Evidently he took her smile the wrong way, because the next thing she knew, she found herself propelled behind the screen. Heaving an internal sigh, she tilted her face up for his kiss. As long as he had her here, she might as well get the assessment over with. No sense mentally ordering new clothes if the fellow was lacking in other areas.
But he surprised her by lowering himself to a cushioned stool and pulling her onto his lap.
She let out a yelp of surprise. ”What are you doing?”
One arm curled around her waist while his other hand reached for the hem of her skirts. He tilted her head back and fastened his mouth to hers.
“Let go!” she cried, wrenching her lips free. ”What the deuce do you think you’re doing?”
His fingers began inching their way up the front of her bodice. “Engraving Ten, my lady. Haven’t you been dying to try it?”
With an outraged gasp, she twisted off his lap and whirled to slap him on the face.
As her hand connected with his cheek, the priceless screen crashed to the floor, the musicians stopped playing, and Gabriel arrived like an avenging angel. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she spat out, rubbing her palm where it hurt. “He, however, is a rutting lout!”
The duke nodded, then turned to Lord Featherstonehaugh, murder in his eyes. “Choose your second,” he grated through gritted teeth, his fingers working to untie the peace strings that prevented his sword from being drawn.
The entire court had gone quiet, frozen as though in a tableau. The Earl of Featherstonehaugh remained silent. All that could be heard was Gabriel’s harsh breathing and the scraping sound of his rapier as he pulled it from its scabbard.
“Outside,” he demanded. “Now.”
And then everyone seemed to be moving.
Stunned, Rose just stood there a moment as it slowly sank in that the duke had challenged the earl to a duel.
Over her.
Ignoring all etiquette, Gabriel hadn’t given him till morning. Instead he dragged the earl from the building and into Clock Court. The courtiers followed en masse. Rose snapped from her trance and hurried after them, fearing for the duke’s life.
She heard the clash of swords before she reached the courtyard, but the cheers and catcalls from the crowd of onlookers were even louder. The gentlemen’s rapiers flashed in the torchlight. Her heart pounding, she wedged herself into the circle, wincing at each ringing bash.
It wasn’t long, however, before her concern for Gabriel turned to terror on behalf of the poor earl.
The fellow obviously paid more attention to his wardrobe than his swordsmanship, because it rapidly became clear that the duke was but toying with him. A flick here, and a few of his precious buttons went missing from his coat. A swipe there, and half his lace cravat fluttered to the stones. Lord Featherstonehaugh waved his own sword so ineffectively that Rose reckoned even she could do better.
Raging anger was evident in Gabriel’s eyes, in his clenched jaw, in his carefully controlled movements. Panic clutched at Rose’s throat. The rutting lout had acted abominably, but she had no wish to witness his death, most especially if it happened in defense of her.
“Gabriel!” she shouted, taking a step forward and then another when he paid her no attention. “Don’t kill him! Gabriel, don’t—”
“Hush,” came a voice from the crowd. Warm arms encircled her from behind, pulling her back into the circle as a familiar scent of frankincense and myrrh enveloped her.
“Don’t distract him,” Kit said quietly in her ear. “Even an expert can falter if his attention is elsewhere. You don’t want to be responsible for the duke’s death.”
“I don’t want to be responsible for the earl’s murder, either!”
“Hush.” One of his hands came up and tucked an errant curl behind her ear. “This cannot be more than a tiff. It won’t come to that.”
“But what if it does?” she wailed, trying to struggle free.
His arms tightened. “Just watch. The duke is all but finished.”
And so he was. He’d run out of buttons to flick off the other man’s coat, and although not a drop of blood had been spilled, the brocade itself was in shreds. In addition to being half naked, the earl was thoroughly humiliated.
Disgust marring his fine features, Gabriel knocked the sword from Lord Featherstonehaugh’s hand with an easy twist of his wrist. Then, while the earl was busy gasping, he reached out and nicked him under his chin—a cut so tiny only a single bead of red leaked out.
“First blood,” he claimed as he shoved his rapier back into its scabbard. “You lose. Touch her again and your head will come off next time.”
It was over. Kit’s arms dropped from around Rose as babbling broke out among the assembled courtiers. She couldn’t tell whether the chatter signaled approval or disappointment. Maybe it was a bit of both.
Louise de Kéroualle turned to her, her eyes wide and sparkling. “Nothing this exciting has happened in weeks!”
Rose suspected the duchess was happy to see everyone’s attention focused on something other than her embarrassing black eye, which had made her the butt of much nasty teasing. But better everyone look to Louise for their entertainment. Now that the spectacle had ended, more than one gaze shifted Rose’s way. Ladies whispered behind their fans. She couldn’t fathom what they were saying, but she wanted no part of this.
She turned to Kit. “Take me away from here.”
“Lady Rose!” Courtiers dispersed as Gabriel strode toward her. “I’d like a word with you, if you will.”
Kit shrugged, retrieved a roll of linen off the ground, and moved a few yards away.
Rose faced the duke. “Yes?”
“In private.”
Still shaky, she let him take her arm and lead her from the courtyard, under Henry VIII’s clock tower, and into Base Court. Her high heels wobbled on
