Page 18 of Colour My World
“I did not say so.”
“No, sir.”
Darcy flexed his hand. A thin red line had risen along the skin.
“We might apply a salve, though I daresay the mark suits.” Barty stepped back.
Darcy touched his cravat knot.
“The master remarked on your timing.”
“He remarked also on my arrogance.”
“Aye.” Barty held the garment open. “But he took a step back all the same.”
Darcy inclined his head and regarded his man. “Indeed, he did.”
Chapter 5
December 1804
Cambridge had its champion.
The cup was his. The hated Oxford had fallen, and more satisfying, it had fallen on its own field of honour. Their uninterrupted streak was broken. The men of his college had cheered, lifted their glasses, and spoken of his precision, his speed, his mastery. But mastery needed proof.
The following morning, the roads lay slick with winter rain, the lamps casting long shadows as the carriage rocked towards the city. Darcy sat rigid, one hand braced on the armrest, the other curled in his lap. Barty sat across from him, quiet, watchful.
The silence stretched. Finally, Barty cleared his throat. “The celebration was shorter than expected.”
“It was sufficient.”
“Shall we stop at Matlock House?”
“For what purpose?”
“To attend Miss Darcy.”
“I never agreed to it.”
“No,” Barty said mildly. “But she has an expectation.”
Darcy turned his gaze to the window, watching the rain streak against the glass. He ran a fingertip along his temple.
Barty adjusted his gloves, smoothing out an invisible crease. “Shall I inform the driver, then?”
Darcy did not answer.
Barty nodded slightly, as if the answer had been spoken aloud. “Very good, sir.”
By evening, he was in London, standing once more at Angelo’s.This was where men were truly measured.
He was no longer a student. He was a master in his own right. At thesalle, they no longer met his gaze with amusement. They watched. They measured. And they hesitated.
Darcy allowed himself a small smile as he stepped onto the floor. His opponent, one of Angelo’s finest pupils, adjusted his stance, but Darcy saw the uncertainty in his grip.
The match began. The first strike was his. And the second. His opponent scrambled to regain footing. Darcy pressed harder. He lunged and forced the other man back. His opponent stumbled. With a flick of his wrist, Darcy sent the weapon spinning across the floor.
The master’s voice cut through the air. “And what, sir, have you won?”
