Page 30 of The Gentleman's Seduction
Do I risk it? Do I dare give myself over, heart and soul, and pray the glimpses I’ve seen of a good man are real? That a man like him could learn to love me?
Hope was all she had to cling to in the darkness. Hope that she would find the answers, and hope that once dawn was here, Martin would come home to her.
10
Martin studied the pistol in his hand, feeling the weight of the metal and the polished wood grip, which was cold in his palm. All around him the field was quiet, the predawn sky lit in a pale purple light. The coach that brought Stamford and his second, the man from the night before, Stephen Albright, had only just arrived to present him with his choice of pistol.
“What you think? Does it shoot fair, you suppose?” Rodney whispered next to Martin.
“Devil if I know. I rarely handle the damn things.”
“What?” Rodney hissed. “Bloody hell, man, do you even know how to shoot?”
“Of course I do.” He knew how to shoot well on a pheasant hunt with a rifle, but that wasn’t the same as firing a dueling pistol.
“Are you satisfied with the weapon, Mr. Banks?” Mr. Albright inquired. He shot a nervous glance at Stamford, who was glaring at them.
“I suppose,” Martin replied. He’d woken that morning with a headache and a sense of dread, and it wasn’t until the servant had come to serve him a brief breakfast that he remembered he was to face Stamford on the field in less than two hours.
“There is one last chance to reconcile,” Rodney interjected. “Mr. Stamford, I believe you made unpleasant and ungentlemanly comments toward a young lady last evening. Do you withdraw such comments?” Rodney placed himself slightly in front of Martin, acting as an emissary. In that moment Martin saw how good a friend the other man was. Over the years Rodney had always stood by him and by Helen.
Helen… He couldn’t believe his twin sister had faced this same trial, had taken his place against Gareth all those years before, disguised as Martin, while he lay unconscious in a broom cupboard after she’d knocked him out.
He briefly closed his eyes, picturing her that day, willing to face death for him. He’d never been worthy of the people in his life who loved him. All he had done was let them down over and over again. If he died today, Livvy wouldn’t miss him—she would be grateful he was gone. Her debt would be paid, and she would go home…only to have a man like Stamford come and claim her in the same way. Fury rose in him like a violent storm, wind lashing the inside of his mind and heart. He could not allow such a thing.
“I do not withdraw my comments,” Stamford declared. His aristocratic features were defined by the cruelty which shadowed his eyes.
“Very well,” Rodney sighed. “Backs together, and each man must count to twenty paces. Then turn and face each other.”
Martin and Stamford approached one another. It took a fair amount of self-control to not toss the pistol to the ground and tackle him into the earth and throttle him. He drew in deep breaths and turned his back. Stamford did the same. Then they began to step away, counting their paces. When he reached twenty, he turned, facing his opponent. Albright and Rodney stood to the left, some yards away from the line of fire.
“Pistols may be raised,” Rodney announced.
Martin adjusted his stance. The meadow grass coated in ice was slick and uncomfortable beneath the soles of his boots. Then he carefully raised his arm. His fingers trembled slightly, and with one eye almost swollen shut, he felt like this was a very bad idea now, but he could not let Stamford just walk away, not after what he said he’d do to Livvy.
Stamford raised his arm.
“On the count of three, you may fire.” Rodney’s voice rang out over the frozen field.
“One…”
Martin licked his dry lips and adjusted his grip on the pistol.
“Two…”
Stamford’s lips suddenly curved in a devil-may-care grin.
“Three—”
Crack!
Martin jerked sideways. Pain knifed through his upper arm. He cursed but kept his pistol up.
“Banks! You’ve been hit?” Rodney shouted.
“Grazed,” he grunted. “I think.” He looked at Stamford, who was staring at him, his face ashen.
“It is your shot, Banks. You may fire at will,” Rodney said. Both he and Albright watched in worry.
