Page 86 of Avenging the Earl's Lady
Chapter 21
Charley clutched a carriage blanket before him and managed a grin with his greeting.
“Better sit facing forward,” the Captain said, placing Charley next to Jane and taking the seat next to Jenny.
“You are ill,” Jane said.“Where is…”
“Penderbrook?In that carriage.Best he be off before the guard arrives.”
“The guard?”she asked, stupidly.
Captain Kingsley extended a flask, but Charley waved it away.
“The Horse Guard.And a magistrate.Duels are illegal.”
“Dear God,” she muttered.“Is he truly ill?”She craned her head to look out the window.Her son would be mortified, to issue a challenge and be too weak to follow through.
Butshewas relieved.She’d rather have him branded a coward—even if he hated her forever—than die so foolishly.
“This will pass.”Charley pressed the blanket to his mouth.“You will see your son shortly.Father has everything in hand.”
“I sent your groom along with him,” Kingsley said.“Has the duel started?”
“Probably.Father was tossing off his coats when Kincaid hustled us out.”
Her head was spinning, trying to keep up.Shaldon had sent them away.The duel was starting.The guard was coming.They would arrest him.
But no, of course not.They wouldn’t arrest the Earl of Shaldon.
“Who is he fighting?”Jane asked.“The Major?”
Charley shook his head, grimacing before commencing a fit of dry heaving.
She held his shaking shoulders, while Kingsley looked on, a glint of amusement in his eyes.
To find Charley’s illness diverting, the Captain must be another man of the Shaldon ilk.
“He poisoned your brandy,” she said.
Charley nodded.
“Your father is mad.”
His spasms ending, Charley waved a hand.“I volunteered, my lady,” he said on a tight breath.“It was the only way he’d allow me to help Pender and you.”
Kingsley pressed the flask into the younger man’s hand.“I wondered what sort of man Graciela would settle on.Take a swig, Everly.”
Rid of his coats,Shaldon raised the blade in a salute, one his opponent, the vile, grasping villain, didn’t deserve.
The Duque didn’t deserve a gentleman’s fight, and he damned well wouldn’t get one today.
They circled around on the bumpy ground.The Duque’s paunch was a fair target, though too padded for a lethal poke.That layer of fat might be useful though in keeping the Duque off balance.He’d been a formidable fighter when younger, or so it was said.Shaldon had seen naught but the man’s command of his bullies.
The Duque opened, and Shaldon thrust, coming up short as the man jumped back, and feeling the slice of the blade on his own arm.
He pulled back.The stroke had burned, but the muscle in that arm worked, and he daren’t look at the cut.
The Duque slashed.He parried, shoved the man off balance, and lunged.When he retreated, the Duque’s white shirt sported a crimson line.
