Perrin and his three remaining friends stood in a tight knot, as far from Gabriel as they could, all of them patently ignoring everyone else in the yard. Gabriel glanced at them, prompting George to do so as well.
‘Nervous as a hen with a fox outside the coop,’ she said with a smirk.
Gabriel gave a bark of laughter, and then chuckled anew as Perrin shied, his head snapping round, and then hastily turned back to his friends.
‘You’re a wicked, wicked woman, my dear.’
George smiled and gave him a deep, formal curtsy. She stood up and placed one hand lightly on his arm. ‘You will be careful?’
‘No such thing as careful in a duel, love. The only thing I got to choose was the distance.’
‘And the greater one you choose, the more to your advantage that would be.’ She clearly had a firm grasp on the inherent implications of someone of Gabriel’s known skills facing a man such as Perrin.
‘Ten paces.’ Gabriel shrugged, then twitched his coat so it lay more smoothly. ‘Gives him a chance of hitting me. A slight one anyway.’
‘And the number of shots?’
‘Three, or until a serious wound is sustained by either party. It’s all terribly standard. I guarantee he won’t fire more than once though.’
George made a face and tightened her grip on his arm. ‘I’m going to hold you to that.’
Before he could reply, Morpeth and Haversham reappeared, flanked by the surgeons. Gabriel stripped out of his coat, tossing the expensive garment to George. ‘Hold that for me, my lady.’ George clutched it to her, smiling back at him wickedly.
Everyone set off across the wet grass, making for the large open green behind the inn. As they took their places, Perrin glanced nervously around, and rubbed his palms down the front of his thigh before choosing a pistol from the box Morpeth held.
Gabriel smiled and flexed his hand. God how he’d been looking forward to this.
The earl wandered almost lazily across the field, his long legs eating up the ten paces Haversham had marked out. He offered Gabriel the remaining pistol, and retreated to one side where the rest of the small audience was waiting.
‘Gentlemen, at the count of three, you may fire when ready,’ Haversham announced loudly.
Morpeth counted off, and there was a thunderous report from Perrin’s gun. Still breathing and completely whole, Gabriel smiled and took careful aim. Perrin dropped to the grass, shrieking, both hands clasped to this thigh.
Gabriel glanced around, almost disinterestedly, looking to see if Perrin had managed to hit anything at all. He didn’t think so. The bullet had certainly come nowhere near Gabriel himself. While he waited for the surgeon to make a pronouncement as to Perrin’s fitness to continue, he savoured the smell of sulphur in the air, the sweet scent of victory.
Perrin’s somewhat soused surgeon was hustled to him by Haversham. After a few minutes, Lord Haversham approached Morpeth, then hastened back to his friend.
‘Mr Perrin is unable to continue,’ Morpeth announced in form. ‘Are you satisfied, Mr Angelstone?’
‘For the nonce.’ Without crossing to examine his handiwork, Gabriel turned and left the field. His friends fell into place behind him, and once they reached the private parlour they had reserved, everyone broke into congratulatory whoops.
‘It would be beyond the pale to have cheered in front of Perrin, but oh, how I wanted to,’ George said, her eyes positively glowing as she took seat at the long table.
‘You showed admirable restraint, witch,’ Somercote said with a grin, entering the room in Morpeth’s wake.
‘I’ve set Bartleby on them,’ Morpeth said as he piled his plate high with steak and eggs. ‘That sot Haversham engaged was next to useless.’
Gabriel looked after shrugging himself back into his coat. ‘Did you tell Bartleby I’d foot the bill?’
Morpeth nodded, his smile growing wider. ‘Loudly, and in front of Perrin.’
‘Well, that ought to stick in Perrin’s craw,’ Gabriel added, picking up his coffee cup and inhaling the pungent scent with a sigh.
‘I thought it was a nice touch,’ the earl admitted. ‘Dig the knife in a little deeper.’
‘Make him hunt you down to repay the debt,’ Julian cried with a laugh.
‘Or better yet,’ Gabriel said with a thoroughly evil smile, ‘simply refuse to accept the money. Being beholden to me for such a debt ought to chaff for years to come.’
A few minutes later a loud commotion could be heard from the tap room, followed by the sounds of a large group heading up the stairs. Apparently Perrin was going to live long enough to occupy one of The Pelican’s rooms.
A ball to the leg wasn’t likely to be life threatening, but one never knew. It could have hit an artery, or shattered the bone, or the wound could go septic. Right now he really didn’t give a damn. If he had to take Imogen and flee the country so be it.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Please let the rumours be true…a marriage between a man whose very existence is a scandal and a woman whose every action is an affront can only enliven all of our days.
Tête-à-Tête, 17 December 1789
As they mounted up and started back, George cut him out of the pack. ‘Gabe,’ she began, keeping her voice low.
He glanced over at her and stiffened, causing his horse to toss his head in protest. ‘I don’t like that tone, Georgie. Why is it that whenever you sound like that I get shivers down my spine?’
George made a face, grimacing, and wrinkling up one side of her nose. ‘Because you know me?’
He raised his brows. Why was George stating the obvious? She was up to something, and that rarely boded well for any of them.
‘Imogen left yesterday.’
‘And you were going to tell me this when?’ The light feeling fled, leaking out his toes, draining away. Beetle shook his head again and Gabriel forced
