by Betty Bolte
"It doesn't matter, John." She lifted her shoulders in an apology. "All this discussion has distracted me. I nearly forgot to tell you about my conversation with Colonel Balfour. Seems he insists we take my cousin home. You're to release her forthwith as her arrest occurred under false charges."
"No, it's not that simple," John said, a frown forming. "She cannot walk out on me. I know she still cares for me." He looked at Frank. "She even kissed me. Quite thoroughly, too."
Frank tried but could not squelch the anger clawing inside of him. "You, sir, have gone too far. You dare besmirch my lady's reputation in such a manner?"
"She appeared quite practiced at the art." Bradley stepped closer, puffing up his chest as he closed the space. "I cannot help that she is so easily persuaded to share her favors."
Frank clenched his fist until his nails dug into his palms. He'd had a surfeit of this bastard's innuendo and lies. "I'm calling you out, sir. Tomorrow at dawn be at the dueling alley and we'll settle this."
"You're challenging me to a duel?" Bradley's mouth slowly closed into a hard line.
"Let's settle this." Frank's blood boiled at the brute's outrageous claims. Moreover, if he had actually kissed Emily, had touched her in any way, then the man would die for his presumption. "If you're man enough, it's to the death."
"You best not miss." Bradley glared at him. "She was mine before; she will be again."
Booted footsteps neared before Frank could respond to the utterly insane claim. Colonel Balfour, tall and trim in his red and black uniform, acknowledged the two men. His bold smile finally settled on Amy as he briefly took her hands in his. "Miss Abernathy, a pleasure to speak with you earlier today. Major Bradley, have you released Miss Sullivan as I ordered?"
Bradley's mouth tightened, but he kept his features schooled to hide his annoyance. He darted a look at Frank, and Frank forced his fists to relax. Tomorrow would be soon enough to deal with the major. Besides, if the colonel discovered their intent beforehand, they'd both end up in chains.
"It's my fault, sir, that I delayed in delivering your orders to the major." Amy dipped a quick curtsy.
"I see. Well, Major, you know now. Go get the lady and send her on her way."
"But, Colonel, she was caught in the act of—" Bradley's face turned crimson as he watched the three people staring at him.
"Nonsense. I'll vouch for her myself if necessary. Miss Abernathy provided very compelling evidence. Go retrieve her and send her home. That's an order. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a dinner engagement with a lovely redhead." With a wink and a tip of his hat, the colonel strode away.
Bradley glared at Amy. "Wait here." Without another word, he marched to the stairs leading down to the street.
"I'm glad that's over." Amy smoothed her gloves into place.
"Nicely handled," Frank said with a laugh. "Now to take our girl home."
After fifteen minutes had passed, leaving them standing amid the hubbub of the merchants, Amy frowned. "What is taking that man so long to fetch Emily?"
"Good question." Frank scanned the Exchange, noting the number of traders dwindling as the afternoon approached. "He best return soon or I shall retrieve her myself."
Another fifteen minutes passed before the swish of skirts and the patter of shoes sounded on the stone floor. Amy whirled around and Frank looked toward the street entrance. Emily strode toward them, Bradley grimly at her side.
"Emily," Frank cried, opening his arms in invitation. Though her dress sported brown smudges and her hair resembled a bird's nest hanging about her shoulders, she seemed unharmed. Relief washed over him. "I'm so happy you're free."
"Really, Frank?" Emily pushed past him to hug Amy fiercely. "Can we get out of here, now? Please?"
"Of course." Amy slowly released Emily before leading the way toward the entrance awash in afternoon sunlight. "We have a dinner to plan and prepare for, after all."
Emily stopped before stepping through the archway and stared at her. "What is it with this family? Always thinking about food in times of crisis?"
Amy laughed and wrapped an arm around Emily's waist, effectively blocking Frank from doing the same thing, as he had planned to do.
Bradley glared at the threesome from where he stood by the desk.
Frank cast a last look at the bastard's frowning countenance. "Pistols at dawn," Frank spat. "Don't be late."
* * *
Emily paused outside the Old Exchange, drew in a slow breath to quell her racing heart after the quick march back through the streets. Amy stood to one side, watching her. Such questioning looks Amy and Frank wore. They did not understand how she felt right now, but they were about to learn. She'd had plenty of time to think about all her grievances, and she wanted answers. Especially from her father.
"I could throttle him." Emily marched down the street toward home. She heard Amy and Frank rush to keep up with her. "If he touched me one more time, I'd have been sick all over his boots."
"I'm here, sweetheart," Frank said beside her. "I won't let him hurt you ever again."
She stopped and glared at him. She might love him, but his lack of action on her behalf must be addressed. "You pledged to protect me, remember? You stood in the middle of the road and watched them haul me away without a hint of protest. I can't trust that you'll protect me or anyone else." With a huff, she marched down the street, trying to put as much distance as possible between her and John. Just in case he changed his mind and came after her.
"Emily, wait for me," Amy called, her voice strident.
Emily kept walking. Her cousin's running footsteps caught up to her, and soon Amy matched her pace, panting after the exertion. So be it. First, Emily needed to confront her father about this whole episode.
Two long days and nights she had spent in that barren room, dreading the sound of footsteps for fear of John returning to berate her again. Or worse. He stole not only her favorite hair combs but her sense of security, and her dignity as well. Was he daft to think she could love him? And did this really stem from her father's business affairs? Her father, the man with the highest ethical standards in town, apparently not only engaged in privateering but lied to her about it. It wasn't the act, but the lie that boiled her blood and made her heart ache. How could she trust him? Anger and betrayal drove her steps toward home.
"Wait until I talk to my father," she muttered. "I want the truth of this matter once and for all. He should have told me." She glanced over her shoulder at Frank trailing behind, a scowl marring his features, apparently unsure whether she welcomed his company. "Are you coming, oh protector?"
Amy chuckled, then sobered when Emily cast a glare in her direction. "He did try to see you. He spent every minute of the last two days trying to secure your release. He's done nothing else the entire time. Be nice."
"I'm not in the mood for nice." Emily lengthened her stride still more. If she thought she could without fear of reprisal, she'd run home. But propriety restricted her response to a fast walk.
Frank hastened his steps and soon strode on her opposite side. "Are you all right?"
"I will be when I speak to my father."
"But your father is not home right now," Frank said hesitantly.
She glared at him, then focused on the dusty street in front of her. "He better be if he knows what's good for him."
Amy chuckled. "You're upset. That's to be understood. But you cannot make him appear out of thin air."
"No, I suppose I can't." She sighed deeply and slowed her steps. She glanced at Frank. "You tried to see me?"
"Every minute for two days, but they wouldn't allow it. Even lied and said you weren't in the dungeon. I cannot fathom why they'd conceal your presence." He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and covered her fingers with his. "What did they... what did he do to you? Did he harm you?"
Tension radiated from him as he asked his question. How much should she reveal of the search? The fingers digging into her sides, and the smell of John's breath so
close she nearly gagged. The nagging proposals and angry reaction when she said no. Gauging Frank's concern, she divined what he really asked.
"No, he did not hurt me." She squeezed his arm, relishing the rock-hard support it provided. The feel of his strength beneath her hand recalled her wanton dream, and heat built on her neck and spread to her cheeks. She'd begged him to make love to her then without fear. Would she feel the same way in reality? "But it's true that I wasn't in the dungeon."
"What do you mean?" Frank searched her face, a frown furrowed between his brows.
"John held me prisoner in your house, Frank." His eyes widened in disbelief. "Locked in an upstairs bedroom for two days. He didn't hurt me, just kept badgering me to marry him. I said no, of course."
"Thank God for that, love." He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her, igniting sparks inside her veins. He lifted his head and whispered, "If he hurt you, I'd have to definitely kill him tomorrow morning. Otherwise I'd just scare the whoreson."
She didn't have chance to respond before his lips pressed hers. Emily's senses rioted from the electric effect of Frank's kiss combined with the startling words concerning John.
"Frank, honestly," Amy said. "She has her reputation to consider, remember? That's enough."
Frank lifted his head and grinned at Emily. Still reeling, Emily studied Frank's face. "Kill him?"
"Dawn tomorrow." Frank shrugged, eyes serious. "Just him and me."
"A duel?" Emily trembled at the thought. Duels left men injured or maimed, and sometimes dead. If Frank approached the event with the intent to kill, how likely was he to die instead?
"Do not fret, love." Frank kissed her on her forehead. "I'll be home for breakfast."
"I could not believe my ears, either." Amy shook her head. "Here I thought of Frank as intelligent, too."
"Frank, you can't be serious." Emily pleaded with her eyes for him to back down from the challenge.
"You're my girl, Emily. I'll not have him damaging your reputation." Frank peered into her eyes. He kissed her lips, lightly this time. "I feared you'd hate me for not being there for you. It took Amy's help, along with her connections, to bring you home."
Thank God. Emily couldn't have stood another day of John's harangue. Frank's love shone in his eyes, and she understood he had done what he needed to free her. She gloried in being his lady now even as a thrill of fear for his safety on the morrow simmered in her veins. Oddly enough the idea slid into place as easily as her shuttle on the loom. She smiled at him and then Amy. "Thank you, Cousin. Your inventions saved the day yet again."
"Now may we go home?" Amy asked. "After all, there's so much to do and so little time."
Emily hooked arms with her saviors, and they strode purposefully down the street. Few others happened to be about as they made their way home. Clouds built in the sky, threatening rain, the scent of it thick in the air.
Emily tugged on Frank's arm to attract his attention. "Tell me, how does one prepare for a duel? What should I do?"
"My dear, women have no place at a duel," Frank said seriously. "Your father would strenuously object."
"No doubt." Amy chuckled. She nodded to a passing member of the sewing circle who eyed her curiously. "Good thing he's not home."
Oh dear, Emily had nearly forgotten about the sewing she must do before Amy's next venture through the town gates. So much to be done to have been held against her will. Speaking of clothes...
"I have a more important question." Emily grinned at her companions. "What does one wear?"
Frank stopped walking and stared at Emily. "You need not worry your little head about that, since you'll definitely not be going."
* * *
Early the next morning fog crept along the ground, a low layer swirling with each swish of Emily's skirts as she paced at the end of St. Michael's Alley. What was she doing, acting as the lookout for this unlawful and deadly game? Last night, it seemed such a good idea, to be at her man's side. The alley, running along the edge of the churchyard, held the honor of being the preferred site for duels. Frank had told her about the alley the night before as he cleaned his dueling pistols, a matched Wogdon and Barton flintlock set he had imported recently through his French connections. The authorities did not patrol the alley often, making it easy for the challenger to seek and receive satisfaction for ill-timed insults. In this case, the damage to her reputation by what Frank considered the turncoat's lies.
Her hands trembled, but she could not stop the agitation fueling their movement. How could she reveal the truth to Frank of her previous clandestine rendezvous with the man? She wished for Amy's comforting presence, but how could she have explained to Aunt Lucille why she needed Amy at such an early hour. No, best that Aunt Lucille did not suspect the horror about to unfold before Emily's eyes. Emily's bravado and sense of adventure faded into anxiety at the thought of the turncoat killing the man she privately admitted to loving.
How could she share that John had kissed her, and more? And he'd tried to do so again, though she had stopped him by biting him. If she did not handle that private revelation correctly, it might not destroy her reputation, but it surely could destroy any chance of a future with Frank. No, better to keep silent about both incidents.
Low voices emanating from the alley drew her attention. She paused in her pacing and hurried to the side of the street. Frank insisted she keep out of range of the pistols, notorious for their lack of precision. He also demanded she stay far enough away to not be considered a witness if questioned later. She took up her position near a small tree and grabbed the tree trunk, feeling the rough bark dig into her palms.
Sawyer, acting as Frank's second in the duel, stood near Frank, inspecting the lethal weapon in his hand. John's second, a young lieutenant she'd never seen before, repeatedly rubbed his chin. Dirk Reynolds's voice relaying the ground rules and instructions drifted to her ears. With his reputation for fairness, he embodied the perfect impartial judge of the duel's satisfactory outcome.
"You'll each take twenty-five paces, then turn," Dirk said quietly, though his voice carried easily across the distance. "This duel will use the traditional English rules. As arranged, John fires first, then Frank, if he can. Understood?"
The two men agreed and raised their pistols to point skyward.
Five men and Emily constituted the only souls about at this time of morning. The cool fog dissuaded the birds from rising to sing and muted the sounds of the waves in the harbor. Silence thundered in her ears. Her clammy palms ached against the bark as she waited. Frank and John stood back to back, pistols ready. From this distance in the dim light she could not tell them apart. At one time John had meant something to her, but now Frank enjoyed a special place in her heart. Both men possessed the marksmanship skills to hit their intended target.
Such a short distance.
Neither likely to miss.
"One, two, three..." Dirk solemnly counted out the paces, his voice a muffled echo.
Sweat beaded in Emily's hair despite the damp chill of the morning. How could this be happening?
"Turn and fire!" Dirk called.
"Frank!" Emily shouted his name, then covered her mouth with a hand.
Two nearly simultaneous explosions shattered the morning stillness and startled the birds from the bushes. Two puffs of white smoke floated over the scene, obscuring Emily's view of the men. Was either injured? Or dead? Ice formed in the pit of her stomach. She strained to see through the smoke and fog. She finally gave in to the urgent desire to know who had survived and raced into the alley.
A cat's paw of morning breeze flowed around her, dissipating the smoke. The fog stewed about the prone figures of the duelists. As she drew nearer, she discerned the loyalist's uniform, the man inside lying unnaturally still. Her breath froze in her chest, but she looked away, sought out the other figure.
"Frank!" Emily gathered her skirts and hurried to where her man lay.
He had landed on his back, arms and legs splayed, eyes
closed. The smoking pistol had fallen within easy reach of his open hand. Emily knelt beside him, oblivious to the press of stones through her skirts. No! He cannot be dead. I love him!
"Frank?" Placing a hand on his shoulder, she brushed back the hair hanging over one eye. Shaking, she looked at his chest, noted the shallow rise and fall. Something deep within her core uncoiled. She loved this man. She couldn't weather the thought of him dying. She gently enclosed one of his hands with her own. "Frank? Can you hear me?"
A low groan escaped his lips. His eyes opened and focused on her. He stared at her for a moment before sighing, rolling his head slowly side to side. "Emily, I thought I told you to stay away."
She shook her head even as a smile crept onto her lips. He must be okay after all, the darling idiot. "Is that all you can think about?"
Sawyer joined them, holding the other pistol in hand.
Frank raised an eyebrow at him. "Bradley?"
Sawyer shook his head. "You're a good shot."
"Damnation." Frank closed his eyes and squeezed Emily's hand.
"Are you hurt?" Emily skimmed quickly over his prone form.
"No, I—" he said, trying to rise and grunting in pain. He managed to sit up, staring unbelievingly at the red fluid on his hand. He loosened his shirt collar to expose the thin red line where the bullet had grazed him, leaving an oozing trail of blood. "Maybe I am at that."
"We need to stop the bleeding." Emily tugged the embroidered kerchief from her bodice, pressed it against the wound and hoped he wouldn't notice her hand shaking. Seeing the man she loved with his life essence flowing from him sent her emotions reeling. Frantic, she pressed harder, intent on staunching the escaping blood.
Inhaling sharply, jaw clenched, Frank stayed mute, watching her actions.
"Sorry." Emily eased up on the pressure but kept a firm hand in place.
Dirk approached them, hands on hips. "Why didn't you wait to fire?"
Frank looked at Dirk and shrugged. "I did. I waited until I saw the smoke from his gun. I wanted to take my shot in case he aimed better than I reckoned."
"I see." Dirk frowned. "I must summon the authorities to have his body taken care of. Are you sure you're okay?"