by Sue London
“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.”
Chapter 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 again. 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.
Chapter 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?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I had no idea Robert had a sister. But I do know Robert, and it takes no stretch of the imagination to assume a beautiful woman wandering his house to be his mistress.”
“Now you insult my brother as well?”
“I doubt that he would consider it an insult. Perhaps even a compliment.”
“Well, I do not take your walking off this field of honor as a compliment, I take it as an insult. But I suppose we can just add it to the insults you have already done me.”
“I do not mean to insult you.”
“First you dishonor me by calling me a Cyprian and now you disrespect me by not allowing me to defend that honor. In what way are you not insulting me?”
Quince set his jaw. “This has all been entertaining, I’m sure, but I will not be dueling you this morning.”
“Oh, wait,” she said, her eyes widening. “Are you… are you afraid that I might best you?”
“Of course not.”
She looked contemplative. “No, that makes sense. My reputation is very good among certain circles. The Little Dervish and all.”
“You’re the Little Dervish?”
“You’ve heard of me?” She looked pleased.
Quince narrowed his eyes. He had indeed heard of the Little Dervish from some of his fencing partners but none had indicated that it was a woman. They had, in fact, said boy and there was nothing boyish about Miss Bittlesworth in these clothes. “Are you deceiving me again, my lady? So soon?”
“No deception here, your grace,” she said, offended.
He walked around her, looking her up and down. “You aren’t built for fencing. Too many curves and no length.”
She sneered at him. “And now you plan to dismiss me out of hand, justifying your decision with yet more insults?”
“Well, then show me what you can do.”
“Salute and fight me.”
“No, show me your practice drills.” He stood back, watching her keenly.
“I will not dance for you like a pet monkey. Fight me or the Little Dervish will spread word of how the Duke of Beloin was afraid to take up the sword.”
Quince glowered. “That’s ridiculous. And no one would believe you. Provided you are the Little Dervish after all, which I highly doubt.”
“I am, and I refuse to fight a man who won’t defend himself.”
“You assume I won’t defend myself?”
“You’re still holding your sword behind your back.”
He smiled at her. “And?”
She paused for a moment, then nodded. “I see. As you wish.” She saluted again and slid into prime position for attack so quickly that he barely had time to step back and raise his own sword in parry. Within seconds it was clear that she had trained. Quickly thereafter it was clear she was among the best he had faced. After that he was absorbed in the dance. Footwork. The flash of the swords. The sound of steel on steel. What the Little Dervish lacked in reach or strength she more than made up for in speed.
Sabre could see the moment when the duke transitioned from arrogance to concentrating on the duel. Knowing that he was fully engaged she pressed harder, faster. Attack, parry, counter-attack. While the duke’s attention narrowed into the focus of a master, Sabre found it difficult to concentrate. His form was flawless. She wished she could be watching this match, could behold the beauty of it. She knew that her own style was frenetic, capitalizing on her speed and energy. The duke, in comparison, was grace personified. He was slower but anticipated every move she made well in advance. She did a flurry of attacks that always conquered her opponent’s guard and he parried her as though they had practiced this particular exchange a thousand times.
She misjudged his coupé and was open on the left side for mere moments. But those moments were all the time he needed to get past her guard with a simple extension. She felt the steel bite into her arm with the gentleness of a mere brush. But she knew that an injury from a sharpened edge could be deceptively painless. It was clear that the duke’s blade had scored true because of his reaction. As she drew back into salute position again he threw his own blade down and stepped forward to inspect her arm.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
She looked up and saw the concern in his eyes as he gently peeled back the edges of her rent shirtsleeve to evaluate the wound. “I’m not,” she said. “Tis not but a flesh wound.”
“Gideon!” he called out in a demanding tone. “Why do we not have a doctor in attendance?”
The earl had be
nt to retrieve the duke’s sword as he approached them. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to get hurt.”
Sabre laughed. “That was rather dense of you.”
The earl looked affronted but the duke chuckled, unexpected amusement crinkling his eyes at the corners. “She has you there, Giddy.”
Jack had joined them, unwinding a bandage. “Don’t worry, Quince. She’s had worse.”
Chapter Six
Although the cut to Sabre’s arm was shallow, Jack thought her friend seemed to be in shock. As such, she bundled her into the carriage to take her to the Harrington townhouse.
“This certainly won’t look good with your new gowns,” the countess commented.
Sabre was looking out the window as the carriage set into motion. “I can wear shawls,” she murmured.
Jack wasn’t quite sure what to think about her friend’s distracted behavior, but as the carriage rolled forward, Sabre knelt on the carriage seat to look out the back window. Jack joined her to see that the only thing she could be looking at were Quince and Giddy, still standing in the field and apparently arguing.
“Isn’t he wondrous?” Sabre whispered.
Jack looked at her friend and realized that what she had thought to be shock might actually be the rapt absorption that Sabre rarely displayed, but usually signaled the beginning of a grand obsession. Fortunately her obsessions were usually confined to objects and experiences, such as shoes and being allowed to do a tour of the continent. The idea of her developing an obsession over a person worried Jack immediately.
“Who are we talking about?” the countess asked cautiously.
“The duke, of course. You saw the duel. He was magnificent.”
“He’s certainly among the best you’ve fought.”
As they had lost sight of the men Sabre turned and flopped onto the bench and Jack seated herself opposite.
“Not among the best, he is the best. I’m going to marry him.”
“What?” Jack felt her heart still in her chest.
“I shall marry him. Then I will be a duchess. And I will be able to watch him any time that I want. Duel him any time I want.”
