“Mrs. Pettijohn,” Ben said with a slight bow. His voice held no warmth.
If Sarah took offense, Gavin couldn’t tell. She gave a small curtsy. “Lord Ben.”
“Up you go,” Gavin said, helping Sarah maneuver the step onto the phaeton’s open and narrow seat.
“I wasn’t expecting there to be three of us,” Ben complained.
“Sarah insists on going.” Gavin climbed up to sit beside her. Sarah was squeezed between two good men. “Let’s be off and I’ll tell you what has happened.”
“More intrigue?” Ben said, setting his team forward.
“Talbert,” Gavin said. “He gave Sarah a sleeping draught to administer to me last night.”
“There is a story here,” Ben said. “Did you catch her? Is that why she is with us?” He spoke as if Sarah was not there.
“She told me about the draught,” Gavin answered. “She realized I needed to meet Rov.”
For her part, she looked straight ahead, her hands folded in her lap. She had that ability to appear serene even though Gavin knew she wasn’t. And he did know. He was becoming quite adept at divining what was on her mind.
He wondered if she was learning the same about himself?
“And you are certain it was a sleeping draught? Why not poison?” Ben wondered.
Sarah whipped her wide gaze around to him in shock. Ben shrugged. “It would be one way of removing my brother permanently. And perhaps myself, because since I’m his heir, everyone would immediately blame me.”
“But to what purpose?” Sarah asked. “I could see wanting to disgrace the duke by having him not show for the duel, but why murder?”
“I don’t know,” Ben said easily. “However, poison is a woman’s weapon.”
“So you think Talbert meant to implicate Sarah?” Gavin asked.
“Perhaps to throw the trail off of him. Rumors are flying through London, you know. Many claim Mrs. Pettijohn is either a harlot who has bewitched the very important Duke of Baynton, or a French spy who has bewitched the very important Duke of Baynton.”
Sarah bristled with anger. Gavin put his arm around her. “Steady,” he warned.
“How can I be steady when I now have such a desire to murder someone?” she demanded.
“Not me, I hope.”
“Not yet,” she countered.
That elicited a chuckle from Ben. “You may have met your female match, brother.”
Gavin laughed. If only Ben knew.
“Do you have some of the draught Talbert gave you?” Ben asked.
“It is in the room,” Gavin said, “next to the whisky. Sarah poured it into two glasses and they are still untouched and on the table. We can take them to a chemist.”
“Why did you not follow through with the plan?” Ben asked Sarah. “And why two glasses?”
“I had thought to drink the draught myself,” she said. “It seemed only fair.”
“Or sporting?” Ben questioned. “Well, if it was poison, then you speaking the truth may have saved two lives.”
“I’m certain whatever was plotted, Rov is behind it,” Gavin said. “We’ll know by the way he behaves when I make my appearance.”
“Why would he stoop so low?” Ben asked.
“He doesn’t want to lose his position as Chairman of the Committees and he knows I will take it from him. He always had a hot head but I had believed he had sense.” Gavin was quiet a moment and then said, “Damn, but Talbert was a good secretary.”
They drove over the river. Just as the sun was beginning to appear on the horizon, they pulled into a large expanse of meadow. On the far side was a sheltering oak. Four men stood there. One of their horses whinnied a greeting to Ben’s team, alerting the men of their approach.
Sarah recognized Lord Rovington’s figure as he stepped away from the others.
Lord Ben drove his team to the oak and then set the brake. His tiger jumped down to see to the horses and the brothers climbed down. “You are best staying here with the vehicle,” Gavin told Sarah.
She looked to Lord Rovington. He had watched them with a grim expression. If he had been surprised to see them appear, she could not tell but she was glad his plans to disgrace the duke had been thwarted.
Gavin and his brother approached the men. She could hear the introductions. Lord Rovington and the duke sounded cordial. One of the men was Lord Rovington’s second and the other was a physician. Another gentleman was present as a spectator and was a friend of his lordship’s. Sarah thought he had the look of a moneylender.
Lord Ben spoke to the second. “The duke has agreed to a count of five and then fire.”
“Who shall count?” the second asked.
“Since my brother is the one challenged, I shall,” Lord Ben said in a voice that would have frozen any dissent.
The second looked to Lord Rovington who stood a bit away from the group, his back toward the duke, his manner aloof. Now, in early morning light, even Sarah could see the strain on his lordship’s face. He appeared a man overburdened—but not one surprised at his opponent’s appearance. It made her wonder if Talbert had acted alone and if so, why? Certainly the secretary knew this would be the end of his career. None of it made sense, especially after Talbert’s impassioned defense of Baynton yesterday to her.
Or had he been preparing for her to be blamed? Much in keeping with the rumors Lord Ben claimed swirled around her?
The seconds moved to a level spot on the meadow. Lord Ben and the other second marched off paces. The duke removed his jacket and neck cloth, carrying them over to her. As he approached, Sarah could see past him to Lord Rovington. She’d rarely seen such undisguised jealousy on a man’s face. Perhaps as the duke thought, Rovington was angling for power but in this moment, intuition warned her that she was somehow involved. Without any encouragement on her part, without even two words to her, Lord Rovington had in some way branded her as his.
And now the duke wasn’t just fighting for his honor, but hers as well.
Gavin had not shaved that morning and there was the faintest hint of stubble along his lean jaw. She took the jacket and neck cloth from him. Their gloved hands brushed each other and, in that moment, she could recall the feeling of having his hands upon her body.
He gave her a small smile, his manner obviously preoccupied with the task before him—and yet he was calm. She looked over to Lord Rovington. One of his seconds said something to him and he snapped back an answer she could not hear.
She reached forward, placing her hand on his shoulder. The duke had pulled his glove on his right hand and tested squeezing his fingers as if he would wear the glove in the duel. He looked up at her, expectantly.
Sarah had meant to mention that she believed Lord Rovington was tense, but words vanished from her mind as she looked into his blue eyes. Without conscious thought, she leaned down and kissed him.
This kiss was without the heat of their previous ones but it did not lack passion. Their lips now melded together easily. There was no resistance.
She broke the kiss. “Don’t lose,” she whispered.
He grinned, the expression almost rakish. “I don’t intend upon it.”
“That is good. We have unfinished business.” And she meant those words. She now didn’t know why she had ever opposed him. The truth be told, she thought Gavin was a wonderful man. Yes, they were often of differing opinions but he listened to her. He let her be herself.
If he lived through this duel, Sarah vowed she would honor her part of the agreement and it would not be a chore. He’d shown her a side of herself she had not known existed. How much better would their coupling be if she gave as freely of herself as he had—?
“We are ready to start when you are, brother,” Lord Ben said. “We’ve marked off the distance. See if you approve.”
Sarah had been so intent on the duke, she hadn’t heard Lord Ben approach. Neither, apparently, had the duke because he pulled his gaze reluctantly away from her.
Both Sarah an
d Baynton looked to where Lord Rovington’s second and one of the witnesses stood at about ten paces from each other. It seemed a very short span to Sarah. How could anyone miss? And she wanted Lord Rovington to miss.
Panic threatened to engulf her. In the span of minutes, Baynton had become important to her. She didn’t know how she would react if he was injured . . . or killed.
“It is fine,” Gavin said. He pulled the glove off.
The tiger opened a gun case and offered it to the brothers. “Is it mine?” the duke asked.
“I picked it up last night,” Lord Ben answered.
“Not from Talbert, I hope?”
“Talbert was long gone when I came by. I took this from the gun cabinet and inspected it myself.”
Baynton looked over the weapon and then nodded. “This is the one I wanted.”
“Come with me,” his brother answered. “We’ll present it to Rov for his approval. You also need to see his weapon and then Harris and I will load them.” Harris evidently was the name of Lord Rovington’s second.
“Very well,” Gavin said. He gave Sarah one last reassuring smile and then both he and his brother walked away from her.
She rolled her arms in his jacket and pressed them against her stomach to ward off a sense of impending tragedy. Dueling was a ridiculous way to solve an argument, especially for the challenge Lord Rovington had issued. She wasn’t about to go with the man if he defeated the duke.
At the same time, she was proud that Baynton had accepted the challenge. That he was not going to let Lord Rovington run roughshod over him. That he was defending her.
She’d never had a champion before and if he died because of it, well, she could not think on it. She must not.
Lord Rovington and Gavin shook hands in the center of the field. It was obvious the two men no longer considered each other friends.
Their seconds inspected the weapons and then loaded them. They examined them again and handed them to the duelists, who once again looked them over. They moved as if in ritual.
Sarah wondered if Gavin wished he had his gloves on. Lord Rovington was wearing them.
His lordship said something to his second, who spoke to Lord Ben. Lord Ben walked over to her. He spoke to his tiger. “David, Rovington wants the phaeton moved over about four yards toward the center.”
“Yes, sir.” The tiger climbed up on the seat to move the vehicle.
“Why does he want this?” Sarah asked Lord Ben.
“He is being fastidious.” He started to go but she called him back.
“Wait.” He turned, lifted his brows expectantly. “Please tell me the duke is a good shot,” she said.
For the first time since she’d been in his company, Lord Ben gave her a smile, one reminiscent of his brother’s. “You needn’t worry. He can break the stem of a wineglass at fifteen paces. He will be fine. If I had thought there would be a problem, I would have driven my coach in case my brother was injured.”
She nodded, not sharing his confidence but relieved to know that the duke was no stranger to a pistol.
Lord Ben moved to the center of the field to stand beside the physician. “Does the position of the vehicle meet your approval, my lord?”
Rovington nodded.
Stepping forward, Lord Ben said, “I shall count to five and then say the word fire. No one discharges his weapon until that moment. Are we understood?”
Both Lord Rovington and the duke nodded that they understood. Gavin was all business now. His complete attention was on his opponent. Sarah swung her gaze over to Rovington, wanting to see him as the duke did. She watched him intently.
Both men took a stance. The pistols in their hands were pointed to the ground.
“Are you ready, Lord Rovington?” Lord Ben asked.
Rovington nodded, but Sarah did not think he looked confident. Indeed, he had gone quite pale.
“Your Grace?” He turned to his brother.
Gavin nodded.
“Very well,” Lord Ben said. “All ready!” He waited a beat and then began the count. “One . . . two . . .”
He had not reached three when Sarah noted a slight movement on Lord Rovington’s part. Instinctively, her trained actor’s eye, honed in the art of anticipating the actions of others upon a stage, knew he was going to fire before the count.
“Gavin,” she shouted in warning, a split beat before Lord Rovington’s shot cracked through the air.
Chapter Sixteen
Sarah’s shout saved Gavin’s life. The warning in her voice had broken his concentration and he’d given a start, the slightest of movement but a telling one.
Rov had aimed for the heart. Gavin would have been mortally wounded.
Instead, because he’d turned toward Sarah, the ball went through his shirt into the fleshy part of his left arm. Gavin felt the burn of it as it traveled out the other side.
There was a beat of shocked silence from the sidelines, and then Ben shouted, “Murder.”
The charge was quickly agreed upon by Rov’s second and the witnesses with disapproving faces. Sarah scrambled from her perch on the phaeton and was ready to charge out onto the field. Ben caught her and pulled her back.
“Wait,” he ordered. “It is His Grace’s turn for the shot.”
Gavin tipped his pistol at her. “I’m fine,” he assured her.
She looked as if she didn’t believe him. Why should she? Like all flesh wounds, the one on his arm was starting to bleed profusely, staining the white sleeve of his shirt and making the matter appear more dire than it actually was.
Gavin turned his attention to Rovington who appeared ready to swoon. The next shot was Gavin’s and both men knew it. Rovington was nothing more than a simple target should Gavin choose to see him that way—and he did.
This man he had once considered his closest friend had not only set about undoing politically all that Gavin had accomplished, he had just attempted to murder him and had probably been behind a plot to disgrace him. There was no honor in Rovington.
And yet, putting a ball in Rov, no matter the momentary satisfaction, would create sympathy for him from certain quarters. Gavin would not allow that to happen.
He pointed his pistol off to the side toward the ground, and fired. The gesture was a symbol of disdain.
Across from him, at the crack of his shot, Rovington collapsed to the earth as if struck or perhaps as if relieved he still lived.
“Both men stay your mark,” Ben announced. He set Sarah aside with the admonishment to wait while the physician walked to Gavin. Ben and Rov’s second walked over to Rovington who had risen to his feet.
“Not a scratch on him,” Rov’s second declared, something all the witnesses knew, and then Ben and the second came back to Gavin.
“What a cowardly worm,” Ben said, letting his voice carry.
“I am ashamed,” the second agreed, equally loud. He bowed to Gavin. “Your Grace, I pray you will pardon my role in this disaster.”
“May you choose your friends more wisely in the future,” Gavin suggested.
“I shall.”
There was the sound of hooves and they all turned to see Rovington riding away. “If he believes he can escape the story of this morning’s work, he is wrong,” his second said with disgust. “I shall personally see that it is all over town. The man has no courage.”
Gavin was pleased. The muscle of his arm burned where the shot had gone through but he would heal.
Rovington, on the other hand, would not recover. His reputation would be in tatters. He must resign as Chairman of the Committees by nightfall and Gavin would send him a letter to that effect. After all, who would follow Rov’s advice or directions now?
The physician had Gavin remove his shirt and inspected the wound to see that it was clean and no fibers from the fabric were caught in it. He then bound the wound tightly and the bleeding began to slow.
Sarah stood away from the men by the phaeton. She was pale and quiet.
Gavin put
on his shirt and crossed over to her. She didn’t greet him, but watched his approach with solemn green eyes.
He reached for his jacket. Ben’s tiger helped him pull it on, taking care with the injured arm. Not fooling with the neck cloth, Gavin motioned with his head for the tiger to give them a moment’s privacy.
Sarah looked at him then. Tears brimmed in her green eyes. “You could have been killed. He is a terrible man.”
“Aye, he is,” Gavin said. “I owe you a great debt. If you had not called my name, I would not have moved and his bullet might have found its mark.”
“I never wish to witness another duel as long as I live,” she replied fervently.
“I pray to never be in another one.”
“Lord Rovington is not a gentleman and there should be a way to announce that fact to everyone in the world. He should be shunned.” The tears had evaporated and color returned to her cheeks. She was magnificent when her temper was up, especially in his defense.
“He will be,” Gavin assured her, and then he asked the question that teased him. “How did you know he was going to fire before the count?”
“I saw the tension in his shoulder. Intuitively I understood he was not going to honor the count. He was too quiet before, too withdrawn.” She shook her head. “My training in the theater is to anticipate what another actor will do. One learns to read the slightest hint of movement in their bodies.”
“Your training has saved my life. Come, let us leave.”
“What of your arm?”
“The physician has handled it.”
“But do you need laudanum? Something for the pain?”
“Right now, what I need more than anything is you.”
That was true. How close he had come to being mortally wounded was sinking in along with a giddy gratitude that he was alive. His opponent had been defeated. He need never worry about betrayal from Rov again.
And along with that elation was a strong desire to finish what they had started the night before.
A Date at the Altar Page 18