Page 40 of Ironvine

They arrived, and William and his man were already there. He took in his brother smirking at William as they talked curtly before they picked up their revolvers to shoot at each other over Amanda. Or their honour.

Georgina deserved better than this lesser of two evils.

Was Hugh truly the lesser? How would she react to the news of her fiancée being involved with Amanda, a married woman who she held in disdain?

Charles ground his teeth as he nodded at William’s second, who held the pistols for his perusal. He could hardly believe he was here at Hyde Park at dawn. He’d never been involved in a duel before, never been anyone’s second either, like he was right now for his brother.

His selfish, arrogant, bloody reckless brother.

“Sir, we are ready.”

Charles blinked. The servant bowed his head. “Sir?”

“Yes. Yes.” Charles followed him to the starting point.

William’s eyes gleamed as he stepped back. Ridding himself of his frock coat, he stalked off to his starting point. His servant faced Hugh, tilted his head and turned, and slowly followed his master.

“Perhaps if you’d trusted me sooner we wouldn’t be here readying pistols.”

“Stop worrying. It’s done now.” He gave him a small smile. “Stand off.”

Charles stepped back. Away.

William readied himself, the sleeves of his chemise fluttering in the breeze. He placed a hand on his brow, closing his eyes, taking a breath, steadying himself. Was he feeling ill too? Hugh took up his weapon, stilling at his mark position. William went to his.

“Gentlemen, we begin!” the servant announced. “Twenty - nineteen - eighteen…”

Charles clenched his teeth, his insides dropping as the numbers seemed to hang in the air. The damp cold lay across his flesh. This was bloody stupid.

“…five - four - three - two - one.”

Both men pivoted swiftly, raised their arms, extending them in their reach for honour, for vengeance, for Amanda and…

Charles’s fingers curled into fists. Explosions ripped the air, one popping off, a second closely after.

Still standing, Hugh remained intent on his opponent. Charles let out a breath at the sight of his brother untouched, not bleeding. Yet.

A loud grunt filled the air, and Charles’s body jerked toward the sound. William staggered, his eyes flaring, his body stiffening. Shock. His hand clutched at his chest, his white chemise seeped in red.

“Sir!”

“Holy fu—”

William collapsed. His servant fell to the ground beside him, cradling his head. He whistled sharply, and their footman ran toward them.

“Damn me.” Charles let out a breath and ran toward William, Hugh behind him.

The servant raised his head. “Gentlemen, we are concluded.”

“William…” unfurled roughly from Charles’s throat.

The servant and the footman hoisted William’s bleeding, sagging body away. His head fell to the side, his lifeless eyes open still. His hollow gaze seemed to hang on Charles. Sour bile rose in his throat, his chest caved in.

A whip cracked in the air, and their horses started on an uproar, jerking the carriage off the green, into the trees, away. Away.

Charles leaned over on his thighs, fighting the sick in his gullet, gulping in air. He blinked, his head dazed. William, his childhood friend, his best friend’s cousin. Dead. Dead. He struggled to take in a deep breath of the cold morning air, air that was meant to be the freshest yet now seemed polluted and foul. “Hugh? You’re all right? Hugh?”

“Not a scratch.”

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