Lord Will & Her Grace (20 page)

"What was this nonsense about, anyway?"
Sophie asked. "Lord Coddington's friend said it had something to do
with me." She glanced toward William to find his valet threading a
needle to address his master's cut above the brow.

William ignored her comment, calmly directing
a query to his valet instead. "Is it the eye? I can't see a blasted
thing."

"No, you can't see for all the blood. Don't
worry. You'll live to cock this infamous brow of yours again"—Mr.
Farquhar winked at Sophie—"and only too soon, I imagine. But if I
ever see you lose your concentration again, over a female no less,
I'm afraid I'll be forced to tender my resignation. I simply cannot
serve a gentleman half so idiotic."

"I suppose I should apologize for distracting
you," Sophie said stiffly.

"Oh, no,
chérie
. I would not have had
it any other way. Perhaps you should assume I sustained these
wounds to make you more amenable to my plight." He smiled then
grimaced when the effort caused him pain.

Farquhar rolled his eyes then tilted
William's face to one side. "Keep your eye open now." He poured
water over William's eye and face, displacing the blood. "Can't
have you blind in the next round."

Sophie touched his bruised eye and jaw. "Your
poor face… You have been busy," she said with a light tone, despite
her fear. Then, the valet's words registered. "Next round?" Sophie
turned toward Lord Coddington. That gentleman lay almost motionless
on the ground, surrounded by a small group. Odd that she felt so
little concern for a man she had said she might marry. In the
distance, Lord Coddington lifted his head off the ground to accept
a drink of water. "Why, he must be worse off than William, I am
sure. There'll be no next round."

Mr. Farquhar gestured toward a willow tree,
its long tendrils of leafy branches hung motionless in the still
air. A group of three men and their horses stood beside it,
examining something. The gentlemen looked up, as if sensing her
gaze, and began collecting their affairs.

"Oh, believe me, Miss Somerset, there will
be," said Mr. Farquhar. "For when it comes to dueling, our Lord
Will here has a natural inclination toward inducing these nasty
affairs wherever he goes."

"Farquhar," William said with an edge. He
took her hand gently in his own while his valet toweled his face
and began stitching the cut. "Sophie, my darling, you must go. It's
getting light, and there may be other witnesses. You cannot let
your name be sullied further by association."

He moved his index finger to her mouth to
quell her arguments. His expression was as serious as she had ever
seen it. He winced with each stitch to his brow. "Go. I shall come
to you very soon and then—well, we'll talk of the future." He
stilled her lips again. "I promise to come directly."

His gaze transferred to a small thick glass
Mr. Farquhar held, filled, quite obviously, with spirits. "For the
pain," the valet ordered dispassionately. "And to regain your
nerve." William rose with their help and tossed back the contents
of the glass. "Now go, Sophie."

Sophie shook her head slowly and Mr. Farquhar
made a sound of annoyance.

The group from the tree strode toward them.
Mr. Mornington, Lord Drummond and Jemmy joined them.

The largest, and eldest, of the strangers
addressed William. "You're not going to try and cry off, are you?"
the man asked gruffly.

Sophie had the strangest sensation he wanted
William to answer in the affirmative.

There was an awful pause.

"As a matter of fact, sir," Sophie
interjected, "I'll not let anyone fight in my honor. I refuse to
allow a senseless spectacle over a pointless cause."

The man looked at her brazenly. "Well, you're
a fancy piece of work, aren't you? Trying to claim my daughter's
honor as your own. Or did this rake tell you he was fighting for
your honor, my dear? He's as wild and unscrupulous as they
come."

"What?" Sophie's hand grasped her neck in
shock.

"I hope you haven't let him sample the goods.
But then, I suspect he has." The fat man leered at her bosom. "But
I shan't cast the first stone. This rutting buck seduced and ruined
my poor sweet daughter of only six and ten under my own roof not
more than two months ago. And he'll be marrying my Penelope if I
don't kill him today."

The blood drained from Sophie's head and
pooled in her fingertips.

"Lord Tolworth," William said, while choosing
a pistol from the carved wooden box Mr. Farquhar brought forth,
"I've rarely encountered a man so willing to sully his own
daughter's reputation. Are you planning to tell all of London your
version of recent events or are you reserving these tidbits for my
acquaintances only? By the by, I assume your affairs are in order,
sir, to hand down to this unlicked cub nephew of yours?" He
motioned to a level piece of ground nearby. "If so, let us get on
with it."

"Well!" Lord Tolworth sputtered in outrage.
The slightest bit of fear blemished his countenance. The stout
man's relations placed the second dueling pistol in his hands and
urged him to the starting ground.

"Sophie—" William turned to her. Despite his
bruised face, and stitched brow, he looked every bit the charming,
roguish scoundrel he ever was, if not more so.

Sophie raised her hand to interrupt him. "No.
Don't try to weasel your way out of this—this outrageous affair.
I'll just ask you this—did you or did you not seduce the
sixteen-year-old daughter of Lord Tolworth?"

William reached for her hand. Sophie snatched
it away from him. "Was this young girl in your bed or not,
sir?"

His intense gaze searched hers.

"Well?" She paused; her body felt eerily
light.

"Yes," he said, quietly.

"It would seem you are even more depraved
than I imagined."

"So it would seem," he said.

"I have now only to be even more ashamed of
my naiveté." Sophie stepped away and William grasped her wrist. She
looked down at his hand and he released her instantly.

"I shan't defend myself. I'd thought you knew
me better or you wouldn't ask these questions." He looked at her
with a cool expression.

"Know you better? Why, I think I know you
better than anyone, sir. More's the pity."

"All right, my dears, I hate to intrude on
this scintillating conversation but there is the slight matter of
paterfamilias Tolworth over there. And I do believe the man is
unhinged enough in his fear to shoot in this general direction if
you"—Farquhar nodded to William—"do not make haste over there to
kill him in the proper fashion."

"Right," William said, never taking his gaze
off Sophie.

"And you," Farquhar said, grasping Sophie's
arm. "If you have any grain of intelligence, you will return to
your home to allow us male barbarians to pursue our bloodthirsty
sport in peace. That is—if you know what is good for you, and
Romeo
here."

Sophie was still reeling from the revelation
of William's debauchery when Mr. Farquhar whistled to Lord
Drummond. "Escort Miss Somerset from here, for God's sake. I'll
take care of Coddington along with his man."

It was only then, in the eerie morning light,
that Sophie noticed Jack Farquhar was wearing the subdued clothes
of a proper gentleman.

William had the violent urge to retch for the
first time in his life.

"Steady," Jack said. "She's almost away."

William opened his eyes and peered over his
shoulder to watch that young blood, Lord Drummond, toss Sophie's
tall and slender form into the saddle.

"Did you remember to leave me something in
your will, dear? Your new paisley waistcoat perhaps?" Jack said,
tightening the bandage around Will's waist.

It was difficult to breathe, let alone form a
retort.

"I shall be wearing it to your funeral if you
don't pull yourself together, man."

William raised his one good eyebrow.

"That's more like it, duckling."

"Farquhar…"

"Ah, yes. Back to normal. Very good. And here
comes Mr. Mornington, looking—well, not quite the thing."

Mornington approached, one sleeve covered
with Coddington's blood. "I think the cur just might survive, if he
is lucky that is. But I doubt he'll be up to fighting anyone else
for a long time." His friend's face was as white as a virgin's gown
at Almack's.

William made a decision and nodded to
Farquhar. "You're my second this go round."

Mornington opened his mouth to protest,
thought the better of it and snapped it shut again.

"Mornington, will you start us?" Will asked
to help his friend regain his pride.

William tried his legs and found they worked
relatively well, considering. His head was an altogether different
story. A wave of dizziness and pounding pain pierced his skull. At
least his hands were steady. He had looked down to check. Tolworth
would be a lucky man, then.

"Don't embarrass me again, William," Jack
Farquhar said quietly as they walked.

"The insolence I endure knows no bounds,
mon vieux
."

"I love it when you chastise me, my
lord."

He turned to stand back to back with the
shorter man. William cocked his pistol, closed his eyes and raised
his weapon to shoulder height, all the time breathing calmly,
slowly, as deeply as his bandage would allow.

Mornington's voice rang out. "Gentlemen, you
shall take ten paces, turn and assume a position. I'll ask if
you're both ready and you shall respond. Only then shall I count
from one to three. At any time during the count you may fire.
Whatever the outcome, honor shall be deemed to have been
served."

William opened his eyes and recognized the
familiar calm, cool detachment he embodied each time he faced
possible death.

Tolworth's shoulders trembled. It served the
bugger right.

"Gentlemen, commence," Mornington said.

The count rang out and at the requisite
number each turned and their seconds moved aside, just out of
range.

William stood sideways, making the thinnest
possible target. He closed one eye and looked down the length of
his arm and pistol. Tolworth's girth made a fatal shot easy enough
for even a child.

"Ready?" shouted Mornington.

Each man answered in the affirmative.

"One…" said Mornington.

With his half-closed eye, William watched
Tolworth pull the trigger without a shot piercing the air. In
panic, Tolworth tried the trigger again quickly. In his fear, it
seemed the buffoon had forgotten to cock the pistol.

The portly man lowered his weapon, his eyes
filled with terror. William held his arm steady and refocused down
the length of the barrel. Tolworth looked as scared as an aristo
facing Madame Guillotine. Idiot.

William lowered his gun. "Perhaps you would
like to reconsider the choice of weapons, Tolworth? Or would you
like me to allow you to try again, this time, of course, you would
cock the pistol?"

The man creaked in outrage, abruptly cocked
his weapon and fired at William without taking time to aim.

The ball screamed past, missing Will by many
yards.

"For shame…" Mornington shouted.

"Dishonorable sod," Farquhar added.

William narrowed his eyes in disgust, and
suppressed the nearly irresistible urge to kill the man. His arm
flew out to his side to keep Farquhar from firing.

Slowly, William raised his arm and pistol to
eye level and delighted in watching Tolworth squirm. After nearly
ten seconds, he lifted his arm and discharged his shot into the
heavens.

Sophie settled herself onto the thin,
high-backed wooden chair and looked about her aunt's elegant
sitting room. An awkward silence hung in the air while the servants
departed the room after dismissal. For the first time Mrs. Crosby
was without her embroidery.