Pistols at Dawn

by Andrea Pickens

  After a tiny pause, her voice once again hardened to a sharp edge. "What is it you want? Why are you here? I cannot imagine why you would think that anyone in this family would care to set eyes on either of you scoundrels."

  It was not as if he expected a cordial greeting. But neither had he anticipated such a scathing assault on his character. The vengeful Valkyrie was not even allowing him the chance to explain himself. Angry with his nephew for putting him in such a damnably awkward position—and with the lady for being so rigidly righteous, Marcus felt his own temper growing dangerously frayed.

  Somehow he managed to keep his voice even. "I made a promise to look into the matter, and as I told you, my word—however worthless you consider it—is binding. It appears you were correct in thinking your sister's assailant was a member of my household." He took Lucien by the arm and forced him forward. "My nephew is here to—"

  The young lady, on the other hand, made no effort to disguise her fury. Yet again, a violent outburst interrupted his explanation. "You presume to bring that mongrel, that beast, anywhere near my sister?" She pointed at Lucien, who flinched as though he had been skewered with steel. "After what he has done!"

  "I-I..." Lucien tried to speak but all that came out was a croak.

  "He is extremely sorry for what happened," intervened the earl. "Apparently he had consumed a great deal of spirits and was lost to all sense of reason." The young lady was making it extremely difficult to maintain a measured tone.

  Bloody hell, did she think he was any more pleased with the situation than she was?

  "That, of course, is no excuse for his actions," he went on. "But he is prepared to do the honorable thing and make amends for his conduct. I have procured a special license. Your sister may be properly wed before nightfall."

  The young lady stared with withering scorn at the document, then slowly raised her eyes to meet his. "Are you mad? Do you really think my sister would consider for an instant legshackling herself to such a filthy miscreant as your nephew?"

  She turned back to Lucien, a sneer thinning her mouth as she eyed his bruises. "Honorable, you say? Oh, yes, I can see just how eager he was to do the honorable thing." Her hands clenched. "Perhaps you, too, are completely jug bitten. I can't think of how else to explain why you might imagine such an offer would be of any interest to us."

  "You are overset at this moment," began Marcus.

  "Overset?" she repeated with marked sarcasm. "My sister has just been assaulted! Overset doesn't begin to describe what I am feeling at this moment."

  Gritting his teeth, Marcus managed to ignore the repeated insults, though the effort was costing him dearly. "I would counsel you to think long and hard before rejecting the proposal. My nephew is from an excellent family, and as of now, he stands heir to an earldom. Not only that, he shall come into a tidy inheritance of his own on reaching his majority. A great many Mamas of the ton would consider him an excellent catch." He darted a pointed look at the modest furnishings. "All in all, I don't imagine that a country rector's daughter could hope to look any higher."

  "Higher?" scoffed the young lady. "As far as I can see, we would have to dig in the deepest, foulest muck to find a creature as loathsome your slimy relative." She gave a protective squeeze to her sister's shoulder, who had finally summoned enough courage to raise her gaze from the floor.

  Hell and damnation. Muttering an oath under his breath, Marcus could not refrain from taking the offensive. "Have you given any thought to the possible consequences?" he said harshly. "Your sister may find herself with..."

  The girl flinched.

  He stopped abruptly, angry with himself for allowing his antagonist to goad him into such bluntness. Despite what she seemed to think, the last thing he wished to do was add to her sister's suffering.

  "Forgive me. I suggest that we continue this discussion in private, Miss..."

  "Kirtland." The young lady finally consented to confirm her identity. "Elizabeth Kirtland."

  "I fear there is no way to avoid plain speaking. And such things will no doubt prove too upsetting for your sister's ears."

  Eliza hesitated, then gave a curt nod. "Mama is waiting for her tisane, Merry. Might you manage to take it up to her by yourself?"

  Meredith Kirtland spoke for the first time, softly but firmly. "Nay, Eliza. I understand your concern, but it is my wish—and indeed my right—to stay and hear what is being said."

  Eliza looked torn between the sense of her sister's words and the desire to shield her from more pain. It took another whispered exchange before she relented. With a brusque wave of her hand, she signaled for Marcus to continue.

  He waited for a moment to see if she might change her mind, "Very well, then. As I was saying, before you reject the offer out of hand, have you considered that your sister may find herself with child? Even if she does not, her future prospects of marriage have no doubt been greatly compromised, if not ruined outright."

  The elder Kirtland sister fixed both him and Lucien with a look of contempt. "Our local midwife has examined her. Judging from that, and what my sister was able to recount, it seems your nephew did not actually..." A tinge of color rose to her cheeks. "That is, my sister was pawed over and vilely humiliated in the most intimate of ways, but there was no actual... consummation of the act." Her eyes pressed shut for an instant. "I suppose we must be grateful for small favors."

  Lucien's face went from deathly pale to a vivid scarlet as he gave a convulsive swallow.

  Recovering her composure, Eliza went on. "And any man who truly cares for Meredith will not hold her to blame for being forced against her will."

  The earl made no effort to hide the cynical curl of his lips. "You have a more sanguine view of human nature than I would have expected. Let me assure you that men can be quite unreasonable about that sort of thing." He saw a flicker of doubt cross her face. "Once your anger has cooled, I urge you to think over my nephew's offer very carefully."

  There was an awkward silence as their gazes locked. Steel against steel. Marcus was surprised the clash of metal was not ringing in his ears.

  He slowly withdrew a purse from his pocket. He placed it on the sidetable, next to a basket of sewing. "In the meantime, if your sister has need of anything, this may serve to help. And if you are truly bent on rejecting the offer of marriage, I should be willing to arrange for a suitable dowry, one that might help smooth things with any future suitor."

  However reasonable they sounded to him, his words seemed only to rekindle the fire in Eliza's eyes.

  "Take your filthy purse and be gone, sir! In London, your money may be adequate recompense for the pleasures you take, but not here."

  So much for thinking that logic might prevail.

  "No doubt you look at us poor country folk as mere chattel to be used as you please. Well, no amount of coins will ever pay for what you have done to my sister, you debauched wastrel."

  The earl stiffened. If she were a man, he would not hesitate to demand satisfaction for the slur. A duel at dawn? That, of course, was out of the question. Or was it? With a flash of grim humor, he recalled her obvious experience with wielding a weapon. Why, if looks could kill, those molten emerald eyes—

  Just how he had come to be thinking of their intriguing color took him aback for an instant. He shook away such distracting thoughts and quickly parried her cut with a thrust of his own.

  "You deliberately misinterpret my words, Miss Kirtland. If you would temper your anger with a modicum of reason, you would see your accusations are unjust. My nephew has offered marriage. If that is not acceptable, I am simply trying to find some other way to offer amends for the damage that has been done."

  "Nothing can make amends for that!"

  He met her fiery words with an icy stare. "Then what is it you would like?"

  Eliza pointed at Lucien. "To see him suffer! To see him transported or swinging from the gibbet for what he has done."

  "No, I cannot allow that." Marcus's jaw set in an intra
ctable line. "Lucien is willing to abide by what honor demands and give your sister the protection of his name. I will not ask more than that from him."

  "I could press charges."

  "Don't be a fool," he snapped. "We both know it would only further harm your sister." His eyes avoided Meredith. "No magistrate would act on such a charge. My nephew could always claim that she was... willing. Do you doubt that his word would be accepted over hers?"

  "I—"

  Meredith laid a hand on Eliza's arm. "I know you mean well, but I do not wish to argue anymore. Lord Killingworth and his nephew have offered to take responsibility for what has happened. It is, I imagine, a generous offer. Though not one we wish to accept. The matter is finished."

  "But—"

  "Please, Eliza. It is what I wish."

  The trill notes of a robin's song wafted from the garden, an incongruous counterpoint to the harsh words still echoing in the grim silence.

  "Very well. If that is what you wish." Eliza looked away. "Good day, gentlemen."

  Lucien fell back a step, but then hesitated, hands clenched tightly at his side. "I... didn't mean to hurt you," he stammered. "Never have I done such a..." Words seemed to elude him. "I—I am so very sorry."

  The earl rather expected another round of invectives, but as Eliza turned and met the haunted look in his nephew's eyes, she heaved a sigh. "Aren't we all?"

  It was impossible to make out Meredith's expression for she had retreated into the flickering shadows.

  He took hold of Lucien's sleeve and started him toward the door. "You know where to find us if you have a change of mind." He left the purse where it lay.

  "Oh yes, I certainly do, Lord Killingworth." Eliza spoke just loudly enough for him to hear her parting shot.

  "But Hell is where the likes of you and your nephew belong."

  Chapter 4

  Meredith knelt down and began to gather up the herbs from the floor. "I had better start on Mama's tisane," she said softly, her features still hidden from any scrutiny. Without waiting for a response, she took up her basket and hurried toward the kitchen.

  It took a moment for Eliza to realize that her hands were so tightly clenched that her nails had drawn blood. Looking down, she quirked a rueful grimace and forced herself to relax. It would seem that the term "seeing red" was not merely old wives' expression for a fit of blinding anger. Such a display of raw emotion left her feeling both stunned and a little shaken.

  Strong, steady, unbending. A female with deeply rooted notions of principles and purpose. And one as unlikely to snap in the face of a storm as the towering oak behind the village tavern.

  Now that was the Eliza Kirtland most people would recognize, including herself. Though, to be honest, there were others—people to whom she had stood up over the years—who would no doubt use less flattering adjectives. Stubborn and strong-willed were among the first to come to mind.

  Well, whatever the nuance of language, something had broken her self-control as if it were naught but a twig. The crime against her sister had been a monstrous one, to be sure, but was it that alone which had sparked such passion? For along with anger and a desire for revenge was another powerful emotion she couldn't put a name to.

  Or didn't dare to.

  Her nails nearly dug fresh furrows in her palms. The brutal truth was, her heart had nearly skipped a beat on seeing the Earl of Killingworth in the doorway of the parlor. In daylight, his shoulders looked even more sculpted, his height even more imposing, his profile even more handsome...

  No! It simply could not be possible that she felt any attraction to one of the most notorious libertines in the land. Much less one that was so intensely... physical.

  Even in her youth she had never been foolish enough to fall into girlish raptures over an attractive face or casual compliment. So surely she was not now, at such an advanced age, succumbing to sheer lunacy.

  And yet it was hard to deny that he aroused feelings that defied mere words.

  A shiver shuddered through her.

  She took a deep breath. It was not as if she disliked men in general. Not really. There were several of her acquaintances who merited her regard. However, the trouble was that most of them seemed lacking in any of the qualities that engendered real respect. And those shortcomings were only exacerbated by the fact that they were accorded authority by virtue of their plumbing rather than their brains.

  The utter unfairness of it elicited another grimace. One had only to look at the earl to realize the justness of her anger. By all accounts Killingworth was naught but a drunkard and rake. Talk of his outrageous luck at the gaming tables had reached even so small a village as Chertwell. As had word of his prowess in the boudoirs of Town. And yet, he was the one who had the power to decide what justice was. Why, with no more than a curt word, he could affect the course of their lives and—

  Eliza stopped herself from such pointless railing. There would be time enough later to dwell on the shortcomings of the earl and his ilk. Right now she had best go in to her sister.

  Meredith was bent over a large iron kettle. "Are they gone?" she asked softly as she stirred a mixture of chopped herbs into the boiling water.

  "Yes." Eliza brushed a lock of a hair from her sister's cheek. "And I doubt very much whether they shall return."

  Meredith essayed a smile. "You certainly raked His Lordship over the coals. Though I'm not sure it was quite wise to risk igniting his ire. After all, since he owns the living to the parish, he does have the power to turn us out from this cottage if he so chooses."

  "Let him try," she muttered.

  Another handful of greens went into the brew. "You needn't be so worried about me, you know. I am not quite so fragile as you think." Meredith added a crumble of willowbark. "I—I imagine it will take some time before the nightmares fade, or before I can see a man approach without flinching. But I shall get over it." She forced her chin up. "Something of value may have been stolen from me, but I shall not let anyone take away what is really important—my self-respect."

  Eliza's voice caught in her throat. "I shall take care never to underestimate you again, Merry. Thank heaven that your special gift for healing people extends to yourself as well." She shook her head. "How is it that you are so wise beyond your years?"

  "Perhaps because I have been listening to you for so long."

  They exchanged fierce hugs, then Meredith dabbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her gown. "Let us bring Mama her tisane."

  "I'll do it, if you would rather lie down." Eliza touched her sister's swollen eye.

  "I—I would rather keep busy. And you needn't worry that Mama is going to be upset by my appearance. I already told her that I fell along the riverbank while foraging for cress."

  "Brave girl," murmured Eliza. "Come then, we'll go together."

  * * *

  "Well, it appears you have more luck than you deserve." The earl waved a brusque signal to his coachman. "You may escape this sordid business without any consequences. Though I warn you, the lady may well change her mind on thinking the matter over. If she does, I shall still expect you to do your duty." He clamped his high crowned beaver hat back on his head. "In the future," he added harshly, "I shall also expect you to control your drinking and to sheath your sword in naught but willing scabbards. If anything like this happens again, I'll see you shipped off to some godforsaken plantation in Jamaica, do you understand me?"

  Lucien's only reply was a stifled groan as he grabbed for the carriage door. His fingers slipped on the latch and he fell heavily against the lacquered wood. "Sweet Jesus," he groaned. "Did you see that poor girl's face? And the way she looked at me as if I were some sort of depraved... monster?" His fist hit the paneling. "I can't believe I could ever have done such a horrible thing to another person. I—"

  A violent retching cut off his words. It was several moments before the young man managed to gain control of his heaving stomach.

  Marcus's expression, though unchanged, seemed to soften
slightly. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and thrust it into Lucien's hand before helping him into the carriage. Once inside, his nephew turned away and slumped back against the squabs, eyes closed, the silk square pressed to his lips.

  The earl was not unhappy with the prospect of silence for the journey home. He, too, shifted to face the glass, but the fields of spring wheat and flocks of sheep passed by in a blur.

  Hell's teeth. Things had gone much worse than he had imagined—as if that was possible.

  He massaged at his brow. Given the circumstances, what, exactly, had he expected? Anger, certainly, and hurt. That was only natural. But he had also thought to see just a glimmer of gratitude as well, for the willingness to offer a country girl of modest means something that few gentlemen would have felt obliged to give.

  Gratitude? Ha! There had been nothing but scorn and loathing in Miss Eliza Kirtland's flashing green eyes. It was hard to blame her, of course. The deed had been a dastardly one, and she looked rather young to be bearing sole responsibility for her family. And it didn't help matters that gossip about his own past apparently had as little trouble circulating through the countryside of Devonshire as it did through the drawing rooms of Mayfair.

  Still, he had made every attempt to act honorably and it piqued him that she had dismissed his efforts so out of hand.

  The devil take it. She was certainly unlike any other female of his acquaintance. The sharpness of her claws and the fierceness of her words reminded him once again of a tiger. Why, even her hair had a hint of russet highlights.

  She had a tiger's courage as well, he admitted grudgingly, to go along with her protective instincts. How many young ladies would dare to march into a titled lord's library brandishing a pistol? Not to speak of hurling such deliberate insults in his face. He rubbed at his jaw. And how many females would be so stubbornly principled as to reject the offer of status and a tidy fortune?