leslie snorted—clearly reading his mind—and reached for the folded towel lying on the table. Evan pushed to his feet and swept her into his arms.
She cried out. “You are getting water all over the carpet.”
“The water will dry.” He kissed her soundly.
She glared. “Have you lost your senses?”
“Aye.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I am referring to the duel.”
“I suppose it will not ease your mind if I tell you this is not my first duel?”
“Do not patronize me.”
He laughed and hugged her close. “I am not patronizing you, love.”
She wiggled in his hold. “Do not think that you can assuage my anger with that smile. I am not so easily moved.”
“Of course not.” He lowered his head and nibbled her ear.
“That will not work, either,” she said, but the breathless note in her voic
e told him she wasn’t impervious to his lovemaking despite her fury.
Perhaps if he made love to her, she would forgive him when she awoke in the morning to find he’d gone through with the duel.
“I want you to forget about the duel,” she said.
Evan slid his mouth down her neck. “I can think of nothing but you.”
“I am serious.” She grasped his shoulders. “Promise me you will not give this foolishness another thought.”
Evan swung her into his arms, then crossed to the bed and laid her on the mattress. He locked the door, then removed his boots and clothes. When he came down on her, she gasped softly, and he gently bit the flesh just above her collarbone. She shivered. Now he had her.
I do not want to see you hang for killing that fool,” she whispered.
At least she believed he would be the victor. He slid his mouth downward. If he recalled correctly, and he was certain he did, she liked having her breasts kissed. Might she also like having the sensitive place between her legs kissed?
***
Evan slowed on the stairs at sight of three men standing in the dimly lit foyer below, near the door. The taller, Sir Stirling James, spoke in low tones to Lord Robert. Mr. Drucker stared at the floor. Evan neared the foyer and caught sight of the small box tucked under Lord Robert’s left arm. The pistols.
The three men turned as one and looked up at him.
Evan reached the foyer, and Sir Stirling said, “Mr. MacLaren, Mr. Drucker are you two gentlemen certain you wish to proceed?”
Evan met Drucker’s gaze.” I assume you have not issued a public apology to Lady Carr?”
Confusion appeared in the man’s eyes, followed by fear. Disappointment stabbed. The man was about to apologize.
“You will not intimidate me into forfeiting,” Drucker snapped.
Evan smiled. “I prefer a good fight.”
“Shall we go then?” Stirling asked.
Everyone murmured agreement and Sir Stirling picked up the small lamp on the table to the right of the door. They left the house. Evan breathed in the cool air as they walked across the drive to the lawn. They entered a grove and he glimpsed torchlight between the trees up ahead. They broke from the trees into a small clearing. Evan’s gaze passed from a cart to a nearby footman holding a torch. Beside the footman stood a doctor holding a small back bag. The third figure…a woman?
“Baroness Trent?” Evan said in surprise.
“Aye,” Stirling said.
Evan regarded Stirling. “Do you think it wise to allow a woman to attend a duel?”
Stirling chuckled. “Baroness Trent is a strong woman. I doubt you could have kept her away if you tried.”
She sounded much like another woman he knew. Evan’s cock pulsed at the memory of Leslie, warm and inviting, waiting for him in her bed. He would return before she knew he’d been gone, then he would make love to her again. He could grow accustomed to waking up beside her. What might she think about sailing to America with him?
They reached the baroness and doctor.
“Baroness,” Stirling said.
Drucker bowed to the baroness.
Evan grasped her hand and bowed over her fingers. “Ma’am, you are too kind to rise so early in the morning to witness our folly.”
“And folly it is, Mr. MacLaren. The only reason I did not call constables was because Sir Stirling assured me you would proceed at another time if I interfered.”
Evan released her hand. “He would be correct, ma’am.”
“What will you do if you kill Mr. Drucker?” she asked.
“Flee to France, I imagine.”
Would Leslie go with him under those circumstances? He hadn’t considered that. Nae, he was too good a shot. He would only wound Drucker. The worst that would happen—should Drucker take the cowardly path and set a runner on him—would be a few months in prison. If they caught him.
“Lord Robert, if you will show us the pistols please,” Stirling said.
Lord Robert opened the case and Stirling inspected both pistols, then handed Evan one. Lord Robert handed the other to Drucker.
The men stood back to back, pistols pointed at the ground. Wind rustled the leaves in the trees and ruffled Evan’s hair.
“One,” Stirling called.
Evan stepped forward.
When he returned to Leslie, she would surely open up to him as she had earlier. But when she learned he had sneaked out of her bed and went ahead with the duel, would she forgive him?
“Two,” Stirling called.
Evan took another step forward.
What if she refused to forgive him? Nae. She wouldn’t do that. Would she?
“Three,” Stirling called.
Evan stepped forward again, and again and again until…
“Nine,” Stirling said.
Evan took another step and tensed in readiness for the tenth and final step.
“Ten,” Stirling said.
Evan took a step and swung the pistol up as he turned.
“Stop!” a woman shouted.
Chapter Nine
Leslie‘s ears rang with the roar of the pistols. She glimpsed the flash of gunpowder and almost tripped over her skirt as she lunged from the trees. Evan staggered, then fell to the ground.
Voices rose in pandemonium. Leslie reached Evan and dropped to her knees beside him. The men reached them, and the torchlight illuminated the furrow in the side of his head. Her head spun. The doctor dropped to his knees on the other side of Evan.
“His head is bleeding.” Panic blurred her vision.
The doctor pressed two fingers to his neck.
“He is not dead, you fool,” Leslie snapped.
“Aye,” he replied as if speaking to a child. “Stirling” –he opened his bag and pulled out bandages— “please have the cart brought over.”
He spoke in a maddeningly calm voice that made Leslie want to box his ears.
“Bob,” Stirling said, and the footman handed him the torch, then hurried to the cart.
“Stirling, give me a hand,” the doctor said.
Stirling grasped Leslie’s arm. “My lady.”
She shook him off.
The doctor looked up at her. “Madam, if you would prefer my patient not bleed to death, I suggest you allow Sir Stirling to help me.”
She blinked. Stirling pulled her to her feet and she turned and found herself enveloped in Baroness Trent’s arms. Her heart thudded as they bandaged his head, then lifted him onto the cart. Stirling and the doctor jumped onto the cart, and Stirling ordered the footman to take them to the mansion. Leslie started after them.
Sir Stirling gave her a gentle smile. “You and Baroness Trent can walk through the grove. You will likely reach the mansion before we do.”
She hesitated as the cart rolled forward, then allowed Baroness Trent to urge her toward the trees.
Stirling was correct. They reached the house before the cart. Baroness Trent hurried into the house and soon returned with four more footmen. Leslie paced the center of the drive until she spotted the cart, then retreated to the base of the steps as the cart pulled up close to the front door. The footmen carried Evan upstairs to his room and Leslie helped bring up sterilized bandages. The doctor made no comment on his condition. Her only consolation was the steady rise and fall of Evan’s chest.
Once they cleaned and bandaged his head, the doctor said, “The bleeding has stopped, but only time will tell if the trauma to his head caused any damage.”
“Damage?” Leslie said. “What kind of damage?”
The doctor glanced at Stirling.
“I would not worry about that, my lady,” Stirling said. “Evan is a strong young man. He, no doubt, will wake with little more than a headache.”
“What kind of damage?” she demanded again.
The doctor rose. “If there is any swelling in the brain, there could be complications. The brain has a remarkable ability to heal. Keep a close eye on him for the next day. I will return tom
orrow morning.” He gave her a gentle smile. “Of course, if anything changes, do not hesitate to summon me.”
Leslie wanted to say more, to demand he do something, anything, to rouse Evan. But Sir Stirling thanked him and the doctor left.
Leslie swung on Stirling. “Of all the foolhardy things to do. Why the did you allow him to participate in this duel?”
“Do you believe I could have stopped him?”
“You could have tied him and taken him off somewhere until his temper cooled.”
Stirling’s brows rose. “If you think that his actions were borne out of a temper, then you sorely underestimate him, my lady.”
She gave her head an impatient shake. “Yes, yes, you know what I mean.”
“Aye, I do. But you must understand Evan is,” he paused, “well, he is very old fashioned.”
She narrowed her eyes. “If you think that I will be swayed by the ridiculous notion that a man must protect a woman’s honor by risking his life, I will say that you are as foolish as he is.”
“I understand the impulse,” he replied.
“The impulse?” she blurted. Her eyes burned with the need to cry. “I thought you had better sense. I simply cannot believe that Mr. Drucker’s aim was better than Evan’s.”
“That surprised me, as well.”
The steel in his voice gave her pause.
His gaze shifted past her and she looked over her shoulder. The footman who had driven the cart stopped, his gaze on Stirling. Leslie returned her attention to Stirling.
He smiled gently, but she noted the gleam in his eyes when he said, “If you will excuse me.” He brushed past her and when he caught up with the footman, they continued away.
Leslie lifted her skirts and started after them at a slow pace. When they turned down the stairs up ahead, she hurried forward and slipped down the darkened stairs.
“…did you find?” Sir Stirling’s voice drifted up to her.
“Nothing,” the footman’s baritone voice was easily audible.
“You…on…his lordship?”
“Sound asleep,” the footman replied.
“It had to be him.” Stirling’s voice was louder.
Leslie’s heart pounded. It had to be him? His lordship? Barnton? Something more than just a duel had taken place.
