Never Desire a Duke

Haden shoved the tumble of dark hair from his eyes. “That’s just it, your Grace. It’s not me he wants to duel.” He offered a sheepish look. “It is you.”

“Why Claxton?” Sophia demanded from where she had come to stand at his side, one hand fisted at the center of her chest.

Vane pressed his fingertips against his eyes, almost certain that they were about to pop out of his head. “Yes, what her Grace just said. Please explain.”

“His lordship is certain there is some scheme afoot, that I have merely been designated by you as a scapegoat to soothe difficulties at home with the Duchess of Claxton.”

Vane’s eyes narrowed on his brother. “Why would he think such a thing?”

Haden unfolded his long legs and stood, shaking out his rumpled greatcoat. “Perhaps because it is exceedingly clear that Lady Meltenbourne and I can hardly suffer one another’s company.” He exhaled and rolled his eyes. “Good God, Claxton. She is the most tiresome chit.” He crossed the carpet and knelt to add another log to the hearth.

“I am not tiresome,” said a voice from the stairs. Lady Meltenbourne descended in her winter finery, looking like an affronted queen. But tears glimmered against her lashes. “The truth is, Meltenbourne has cast me aside. I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“This is your fault, Haden,” Claxton said, storming back to the window.

“No, it is all my fault,” said the countess. “I behaved abominably! I allowed the earl to believe I’d been unfaithful, when I hadn’t been, not really. It’s because I wanted him to cast me off. I never saw myself married to such an old man, but my father insisted. Now that I have, I’m s-s-so very miserable.” She burst into tears.

Claxton glared at Haden. “You should never have brought her here.”

Haden interjected, scowling, “Yes, yes, I understand that now, but what are we going to do about the earl? He seems quite intent on shooting someone.”

“Yes, me,” Claxton retorted.

“Just apologize to him,” said Lady Meltenbourne. “That would settle everything, I feel quite certain.”

Vane pivoted toward her in outrage. “Apologize for what? An affair I did not have with his wife?”

“It’s ungentlemanly to shout at a lady,” the countess wailed.

“I wasn’t aware I was shouting at one.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, but once gone, gave him no small degree of satisfaction.

“I don’t know what I ever saw in you.” Annabelle buried her face in a handkerchief. “Horrible man!”

Haden called from the window, “The boy is bringing a note. I can only assume he is acting as his lordship’s second.”

Vane marched through the vestibule and wrenched the door open. With a growl, he snatched the folded paper from the boy’s hand and slammed the door closed again.

Opening the missive, he read aloud, “No need for negotiations or false apologies. Just die. Die. Die.” He tossed the paper into the air. It fell in a zigzag fashion to the floor. In exasperation, he fisted his hands on his hips. “That’s all it says.”

“What do you propose to do?” asked Sophia, her lips thin with apprehension.

He glared out the window, assessing the gathering crowd, all knee-deep in the snow and bundled up so that only their eyes gave evidence of their humanity. “I suppose there is nothing left to do but to fire a shot at the old bastard.”

Lady Meltenbourne’s eyes widened. “You’re going to agree to his demand for a duel?” Her expression became frantic. “But he is elderly.”

He advanced on her, herding her into the corner, she backing away, nearly tripping over her ermine hem.

“You should have thought of that long ago before you started playing games with people’s lives.” He uttered each word with blistering heat. “It is not I who issued the blasted challenge. I am in no position to deny his demand.”

God, he just wished they would all disappear and leave him alone again with Sophia. Could a man not be snowbound with his wife without half of England arriving to interfere?

He hissed, buttoning his collar. “It is the only way I can see to get us past the present crisis. Years ago I attended a hunt with the earl. If memory serves, the earl is a dreadful shot and could not hit the side of St. James’s if he was standing five feet from it. Haden, you will act as my second.”

“It is the least I can do,” Haden answered wryly. He buttoned his greatcoat and smoothed his hair into a more decorous appearance.

Vane tied his cravat at his throat. “Please inform the gentleman on the front steps that I will agree to the duel, and indeed that I wish to issue my own challenge based upon the earl’s continued false and unsupported aspersions against my character, which have deeply offended me and the duchess. One-shot only terms.”

Lady Meltenbourne burst out in a sob and clasped a handkerchief to her nose. “Please don’t hurt him.”

Vane looked at Sophia, his expression grave. “Please know if the duel goes unexpectedly awry, everything is in order to see that you are well taken care of. You should never need to marry again, unless you should so wish.”

Sophia’s face drained of color, and at last, yes, her green eyes met his.

“Why would you say something like that?” demanded Haden, frozen in place. For a moment, Vane had to blink, because his brother didn’t even look like the same person, devoid of his humor.

Moisture glistened on Sophia’s lashes, and her lip quivered. “I don’t want you to go out there.”

Her tears unsettled him but also gave him hope, even more than their lovemaking the night before. Could it be that she truly had feelings for him? He drew her aside, a hand at her elbow. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. It’s just that you never know what will happen. I’m certain all of this will be over in a moment.”

He kissed her forehead. Then he opened the door and followed Haden outside.

Sophia turned to Annabelle, who sank down onto the bottom stair. “I love Meltenbourne. I don’t want him or anyone else to die.”

“If that’s true, Annabelle, then you have to do something. And you have to do it now.”

Chapter Fourteen

Annabelle, you’ve got to hurry,” said Sophia, urging the countess toward the distant field. Together they ran through the snow.

The countess stumbled, struggling with the cumbersome magnificence of her cloak.

“It’s too late,” she sobbed. “I can’t stop them now.”

“Yes, you can, if you hurry.”

Despite the frigid temperatures, Vane had removed his coat. Wind swept across the field and ruffled his hair. Standing boot deep in the snow, he handed his two-barrel flintlock to Haden, who marched forward to meet the earl’s young second. Each confirmed only one ball occupied the chamber before returning the weapons to their masters.

With that, the seconds moved aside to join the silent crowd of spectators who had drawn back to provide wide berth for errant shots. Sophia was abruptly consumed by a wild terror. Not for a moment did she believe that Claxton would actually shoot the earl. What she had feared, with a sudden and overwhelming certainty, was that by some chance of fate the earl’s bullet would find its mark in her husband’s heart.

If Claxton died—

The world spun around her, a kaleidoscope formed of stone, gray sky, and ice. She couldn’t breathe.

On the snow-blanketed lawn, the two duelists stood back-to-back and at Haden’s count began their paces.

She turned to the countess. “If the earl shoots Claxton, God forgive you, because I never will.”

Annabelle dropped the cloak from her shoulders and broke into a run.

“Meltenbourne,” she wailed.