Tolley was helping a battered Nath to his feet. Skeffington was holding Simon’s arms behind his back. Nath looked up at Simon and pulled a face. His mouth was full of blood, and the skin under one eye was already bruising. “You hit a superior officer, Major. I should have you brought up on charges.”
“Superior in rank only,” Simon shot back.
“Quite an accomplishment, Simon,” he said, spitting blood on the ground. “Not many men can ruin the same woman twice. You must be quite proud.”
“It was nothing more than a kiss! I wanted to marry her,” Simon retorted.
“I think we can all assume you got more than a kiss the second time around,” Nath said lightly. “Congratulate my friend, boys,” Nath mocked. “Ashford here is getting married. To Jezebel herself.”
“We’re already married,” Simon snapped. “We have been for a fortnight. And I assure you, Nath, your sister was an innocent on our wedding night.”
Nath’s face twisted at that. “Your wife is a whore.”
Furious, Simon pulled an arm free from Skeffington’s biting grip and swiped a glancing blow across his chin. Skeff cursed and kicked him in the shins. Simon ignored the pain and flew at Nath again, half-pushing and half-hitting Tolley out of the way.
He was doing a fair job pummeling Nath, who was doing a fair job pummeling him back. They each landed several more blows before Tolley and Skeffington once again broke them apart. Panting heavily, they glared at each other.
“I demand satisfaction,” Nath said as Simon swiped a streak of blood from his cheek. “Choose your weapon.”
“If you want a duel, you choose,” Simon said.
“Pistols,” Nath said.
“Dawn?” Simon asked.
Nath nodded. “The grassland west of your field office.”
“Fine,” Simon said, pulling his arms free. He turned to Skeffington, who was shaking his head in disgust at the blood spatters on his shirtsleeves. “Skeff, might I bother you to be my second?”
“Of course,” Skeffington agreed stiffly, though by the grim look on his face Simon knew the captain wished to be anywhere else come sunrise.
“Tolley, you’ll be mine,” Nath ordered.
Tolley nodded. “Yes sir.”
“Until daybreak, gentlemen,” Simon said, inclining his head a fraction. Then he spun on his heel and stalked out of Nath’s office and blindly down the hall. He was at the exit, but a voice at his shoulder made him stop and whip around.
Skeffington and Tolley were right behind him.
“Is it true?” Tolley repeated, wide eyed. “About Miss Phillips?”
“Which part?” Simon countered blackly.
“Any of it?” Tolley dared, the shake in his voice audible.
“All of it. She did nothing improper.” Simon stated firmly.
“Damn,” said Skeffington. “A small indiscretion followed by six years of exile. That’s damned unlucky for Miss Phillips.” He met Simon’s eye. “For you too, I suppose.”
Simon nodded. “Yes it is.”
Skeffington shook his head in disgust. “We are a small-minded lot, aren’t we?” At Simon’s silent consent, he nodded. “Ashford, there’s a good chance the lieutenant colonel won’t ask for first blood. He’s angry enough to actually kill you. If you and Miss Phillips leave for Calcutta this evening, I could—”
Skeffington cleared his throat. “Well, if you weren’t here your second could take your place. Phillips isn’t likely to shoot his second-best engineer, is he?”
“I wouldn’t count on that,” Simon said, patting Skeffington on the shoulder. “I appreciate the offer, but this is between Nath and me.”
“You’re too honorable for your own good,” Skeffington grumbled. “It makes me dislike you less.”
Simon smirked. “I feel the same about you, Skeff.”
He left the government office and strode across the cantonment, trying to decide what to do about his future brother-in-law.
Provided he had a future.
Chapter Fifteen
The night passed too quickly, at least in Simon’s mind. He hadn’t slept at all; rather he spent every precious moment devoted to Georgiana. If she wondered at his near-desperate enthusiasm, she didn’t acknowledge it. When at last she’d succumbed to exhaustion and fell into a deep sleep, Simon held her tightly, just watching her and cherishing the time he’d been given.
Finally, in the predawn hour, he slipped from his bed to wash and dress slowly, deliberately, savoring the process. He looked at his beloved princess for a long time, just enjoying the sight of her. Then he pressed a light, lingering kiss on Georgiana’s forehead, praying he wouldn’t wake her.
He managed to sneak out of the cantonment without rousting anyone and marched resolutely to the outskirts of the British encampment. Skeffington was already awaiting him along with the cantonment’s surgeon, Dr. Whiting. Simon nodded grimly at the other men. Without a word they trudged along the muddy road that led to the engineering field office. Simon’s heart pounded in his chest, though he knew it had nothing to do with the mile-long hike they were taking.
They arrived at the spot to find Nath and Tolley already there, along with Lieutenant Duff, who would act as witness and arbiter. Given that the sky was still dark, they agreed to wait another quarter hour. Simon studied Nath for a long moment, feeling a deep sorrow for the loss of his closest friend. Nath had been right about one thing—they’d endured much together. It was tragic knowing so many years of loyalty could end so abruptly.
Duff and Skeffington and the good doctor were talking in hushed tones, leaving Simon to his reverie, when a noise broke through the stillness. A small figure tore out of the darkness, and Simon groaned as it raced toward him.
“Baljit,” he scolded. “What are you doing here? Go home.”
Baljit clung to him and shook his head stubbornly. “No, Mister Simon. Miss Georgiana and I are not leaving without you.”
Simon cursed and looked passed the boy to search the gray horizon. “Please tell me Miss Georgiana didn’t follow you.”
Sure enough she was hurrying toward them with a mulish set to her jaw. “Georgie, love, you can’t—” he said calmly and stepped out to meet her.
“Stop talking, Simon,” she muttered angrily. She pushed past him and strode over to where Nathaniel and Tolley stood.
“Nathaniel!” she demanded. “What are you doing?”
Nath shrugged cavalierly, though his face was set in angry lines. “I’m defending the family honor, sister dear.”
“Oh please,” she retorted. “You’re angry with me, not with Simon.”
“On the contrary,” Nath said coldly. “I’m furious with Ashford. I only wish I’d had this opportunity six years ago.”
“This is unnecessary, Nath. You’ve won. I’m leaving Cuttack today, this very moment. You’ll never have to see me again. Just call off this insanity,” she pleaded.
“What of your husband?” Nath mocked.
“I’m leaving him as well,” she stated resolutely.
“Tempest Georgiana strikes again.” Nath shot Simon a pointed look. Turning back to his sister he said, “I don’t mean to judge, but that seems a bit fickle.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes to make certain I don’t lose my husband or my brother,” she returned, a hint of desperation coloring her otherwise steely tone.
Nath grimaced. “How touching. But your husband has insulted me. I will have satisfaction.”
“He’s your friend, Nath,” she said, her voice rasping.
“Not anymore,” Nath said softly. He leaned in close to her and hissed, “If he dies today, his blood is on your hands too, Gi. You should’ve married him the first time he asked.” There was a glimmer of hurt in his eyes. “You should have told me the truth.�
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Georgiana blanched. “I didn’t want to ruin your friendship.”
Nathaniel’s jaw tightened. “And look how marvelously that’s turned out for us.”
Without another word Nathaniel motioned to Tolley and stalked off down the field. Tolley looked at the group apologetically before trotting off to catch up to his superior officer. Georgiana stood in place, watching him go. She took a huge, shaky breath before turning away from her brother and slowly walking back to Simon, looking defeated.
The weariness and sadness in her eyes made Simon’s chest hurt.
“I don’t suppose I can stop you either,” she said roughly.
At his silence, she swallowed hard. “Come with me,” Georgiana pleaded. “We can go to Calcutta. Let the Nathaniels of the world have their petty thoughts. We can hunt for the Black Pagoda or wrestle crocodiles or settle in with a native tribe and live in a mud hut. We can do whatever you like. Just come away with me.”
“I can’t, Princess,” he shook his head. “He called you a whore,” he said by way of explanation.
Georgiana waved it off. “He’s not the first. God knows he won’t be the last.”
“But not in my presence,” he said, lifting her chin with his finger. “Not while I’m alive. This will be my final word on the matter.”
“So you’ll shoot your closest friend to prove—”
Georgiana stopped and studied his face. Simon had the sense that those violet eyes were reading his very soul. He didn’t look away, though it unnerved him. Finally her calm demeanor broke, and she bit her lip to stop it from trembling.
“You’re not going to shoot him. You’re planning to delope,” she whispered, the pain in her voice palpable.
Baljit, who was hanging at Simon’s elbow and listening intently to the exchange, asked, “What is ‘delope’?”
It was Skeffington who answered. “Ashford is going to shoot his shot into the ground, rather than shooting at the lieutenant colonel.”
At Baljit’s confused look, Skeff explained, “It’s to show an opponent that the duel is beneath them.” He looked at Simon directly. “Ashford, as admirable as your intentions are, Phillips will shoot you in cold blood. He’s too angry and too proud to allow you to dishonor him.”
Simon glared at Skeff. “What Nathaniel decides to do after my shot is his business. If he chooses to shoot an unarmed man, a friend, then he’ll have to live with the consequences.”
“You’re just going to stand there and let him shoot you, you big, stupid man?” Georgiana cried.
“I’m going to show Nathaniel and his kind that no one speaks ill of my wife,” he said simply. “Not even her own brother.”
Baljit’s eyes were round. “But Mr. Simon—” he said, utterly confused.
“Baljit,” Simon interrupted firmly, “this is no place for a woman and a boy. Take Miss Georgiana and go back to the cantonment. Now.”
Georgiana opened her mouth to argue, but Simon raised a hand to cut her off.
“Promise me that, whatever happens, you’ll care for Baljit,” he said.
“Of course,” she sniffed. “He’ll always have a home with me. “With us.” She choked on the last word.
Simon nodded, satisfied. “Pack your bags for Calcutta. I want you ready to leave within the hour,” he told her sternly.
Georgiana’s veneer broke and the pain on her face rocked Simon to his core. She took a fractured breath and threw herself into his arms. “I love you, Simon Ashford,” she sobbed against his chest. “I always have.”
“I love you too, Princess,” he murmured, pulling her away from him. “But I need you to go now.”
She bit her lip, but took Baljit’s hand and towed him behind her. He allowed her to lead him, but he kept looking back at Simon, incredulity in his large, bright eyes.
No one said anything for several minutes. Finally Duff broke the silence. “It’s time, gentlemen. Has either party changed its mind?”
“No,” Nath said.
Simon shook his head. “No.”
Duff nodded and held out the pistols. “Ten paces each. Major, as the challenged party, you get the first shot. Lieutenant Colonel, as the injured party, you shoot second. If no one gets a hit, you’ll each take three paces towards each other and fire again. First blood ends it.”
“No,” said Nath.
Duff looked at him in revulsion, but didn’t protest. “To the death then,” he said gravely.
Simon grabbed a pistol and watched Nathaniel do the same. The two men looked at each other while the others moved to the fringes. The anger in Nath’s eyes hadn’t cooled, and Simon knew this was the last chance they had to make amends.
“Do you really think shooting me will make you feel better?” he grumbled to Nath.
Nath shrugged. “We’ll find out soon enough.”
“I love Georgiana,” Simon shook his head. “No matter what happens, I won’t regret my actions here today. I only hope you can say the same.”
Without awaiting a response, Simon turned his back on his closest friend. He nodded to Duff to begin the count.
Duff called out, “Gentlemen, begin your paces. One...two...three...”
With each count Simon marched closer to his fate. His heart felt ready to burst from his chest, and his head bubbled over with scattered thoughts. Flashes of memory bombarded him. Scenes from his childhood, memories of the war, his time in India...they seemed to race through his mind all at once. So many of those memories—both the good and the bad—involved Nathaniel Phillips.
“Six...seven...” he heard Duff count.
Simon swallowed hard, trying to marshal his thoughts. The reality that he was about to point a pistol at his boon companion hit him like a blow. In that instant, Simon understood that even if both men survived this insanity, they’d never again look at one another in the same way. Georgiana would always be between them.
Georgiana.
A sudden wave of anger crashed over Simon. Nathaniel was taking away everything that mattered to him with this ridiculous duel. Nath had created this situation, Simon reminded himself, starting with the moment he’d blustered into that room six years ago to denounce his sister.
Calling her a whore was merely the final straw.
I should shoot the bastard, Simon told himself bitterly. He could spend every day with Georgiana without ever having to see Nath’s disapproving glare. They deserved some small happiness, he rationalized, after being separated for six years.
At last Duff called out, “Ten. Gentlemen, you may turn and fire.”
Simon stopped. His thoughts were suddenly crystal clear, though his pulse skittered. He turned to face Nath and drew in a deep breath. His hand didn’t shake as he took his time to raise the pistol. He slowly leveled it at his friend’s heart and exhaled. Nathaniel, to his credit, did not flinch.
Every inch of Simon wanted to kill the man who’d hurt Georgiana. Simon cocked his pistol and stared Nathaniel Phillips down. And yet...
“I’d never forgive myself,” he finally muttered in disgust.
A moment later he dropped his arm and fired, discharging the bullet into the ground. He followed it up by tossing the pistol into the dewy grass.
“I missed,” he called to Nathaniel.
Nath glared at him. “Pick up your weapon, Ashford.”
“No,” Simon spread his arms wide. “You’ll have to shoot an unarmed man.”
“Pick it up,” Nath repeated. He raised his gun and pointed it at Simon’s chest, though he didn’t fire. “I will shoot you, with or without that pistol in your hand,” he threatened.
“Do as you must,” Simon said coolly. “But I won’t shoot a friend.”
Nathaniel looked ready to rip him to shreds. “I won’t allow you to dishonor me!” he called angrily.
“You dishonor yourself,” Simon bit back. “It’s just easier to lay the blame at my feet.”
Nath opened his mouth to shout but something behind Simon caught his attention. Simon turned to see Skeffington yelling and running. What he saw next made his heart clutch. A figure was charging toward Nathaniel at full speed, in spite of Skeff and Tolley’s best efforts.
Nathaniel’s attention was focused on the fracas, too, though his pistol never wavered from Simon’s chest. Astonishment was clearly scrawled on his face.
“Baljit, stop!” Simon cried.
Time stopped, seconds became hours, as he tried to move forward. His feet seemed to be rooted in the ground, and he hadn’t taken more than a step or two before the boy plowed into Nathaniel with all his might.
Simon watched in horror as they fell to the ground in a tangled mass. The sickening sound of a gunshot exploded through the quiet morning, and Simon felt something whiz past his shoulder. Across the field, he saw Baljit stiffen on top of Nathaniel.
“No!” Simon shouted, running toward them.
Time abruptly sped up, knocking the breath from his lungs. Nathaniel was cradling Baljit, blood soaking his uniform. Baljit’s face was ashen against the red of Nath’s sleeve. Simon had seen enough head wounds to know that the boy wasn’t dead, not yet, but that the next moments were critical.
Simon barely bothered with the plackets of his coat as he dropped to his knees. Ripping it from his shoulders, he wadded up the fabric and pressed it against Baljit’s temple, where the bullet had ripped an ugly path. The boy’s thick black hair was matted and sticky, and Simon felt panic swell in his chest.
“I didn’t mean to shoot,” Nath whispered hollowly. “The gun just went off.” He looked up at Simon. “I didn’t mean to shoot him.”
Simon couldn’t answer...couldn’t speak. He just stared at Baljit, blinded by unshed tears. It felt like a bloody eternity before Dr. Whiting joined them. Baljit groaned lightly as the doctor carefully removed the cloth to assess the injury. Simon—who’d seen the horrors of war—felt squeamish at the amount of blood that had already soaked into the fabric.
“His temporal bone has been grazed,” Whiting said as he returned the fabric to the wound. The doctor directed Simon to press it tightly against the Baljit’s temple as he calmly rummaged through his kit.
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