“It’s not my conscience I fear for … it’s you.”
Trenton patted Calvin’s back. “Your concern touches me.”
“Captain York will come after you when Cain is dead,” Calvin said.
“I expect so.”
“You want him to come, don’t you?”
“Yes. He too owes me a debt that only his death will pay.”
“Your duel with York followed the code. You took your shot but missed. Maybe you should accept that and leave things alone.”
“York knew I had never dueled,” Trenton claimed. “He took advantage of my inexperience.”
“He let you have the first shot,” argued Calvin.
“Okay!” snapped Trenton. “I missed! And I have cursed myself a thousand times for it. Then York shot me in the knee.”
“Then you shot Josh Cain,” said Calvin, his voice low and quiet, a hint of accusation in it.
“That was an accident and you know it! You gave me your pistol; I shot at York but hit Cain.”
Trenton grabbed his flask and swilled down a full swallow, hoping the liquor would jolt him into action. No matter how much he hated Josh Cain, Trenton Tessier had never killed a man, so it would take some doing to follow through.
He glanced hurriedly around the room. His portrait, painted by one of the finest artists in Charleston, hung over his bed. A handwoven, multicolored Oriental rug lay at the bed’s foot. A basin and pitcher of water sat on a nightstand by the bed. From the ceiling hung a chandelier, its sparkling glass shining from the light of many candles. Would all of this look different when he returned from killing Cain? So what if it did? None of it meant anything any more. Without Camellia, without his leg, without his honor, who cared what he possessed?
“Mother will not approve of this,” said Calvin, interrupting Trenton’s thoughts.
Trenton snickered at his brother’s efforts to dissuade him. “The great Katherine Tessier!” He chuckled. “For years she paid little attention to me. Left my raising to a darky mammy while she spent her time in Charleston. Mother cared for nothing but her parties, her laudanum, her fine clothes, and fancy furnishings.”
His voice dropped, and a hint of sadness edged in. “Only after Father’s death, only after I became the heir of The Oak did she bother to get involved in my life. I care nothing about her approval.”
“She loves you, Trenton.”
Trenton laughed, but it held no joy. “If she loved me, she would never have accepted Hampton York’s marriage proposal—forcing me to challenge him to a duel for his insult.”
“She had no choice,” said Calvin. “He has money she needs to keep The Oak from the hands of the bankers.”
“York is the overseer here! She might as well mate with a darky.”
“Do you think killing Cain will end plans for the wedding? Is that what’s pushing you?”
“It would be a bonus, yes. York stole his money from us.”
“He says not.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“What will happen to The Oak if Mother doesn’t marry York?”
“We’re going to war, so who knows? Either way I don’t need York to save The Oak. If Cain’s death causes him to withdraw his proposal, then I’ll have killed two birds with one stone.” Trenton smiled at the notion and took a drink to celebrate it.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” asked Calvin, his voice halting.
Trenton lifted a crutch, pushed it hard against his brother’s chest, and backed him up against the wall. Trenton’s eyes narrowed, and a dark stare came into them—cold and unfeeling. “I know what you’re doing,” he hissed. “All these questions—slowing me down, hoping I’ll change my mind. But I am the eldest son, cripple or not. I decide my destiny. Not you, not Mother. And you best not forget that.”
Calvin’s eyes met Trenton’s for a few seconds, then broke away. “Forgive me,” Calvin whispered, his eyes suddenly filled with tears. “But Cain is a helpless man. I see no honor in harming him.”
Trenton eased the crutch to Calvin’s chin and tipped it up so he could see into his brother’s eyes. “I want you to understand,” Trenton soothed. “I love Camellia, and I want her as my wife. But she says she loves Josh Cain. Of course she doesn’t. How could she? But as long as he’s alive, she won’t come to me.”
“I still think it’s wrong.”
Trenton lowered his crutch to the floor. “Who’s to say what is wrong … and what is right? Cain will probably die anyway from the bullet I already put in him. I’m simply speeding up his passage.”
Calvin wiped his eyes.
“I’ll return soon,” said Trenton.
“I wish you wouldn’t do this.”
Ignoring his brother, Trenton headed to the door. “I should return within the hour. Then it will be over.”
“I expect it’s just beginning,” whispered Calvin.
Trenton took another drink and hobbled out, his chin set. In his heart, though, he figured Calvin had it right: What he did next would determine his fate—and that of everyone around him—for years to come.
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